“Ughhh.”
I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at my ten-year-old daughter. She has been sighing nonstop since the end of the shootout last night.
The Comets, who have been doing incredible, struggled against the team that’s currently ranked last in the league and came entirely too close to losing. She’s convinced they will tank their entire season and miss the playoffs now. I’ve been trying to tell her it’s just one game, one bad performance, but she’s not buying it.
Hence the eighth sigh of the morning—and it’s only seven AM.
“Macie, you’re killing me.”
“Well, we’re even, then, because the Comets are killing me, Mom.” Another sigh, another dramatic toss of her head.
When did she get so theatrical?
“They won, though, didn’t they?”
She gives me an incredulous look. “Yes, but they should have played…well, better!” She raises her hands in the air. It’s cute and a little funny but also slightly annoying.
“Okay, well, they will next game. It’ll be fine.”
“Fine? Fine? It needs to be better than fine! I want to see them win the Cup again!”
She drops herself back onto the bench, her head resting on her backpack. I have to leave to take her to school in about ten minutes, and I’m betting I’ll get at least three more sighs before then.
I attempt to placate her. “Everyone wants to see them win again, and they will.”
She huffs, and I chuckle, turning my attention back to the coffee pot I’m working on refilling. I want to make sure the truck is prepped for Rosie while I’m fighting the school drop-off line.
“Everyone, huh? Does that mean you?”
Macie springs off the bench at the same minute I nearly drop the coffee pot.
Where the hell did he come from?
I peek up to find Greer strutting toward the truck. He’s close, giving me zero time to hide or pretend I don’t see him, and I really don’t want to see him. The last two times I ran across him, it wasn’t pleasant, and with my daughter being her sassy little self, I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with it today.
“You!”
Speaking of my kid…
Macie jumps off the picnic table, her finger pointed directly at Greer, who stops in his tracks.
“This is all your fault!”
His brows go up. “What exactly is my fault?”
“That game!”
I can see Greer’s shoulders deflate from here. Ah, so he’s upset about them barely coming out with two points too.
“You guys barely showed up for twenty minutes. It was pitiful.”
“Macie!”
Greer holds his hand up toward me, his attention still on my kid, who is now standing just a foot away from him, her little finger still pointed at him and a scowl that could rival his on her face.
“What could we have done better?”
“Everything!” She throws her hands into the air. “Literally everything. The passing, the skating, the goaltending.” That last word is punctuated with a glare that would probably have any other grown man trembling.
Not Greer, though. He just stares back at her, eyes sharp and serious as she continues going over what they could work on. He’s listening to her.
Like actually listening to her.
It’s weird. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Greer so serious about something, and that’s saying something because he is always serious.
She lets the pro-hockey player know if the team passed just a few beats faster, they’d hit the tape every time. If they didn’t get stuck in their own zone for so long, they could take shorter shifts, allowing them to skate harder and faster and beat the other team to the puck or at board battles. If they hadn’t kept feeding the puck to the goalie’s right and instead went to the left, they could have capitalized on it being his weak side and scored top shelf without breaking a sweat.
I admittedly have no clue what she’s talking about, but Greer clearly does because he nods when she’s done telling him all that.
Then finally, he says, “So you think his left is his weak side?”
“Yes! And it’s yours too, especially if they’re shooting just above the pads. You leave too much space open. A puck can squeak in there like that.” She snaps on the last word for emphasis.
Greer nods again. “I think you’re right.”
Macie’s eyes light up. “I am?” She clears her throat, pushing out her chest. “I mean, I am. I’m right. So tighten it up out there.”
There’s the slightest twitch to Greer’s lips, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Duly noted.”
Her brows squeeze together, clearly not understanding what he’s said, but he’s already walking away from her and toward the truck before she can ask him. He approaches the window, the annoying cocky smirk that I hate lining his lips.
“Steve.”
I level him with a blank stare. “Greer.”
“Nice kid you have there.”
I raise a brow, daring him to say anything even remotely awful about my daughter.
He doesn’t.
“What do you want.”
“Some hospitality would be good.”
“Damn, we’re all out of that.”
“I guess I’ll have to settle for an iced coffee, then.”
I turn to make his drink, annoyed with myself for remembering his order from the other day.
“You know, your daughter sure does have a lot to say about my performance.”
“She’s a big hockey nut,” I tell him as I pour the coffee into the to-go cup.
“I can tell. She come to the games ever?”
“Sometimes, whenever I get time off. Miller hooked her up with some tickets.”
“You’ll have to tell me when. Maybe we can get the backup goalie in the net for her critiquing and get him on a hot streak too.”
“Didn’t look like you were on too much of a streak last night,” I comment, sliding his finished drink in front of him.
His perpetual scowl deepens. “Coach Heller Jr. over there is right. I played like shit.”
“Why?”
The word tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t really care why Greer had an off night…do I?
He lets out a long sigh, long enough to rival the ones Macie’s been letting out all morning. “Phone call gone wrong.”
“You took a phone call before the game?”
He tips his head like he’s wondering why I’m questioning him on that.
I shrug. “Miller has pregame routines he’s gone through with Macie before. I know some players are stringent about not having their phones on before games.”
He nods once. “I usually don’t, but I guess I didn’t turn the volume all the way off. It buzzed, so I answered.”
“Someone important?”
“My mother.”
“Momma’s boy?” I can’t help the grin that slips across my face.
He narrows his eyes. “No.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not,” he insists, and I love how it’s clearly riling him up. “She’s getting married.”
“Oh. Well, congratulations to her. Hope it lasts longer than my marriage did.”
He snorts. “Doubt it. She’s determined to Elizabeth-Taylor life.”
I tip my head, unsure of what he means.
“It’s her fourth.”
“Oh.” I was only married once and it was brief, but that experience was so awful that I’m not sure I could do it again, let alone four times.
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his dark hair, the slight wave to it flattening for only a moment before it goes back to its normal disarray. “I’m sort of in a jam with it.”
“With the wedding? Is it during the season or something?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the problem. She lives here, and she planned so I’d be home for it. It’s something else, something…”
He trails off, a dark look crossing his face.
“That bad?”
“A date.”
“Huh?”
He looks up at me. “She wants me to bring a date to the wedding.”
“Is that all?”
He gives me a disbelieving look. “What do you mean, is that all? I don’t date.”
“Ever?”
He shakes his head. “Ever.”
“That’s…surprising.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You’re a hockey player—aren’t you all supposed to be slinging your man bits around and hooking up with women hanging around the rink?”
“Man bits?”
I flick my eyes toward my daughter, who is sitting far enough away that she shouldn’t hear this conversation, but I don’t trust it all the same. There have been many times I thought I was being sneaky with a conversation, only for her to have heard every word, including when I spilled the beans that Santa wasn’t real. It was a mess, and I don’t want to risk that again.
“No, I am not slinging my man bits all over or screwing around with anyone. I’ve learned my lesson there, thank you very much.”
Interesting…
“So, no dating?” I ask.
“No dating. Except for this, apparently.” He groans, dropping his head to his hands.
I roll my eyes. He’s as bad as Macie with the dramatics. “It’s not that bad. It’s just a date.”
“A date is always more than just a date. It’s an expectation.”
“Of?”
“Everything!” His voice comes out loud and high-pitched, something I’ve never heard from him. “They’ll want flowers and doors opened for them, an expensive dinner. Then they’ll want me to walk them to their door at the end of the night. They’ll want a kiss and a phone call. It’s everything I don’t want to deal with—everything I don’t have time to deal with.”
“Oh nooo, you’ll need to be a gentleman. How awful for you.”
“It truly is. You wouldn’t want any of that because you’re you.”
I want to take offense to that, but he’s right. I wouldn’t want any of that, especially not with him.
Greer shoves a hand through his hair, turning it into more of a mess than it already is. He looks around the empty lot. If he had come just ten minutes earlier, this place would have been packed, but everyone’s already on their way to the office, leaving just Macie and us.
He takes a few sips of his coffee, then faces me again. “You’re being nice to me today. Haven’t told me to leave once. Why?”
“Am I?” I need something to busy my hands with, anything at all, so I grab the nearest rag and begin wiping down the countertop that’s completely spotless. “I hadn’t noticed.”
That’s a lie. I definitely noticed. Greer and I have never spoken this much before, at least not without an insult being thrown.
“Hang on…is this your way of thanking me? By being nice to me?”
Okay, so maybe subconsciously, that’s what I’m doing.
But also, Greer intrigues me. He’s just always so…unpleasant to be around. I want to know why. Plus, he damn near broke my kid’s heart last night, and I’m eager to figure out what’s bothering him so maybe it won’t affect his game any longer.
“I guess so.”
“I can think of a better way for you to thank me.”
I rear back, curling my lips up. “That is never going to happen.”
“What? You think I mean…” He leans in closer. “Sex?” He throws his head back, laughing and making me want to reach over the counter and slap him. “No. Definitely no. But I’m flattered that’s where your mind went.”
No? What the hell does he mean definitely no? I don’t want to sleep with him either, but definitely no? And said so sternly?
Screw him.
I glower at him and his stupid smiling face. “You can leave now, Greer.”
“But you haven’t heard my proposal.”
“And I really don’t want to.”
“Oh, but I think you do.” He points toward my daughter, who is back to lying on the bench of the picnic table, her face stuck in some hockey book. “It will benefit her.”
“How?”
“Free tickets to games.”
“Miller already beat you to that. Besides, we’re perfectly capable of buying our own, but thanks for insinuating I can’t afford that.”
“I wasn’t…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. But if free tickets are off the table, how about jerseys?”
“Yours?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “She wouldn’t want that. Trust me.”
“She hates me that much?”
I lift my shoulders. “Guess she has good taste.”
“Okay, fine, not mine. Other jerseys.”
“I can buy her jerseys.”
He groans. “You’re really killing me here.”
“Am I? Because you’re offering up a lot of stuff but not telling me what you’d want in exchange.”
“A date.”
I stop scrubbing at the already clean counter and lift my eyes to him. “Excuse me?”
“Be my date for the wedding.”
“Don’t make me gag.”
“Be my date for the wedding,” he repeats.
Holy shit. He’s serious. He’s like really serious.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s offended by me not falling at his feet.
“Well, for starters, I don’t even like you.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it, though? You’re not exactly the nicest guy ever.”
“I saved you.”
That’s the reminder I didn’t want.
“You know, it doesn’t really count as a nice gesture if all you’re going to do is throw it in my face.”
“That’s fair,” he says, his concession surprising me. “But you do owe me.”
“I do not. I already said thank you.”
“Except you didn’t. You were just nice to me, which isn’t the same thing.”
Crap. He has me there.
“How about this: if you’ll be my date, I won’t make you say thank you.”
“How about this: I’m not saying thank you because I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need you or anyone else to step in and rescue me like some helpless princess.”
He holds his hands up, the ice in his now half-empty cup jiggling around. “All right. Calm down, Kelly Clarkson.”
I lift my brows, unimpressed by his reference. “Again, go away, Greer.”
“I’ll coach her.”
“Huh?”
He nods toward Macie, who is still completely wrapped up in her book. “I’ll coach her. She’s a hockey fiend, right? I’m assuming you have her signed up for the youth league. I’ll coach her.”
“Do you have time for that?”
“No.”
“Then I––”
“I’ll make time.”
“Greer…”
“Steve…” he says in the same tone, and I want to yell at him for calling me Steve. Only Scout can do that, and she’s not supposed to do it either. That nickname was reserved for my father, who passed away a few years ago. She’s just lucky I like her.
Macie shuffles around on the table, and I drag my gaze back to my daughter, who doesn’t know I’m having a conversation that could change her entire life.
I didn’t sign her up for the youth league. She mentioned she wanted to play, but I know hockey isn’t cheap. I’m also not sure I’d have the time to take her to and from games. I’m only one person.
But if Greer is offering, it means she’d be getting training from a professional, something she probably needs since she’s ten and already behind the other kids who have been playing for years. She’d have an honest-to-God expert teaching her, something I’d never be able to afford. She would love it, even if it is Greer.
I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity for my daughter, especially when it’s going to cost me just one night of my life. What’s the worst that could happen? I get free drinks and dance by myself? I can deal with that.
“Come on,” Greer says. “I’m desperate here.”
“Wow. Way to make a girl feel special.”
“If I were you, I’d take it as a compliment that I’d rather spend my night with you than some woman I’d definitely be falling into bed with afterward.”
Images of Greer and me wrapped up in silk sheets—he’s rich, so I assume they’re silk—assault my mind. Worse, between my legs…
I give myself a shake, refusing to let it continue any longer. It’s Greer, for shit’s sake. I’m not interested in him at all. It’s just because I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. That’s all.
“Okay, if this is happening—and I haven’t said yes yet—we need rules, and that’s number one. I am not sleeping with you.”
“Why do you have to say it like that?” he asks.
“Like it’s the most disgusting thing I could ever think of?” He nods. “Because it is.”
He grabs his chest, taking a stumbling step backward. His feet dragging across the gravel has Macie lifting her head, her eyes narrowing on us like she’s trying to figure out what’s going on. It only lasts a second before her nose is buried back in her book.
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, and that’s saying something.”
“Trust me, Greer, I’ve bitten my tongue around you a lot. I have a lot of meaner things I could say.”
“Please.” He steps back up to the counter. “Tell me what I did to make you hate me so much.”
“For starters, you’re mean to my daughter.”
“She’s mean to me.”
“You’re upset a ten-year-old chirped you?”
“I’m just happy you know what chirping is. You’re going to make a great hockey mom.”
“A hockey mom? Why are you a hockey mom?”
Greer and I both jump at the sudden intrusion that is Macie. I didn’t even see her get up.
“Mom?” she asks impatiently when neither of us answers. “Why are you a hockey mom?”
She looks between me and the NHL goalie, her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them before, and that includes this last Christmas when Miller surprised her with all those tickets.
“She’s signing you up for hockey.”
“You are?!” Macie’s little voice rises about two octaves, and her feet come off the ground as she bounces up and down several times.
“And I’m going to coach you.”
The bouncing comes to an immediate halt as she stares up at Greer, her brows pinched tightly together. “You are?”
“Well, shit, don’t sound so excited about it.”
“You can’t say shit. You can say ass if you put jack in front of it, but you can’t say shit.”
“You just said shit twice,” Greer points out.
Her eyes widen as she looks up at me, terrified she’s about to get in trouble.
“Leave her alone, Greer.”
“Yeah, leave me alone, Greer,” Macie tells him, crossing her arms, looking mighty proud of herself.
“That’s about to be Coach Greer to you.”
Then, because he’s a grown-ass adult, he sticks his tongue out at her.
I shake my head at their antics. “Glad to see this relationship is off to a great start.”
“Does that mean yes?” Greer gazes up at me with hopeful eyes. I’ve never seen him look this desperate before. I want to say no to spite him.
“Yeah, does that mean you’re really signing me up for hockey, Mom?”
Crap. I can’t say no to Macie when she looks even more desperate for a yes than Greer does.
Do I have the time for hockey? Well, with my other job probably laying me off soon, yes…at least until I find something else.
Maybe we scrimp for a few months. Maybe we cut back on other activities, eat out less—not that we do that often now, but still. Hockey is important to Macie, and Macie is important to me. I want her to be happy. I want her to get everything she wants in life.
I can do this for her.
It’s just one date with Greer. I can survive that…right?
With a sigh, I say, “Yes. The answer is yes.”
“Yes!” Macie throws her hands in the air, jumping up and down over and over. “I’m going to play hockey!”
Greer watches her, and if I’m not mistaken, his lips twitch, clearly amused by her happiness. He nods toward her as she jumps away—literally—and says, “Her enthusiasm? That’s what’s happening on the inside for me.”
“You’re the grumpiest person I’ve ever met, so I highly doubt you’ve ever been that excited in your entire life.”
“One, you’ve met Smith, and he’s far grumpier than me. Two, I have too been that excited.”
“Name a time.”
“I got tickets to see The Lord of the Rings at midnight once. Best night of my life.”
“Including when you lost your virginity last month?”
“Hey, I’m not Miller.”
“You’re right. He’s prettier.”
His eyes narrow, but it’s not his usual pouty look. Instead, it’s something…else.
Before I can speculate any more, he changes the subject. “So, date—us.”
I sigh at the reminder. For a brief second, I forgot about my end of the bargain. “Unfortunately.”
A smirk pulls at his lips like he’s enjoying my pain. “You’re going to have fun.”
“I doubt that.”
He taps the counter twice. “I’ll be in touch, Steve.”
“Oh joy.”
Another smirk.
He turns and heads for the parking lot, but not before throwing a wave at Macie, who is still doing a little dance.
“Get some gear. You’ll need it.”
“Okay.”
“And nice braces,” he calls to her over his shoulder as he heads toward the parking lot.
Macie, used to assholes picking on her, flashes him a big smile. “They’re Comets colors, but another game like last night and I’m getting them changed!”
I swear I hear Greer laugh.
What the hell did I get myself into?
