SlapShot Sweetheart (Pucks and Promises #2)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

THEO

Are you busy?

I work from home – not that we’ve ever discussed our jobs.

You know I play hockey.

You know you’ve never asked me.

You do computer stuff, and I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about it – but you are distracting me from my goal.

Which is?

How do you feel about dinner tonight?

Will you be on time?

Theo chuckled, smiling as he adjusted his stance. She was as fiery as her hair color – and he adored it with a passion that surprised him sometimes. Years ago, if you had told him someone would sass him with every breath, he would have balked and walked away in a heartbeat. Now, Aimee fascinated him like no other.

Ouch.

Sorry. I like punctuality.

Do you like surprises?

Love them.

Open the front door – this is heavy.

And he could practically picture her surprised face and the way she would roll her eyes. Not everyone liked surprises, much less someone showing up at the house unexpectedly, but at this moment – he wanted to see how she reacted. Maybe it was him goading her, maybe it was just setting things up for failure between them or poking the bear, but he had to keep trying.

That was just his personality, and he needed to know how flexible she was to weird schedules because sometimes he wasn’t available. If the coach called a practice or an impromptu meeting, then he had to show up at the drop of a hat. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen at times – and if things somehow worked out, he wanted Aimee to stick around.

I changed my mind – I don’t like surprises as much as I thought.

And Theo laughed loudly, grinning as he heard her doing the same on the other side of the door, opening it a moment later.

She was looking at him, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose in the most adorable fashion, as she stood there in leggings and a T-shirt. Her hair was swept back with two pencils stabbed into a loose bun that had strands poking out everywhere.

He loved it.

“How is that heavy if it’s sitting on the porch?” she asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow and looking at the pot between his feet.

“ Bonjour, ma belle fille,” he said easily and then held his breath, hoping she didn’t understand his words. He called her a beautiful girl, and his prickly woman might balk at the compliment. “Are you busy?”

“Handling an unexpected solicitor – yes.”

“I’m not selling anything but offering my time.”

“Gee,” she said in a snarky voice, crossing her arms and then looking at the pot once more. “What is that?”

“A French family recipe.”

“Which is…?” she drawled, and he fought back a smile as that delicate eyebrow arched a little higher.

“Delicious,” he replied, not giving an inch and waiting.

They stood there, staring at each other with the storm door between them, and for a moment, he thought she might back away, shutting the door in his face. Just as he started to open his mouth, she stepped to the side and turned the knob, pushing the door open for him. He bent over quickly, yanking the pot up with holders to keep from burning his fingers and nodded at her.

“It better be,” she chuckled, trying to sound tough as he walked past, winking at her.

“It’s my mere’s recipe…”

“The onion soup? No, thank you.”

“You remembered.”

“My brain’s like a steel trap, buddy…”

He couldn’t help but laugh, smiling at her proudly.

“What?”

“You’re learning French,” he replied. “You remembered ‘ mere’ is mother.”

“Don’t think that just because you are here and that I learned one word, this makes us besties or in a relationship. I refuse to learn another language to date some guy I can barely stand,” she warned, reaching over his arm to lift the lid, only for Theo to turn away playfully, smiling at her.

“No peeking.”

“I’m hungry – and you said that’s edible.”

“I told you it was delicious .”

“Even better.”

“But you know what is more appealing?”

“Is this where you get weird or creepy?” she asked, glaring at him as he laughed in delight, putting a hand on the knob that was on the lid in a teasing manner, waiting.

“The game is getting ready to start. I brought you a jersey to wear,” he offered, waiting.

“I’m dressed already. I don’t watch hockey. You mentioned food, and now you are backing out – what kind of weird friend are you?”

“The best kind,” he whispered softly, trying to sound enticing as he waited for her to get curious once more. It was like baiting a protective animal out of its cave, and he loved the play between them. “Can you bend just a bit, mon couer, and let me treat you?”

“What’s ‘mon couer’ mean?”

“Something you would ‘ate…” he admitted openly, grateful she didn’t understand the slip. He was going to need to be more careful. “Have you ever had fresh poutine ?”

“Put-whaaaat?”

“ Poutine ,” he breathed. “ C’est parfait with ‘ockey…”

Theo stared into Aimee’s blue eyes, waiting for her to choose him and decide if she was going to give him a chance to draw her into his world. He brought her his jersey, and it was draped over his shoulder, where he was wearing his too. It was deliberate and went with his other gift that he hoped she would accept as well.

“You’re stubborn,” she whispered.

“And you’re ‘ungry.”

“I am.”

“Then let’s eat while it’s ‘ot.”

“You’ve got a very thick accent.”

“Some would say it’s appealing and sexy.”

And he expected her to say, ‘that’s not me,’ yet she remained silent, still staring him down in a quiet challenge. He lifted the lid to show her the heady dish that was slathered in beef gravy and melted cheese curds. It made his heart flutter to see her eyes widen as they slipped to peek before looking at him again.

“Are those fries?”

“ Poutine is french fries smothered in cheese curds and topped with gravy, meats, and…”

“Gimme the shirt,” she muttered, reaching for two plates quickly and pushing them in his direction as she yanked it over her head without a second thought.

Theo didn’t hesitate. If food was her condition, her love language, then he was going to make sure and provide. This was his part of the silent bargain they’d come to. He shoveled a large pile of the steaming French fries that were stuck together with the melted cheese and heard her passionate sigh of approval.

Looking at her, he caught his breath. She looked so darn good in his team’s colors, with his number all over her chest. This was the best thing ever, and he couldn’t even tell her what it meant to him. The lump in his throat made him swallow as he cleared it quietly, trying not to blurt out the wrong thing or raise an alarm.

“Dinner,” she mumbled, taking one of the plates. “And the game. This is just two friends having a meal. Don’t read a lot into this. I’m a foodie.”

He nearly smiled. Her words might be blunt or abrasive, but they lacked the conviction and force it needed to really hurt his feelings. It was like she was smack-talking him and trying to get under his skin but failing miserably. He talked trash for a living and had for the last several years. He was a pro… and play recognized play .

“That’s all this is,” he replied evasively. “Besides, you’re hung up on some mysterious man and I like a girl who is a bit softer, more interested in me. It’s okay to play ‘ard to get – but at some point, everyone knows that the donkey gets the carrot.”

“And you’re the donkey.”

“Are you my carrot?”

Aimee looked at him sharply as she sat on the couch, taking a bite of her meal… and moaned. Her eyes closed in bliss for a moment as she opened them again, shoveling in another bite – and moaning again. Theo nearly dumped his own plate by accident, hearing the sound that unsettled everything within him. Oh man, would she make those sounds if he was ever lucky enough to kiss her? She crossed her legs, balancing the plate on her lap, and took another bite.

“How has this been missing from my life?” she mumbled, taking yet another big bite as he flipped on the television. They settled into their spaces, eating silently, and he tried to focus on the screen instead of watching Aimee enjoy her meal. He was awfully distracted, only to see her pointing at the screen, yelling.

“Is that okay?” she protested. “That looks like cheating!”

“What?”

“Weren’t you watching? This is your thing…”

“I was eating.”

“Well, eat and look at the television at the same time! Right there, ohhh maybe they’ll do a replay… that dude in the number twelve jersey shoved his elbow in the other guy’s face!”

And Theo laughed – unsure if he was tickled that she liked the game enough to protest or the fact that she was now looking at him differently, putting it all together. Her mouth dropped open in shock, startled, as she did a double-take, looking at the screen, then him again, before putting her plate onto the sofa table and leaning into his space. That’s when his laughter dried up…

Aimee was leaning toward him, looking at him.

Really looking at him.

“Your… tooth,” she began, almost hesitating. “The eye that day, the split lip… is that why you have a bruise on your chin? I noticed the greenish spot but didn’t want to say anything.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Oh gosh… and this is normal?”

“The other guy looked worse. It’s ‘ockey.”

“But your poor face…” she whispered, staring at him, and he felt something changing slightly between them as she raised her hand, her fingers about to touch his eyebrow where he’d had his stitches removed two days ago. Was she going to stroke his brow, touch his cheek, was she about to kiss him?

Oh, please, yes…

Only to feel her push his forehead slightly in a playful motion as she chuckled.

“You need to get meaner on the ice then, Theo,” she chided, leaning back into her seat once more and giving him a sideways look. “Play dirty, fight harder, so you don’t get hit - and wear a better mask. You can’t afford to mess up your face much more,” she ordered, but there was something in her voice that was different, something that said she was concerned about him as her eyes met his. “If you had to go on a blind date with me, then you’re already having problems finding ‘The One.’ You don’t want to ruin your chances, now do you?”

“Mais non…” he breathed, stunned and staring at her profile as she turned away.

“Focus, and maybe you can learn something. These twerps in blue play awfully dirty and seem to get away with it,” she casually tossed out and hesitated. “Do you want a beer?”

Oh gosh, I’m in love…

Theo swallowed, nodding, completely unable to speak at that moment as she got up from the couch and padded silently toward the kitchen, his name all over her shoulder blades and his number on her back.

I’m gonna marry that woman someday.

T wo hours later, Theo was having the best time of his life. They were both yelling at the television like it was something they had always done. Aimee was waving her hand and pointing at the screen angrily. éclair and Donut were rolling around on the carpet like a couple of furry wrestlers, playfully hissing and batting at each other. Theo was on the edge of his seat, coaching and giving a commentary on each play as they watched it.

“Look at ‘im… that guy is a monster to play against. It’s like ‘itting a brick wall, but I don’t care,” he bragged. “The bigger they are…”

“The harder they fall!” Aimee chimed in, grinning. “Put your skate in a ‘T’ fashion with his and trip the big lummox…”

“Aimee!”

“What?! I saw number twelve do that earlier, and the ref missed it completely. Bounced the other guy’s head right off the ice.”

“So bloodthirsty...” he whispered, grinning. “I love it.”

“Oh hush, you twit. It’s a violent game.”

“I know, but…”

“Theo, it’s a game, and you can’t help but get wrapped up into it.”

“Want to see it in person?”

“With you? Like a date?”

He paused for a moment, wanting to jump at the words ‘like a date’ but knew she would shoot him down. His prickly girl still needed to warm up to him.

“No,” he choked out barely. “No date. Do you want to see the behind-the-scenes stuff and see a game in person? You could meet my team, have seats close to the ice and the penalty box or…”

“Really?”

That single word interrupted him, and the excitement in her voice made his heart turn over in his chest as he realized she would come to see him play. His dark eyes met her bright blue ones, and he bit his cheek to keep from saying something he shouldn’t as he stared at her.

“Yeah. There’s nothing like a game in person,” he breathed. “The lights, the feeling in the air, the excitement… but you ‘ave to wear the jersey.”

“Gotta… represent Team Batiste?” she said softly, looking at him. He could see something in her eyes; it wasn’t rejection, but rather a glimmer of hope and awareness.

“I would like that,” he mumbled, trying not to hold his breath and expecting her to yank off the jersey just to spite him in that moment. “It would be nice to ‘ave someone in the crowd cheering… for me.”

“I could do that,” she replied and looked away. “If this isn’t too weird between us. I mean, we’re friends, and friends do stuff like that, right?”

Seeing her ‘retreat’ slightly made him wonder if she left him sitting there at the table, like at the restaurant on their first date because retreat was her mode of coping with something that felt like it was too much for her to handle. If that was the case, then he needed to quit feeling so rejected by her and keep marching down this path he was on… because it was working.

“Just friends,” he said gently. “Friends cheer for each other and hang out.”

“They do.”

“And… we could be friends.”

“We… are,” she hesitated, and he saw the retreat in her before she spoke again, marveling that he could read her so well. “We’re friends so long as you don’t get all weird or crazy on me. Maybe when you play this next game, you could keep from getting cracked in the skull.”

“I’ll wear a different helmet with a full faceplate, a cage, so I don’t get uglier…” he chuckled softly and saw her sharp glance sideways.

“You should go,” she began quietly, pointing at the plates. “We’re done eating, and the game is almost over. Plus, I’ve got to finish my work, or I’ll never be free to attend a game in person.”

“I’ll go,” he agreed, rising to his feet and digging out the tickets in his back pocket for her. “This is by the ice, very close, and I ‘ave two tickets for you – if you want two of them?” She plucked one from his hand… and paused, looking at him in this strange, confused gaze as she angled her head sideways.

“I never said you were ugly.”

Her voice was tiny, breathless, and he could barely hear her, but the words were there, hanging between them as they stared at each other. His hands were itching to pull her into his arms, craving the feeling of what it would be like to kiss her, yet somehow, he managed to nod – and stepped back.

“Good to know,” he choked out, making his own retreat. “See you Friday.”

“I’ll be there.”