Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (21 page)

“
Sept de chance
!”

Suddenly, a pathway to the counter of the brightly colored shop opened as if by magic, and Max made his way through while having a very easy and familiar conversation in pure Parisian French with someone who looked like he was in charge.

Kayleigh understood enough to figure out what was being said, basically eavesdropping as the two discussed how many macarons to get for…how many well fed people? And for how much money? Apparently not much as the guy in charge didn’t even let Max pay half of it.

“
Quand tu gagnes un médaille d’Or pour Les Bleus, mon ami
,” the well-dressed older gentleman said, “
ou un championnat avec les autres, tu vas l’amène ici
, OK?”

They wanted him to win a gold medal, hm?

Max thanked the gentleman, taking the bags he was offered, but also not commenting on the gold medal requests. Which was interesting. But not as interesting as the force of his grin, or how quickly he returned to her side, and the way he ushered her out of the store.

She didn’t say anything about what she’d seen until they’d gone outside, where the wind was still blowing and the chill sucking her dry. “So what was that?”

Max turned toward, her, leaned in and whispered. “A one man recruiting
comité
for the French Olympic team. He thinks I should…not try for Canada and go to play for France instead.”

She blinked and stared at him before leaning in. “France has a men’s ice hockey team? And you had that conversation in the middle of that huge crowd of people?”

He nodded. “Nobody…not so big deal about ice hockey in France, so…there…nobody expects, you know?”

She did, which didn’t phase her. To most people, France was many things; the Eiffel tower, the museums, the shopping, the food, the wine. Maybe soccer. Not ice hockey. “Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Does that happen often?”

He laughed. “The
comité
thinks they have a chance in…getting me to play. You know, the…grass is easier competition.”

The look on his face was so adorably confused that she didn’t correct him. “I think I get it,” she said. And then she took a deep breath. “Thanks for letting me come with you.”

This time, his smile was slow. “So can I walk you…home?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You can.”

They walked out of the pastry shop, her carrying her tote and her violin, him carrying the pastry box and a small bag that bore the name of the shop. It was a short distance between the shop and her apartment, and for once she wanted it to be longer. She was enjoying herself.

So much so that she decided to be a little bold. “So,” she said, “what do you have to do before the party?”

“My…uncle needs me to help out.”

The disappointment was probably clear in her face, because he leaned in toward her.

“I think he was lying about having a college kid to assist,” he whispered, “and was doing it himself for some reason. So I do it, you know? Keeps me…busy? Humble. So many stories of people who play…they lose their shot because they end up partying. I sweep instead.”

A small facet of his nature slowly revealed itself. He was a professional hockey player. By all rights, he should be spending the time he wasn’t playing or practicing doing other things. She admired him more because used those open moments in his schedule to help his uncle. “Aaaah. I see…”

And yet the more she understood him, the more she understood why he was doing what he did, the less she wanted to leave him. Which meant she asked a question that made her sound desperate. “So no audience required?”

He shook his head, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s…I…” He sighed. “It will be…a mess,” he assured her. “So…no.”

“So I’ll see you there?”

“Are we…here?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He was obviously upset; she could see it in his eyes. “Yeah,” she confirmed, gesturing toward the small building she lived in. “This is me.”

“So…”

“You could come up?”

He shook his head. “I have to go…downtown to the shop.”

“To sweep.”

He nodded. And maybe the disappointment in his expression echoed her own? Why? What the hell…

This had happened to her too many times; there had been too many situations where feelings weren’t expressed, and one person’s friendship was another’s heartbreak. But she had to ask. She had to know what was going on between them. Because then she’d know how to act around him. Maybe.

“So what is this?”

The words came out of her mouth before she could even begin to think about what she said.

He sighed, squeezed her hand and looked up at her. “I don’t know,” he answered. “
En vrai
…it really seems like…we are more than just getting along. But I…”

She sighed. Again. “Fine. Yeah. Whatever.”

He shook his head as she let his hand go, then stepped toward her and pulled her close. “I was not clear.”

She felt his breath on her cheek. She waited, saw the intensity in his eyes, like he was trying to decide what to do.

Kiss me or let me go already, will you?

And suddenly he did. She couldn’t think. Hell, she didn’t want to; she just wanted to feel. And, oh wow, did she feel. His hands, his lips, his tongue it…just was and…wow.

And when she pulled back, she felt a little better about herself, about life in general, and maybe love.

Max

Thankfully Alain had understood enough about the forgotten mandatory team gathering, with a little help from the email, to let him leave the shop after a ‘cursory’ sweep of the shop floor. Alain was also understanding enough that he let him put together a huge takeout container of poutine to bring to the party. He cradled it and the bag with the macarons as he got on the subway, headed downtown toward Brooklyn.

Finding his teammate’s townhouse wasn’t a problem. Dealing with the large amount of emotion that assaulted him when he walked inside was. He almost physically recoiled, something he hadn’t done in a long time. But he didn’t.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Chris told him as he took the bags. “They’re going to be amazing, but you didn’t have to.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t see myself coming to visit, you know, without anything.

“It’s a pleasure, rook. Really. Especially if the need to bring something made you do what I think it did.”

He blinked, confused. “Hm?”

His teammate sighed, pointed to the bag he’d picked up with Kayleigh. “My girlfriend will swallow those down in two seconds flat. From Paris. Damn, Lucky Seven.”

Relief. “Then,” he managed, “I leave these in your competent hands,
chef
.”

“Excellent.” Emerson nodded, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Beer is here, soda, everything. I think there’s a good Quebec beer in the fridge. Upstairs there’s both a dance floor and a video game tournament, chill rooms all over the house. Have fun, hm?”

Max popped into the living room, chatted with some people, then headed upstairs. He couldn’t deny he was looking for Kayleigh, but he wasn’t admitting it either. But he headed upstairs anyway, passing the room where he’d heard sounds from a video game, only to hear the driving beat of a recent pop song by a female singer about a clandestine rendezvous between two people who were hiding their relationship. He followed the music down the hall, where he saw a closed door.

As he opened the door, he could see that he’d found the room where they’d set up the dance floor. There were tons of people there, but he could see Kayleigh in the thick of it. She was gorgeous, bright, dancing to the beat with Melanie, his captain’s girlfriend. He wanted to join them, but if he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that he wanted to dance with Kayleigh; watching her from the sidelines wasn’t enough.

But dancing with her, on the dance floor her brother had set up in what was obviously Melanie’s office, was a horrible idea, slightly worse than the bottle of beer he held in his hands. Mixing too much alcohol with his
percée
was something he never wanted to experience again, having done it once. And yet.

He couldn’t stop watching her. He’d blame it on the song, but he knew that would be a lie. They weren’t the couple in the song; his hair wasn’t slicked back, he hadn’t been dumb enough to wear a white tee shirt to a crazy party; she wasn’t wearing red lipstick or a skirt. But she was Kayleigh, and that mattered.

He sighed, feeling the confused vibes from the people on the dance floor, knowing full well it
was
scary and weird he was just standing there, watching. So he took one sip from his beer bottle, making sure he labeled it, and put it down before making his way onto the dance floor. He followed the music, dancing along toward her.

“C’mon, rookie,” said one of the other people on the floor, a woman he remotely recognized from some music video. “Dance with me.”

But there was Kayleigh’s hand. “If he’s dancing with someone,” she said grinning, “it’s my responsibility as the sister of the host to make sure he’s enjoying himself. And I take my responsibilities seriously.”

He laughed, but let her pull him close. “Responsibility, mm?”

“Yep. I have a thing for sixties glam and confused francophones.”

“Confused?”

“You are, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, and danced with her, falling into the music, letting her sing into his ear. This was perfect.

Kayleigh

Kayleigh was dancing with Max, off to the side of the improvised dance floor. She hadn’t believed the set up would work, but her opinion of had changed dramatically once she’d started to take advantage of it.

She was still dancing when the song changed; the driving beat of the fun pop song had ended and given way to something else. Slow, fun, with a very laid back singer. She squealed when she recognized what it was.

“
Hein
?”

She reached up to put her arm on Max’s black T-shirt-covered shoulder. “I love this song,” she told him. It was a country song, bright, fun, about a late-night drive the singer wanted to take with the object of his affections. “Dance with me?”

“Thought I was,” he said, confused. “I mean.”

“Yeah. You are,” she grinned. She shook her jean-clad hips to the song. “But still…”

He nodded. Understanding. This was dangerous.

“One more trip ar0und the moon?” she sang along with the song.

And he nodded. Because she knew as well as he did that they were playing with fire; if Chris had an inkling of what was going on between them, he’d be pissed, and that was the last thing she wanted. So she stole a few more moments, and let him go when the song ended.

“See you later?” she said.

He nodded, smiling. “Off to the video game…to see how crazy it goes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t play? Apparently it’s good for reflexes.”

“I sweep instead,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’m a much better…cheerer at video games, you know?”

She did. And then he left the room before they could continue talking, before they could spend another minute together. And instead of thinking about that, and what it could mean, Kayleigh threw herself into the next song. Thankfully, it was a happy pop song about a breakup gone well. Then she decided that she didn’t want to stay at the party any longer. She was exhausted and not in the mood to drink, dance, or be around anything that would keep her from falling asleep.

She glanced down the hall, drawn by the happy sounds coming from Chris’s game room; the tournament, thankfully had been a great idea. People were smiling, and she was so glad her brother and his girlfriend had figured out a solution to the problem of a comfortable party. But Max was there, and unlike him, she wasn’t in the mood to watch people playing video games. She wanted to go home, and having made her decision, she headed downstairs.

Her brother was standing by the coat closet. “I’m heading out,” she told him, smiling.

Chris nodded. “Late night. You have to be up, right?”

Kay nodded back. Rehearsal wasn’t till late the next day, but if her brother was giving her an out, she’d gladly take it with the minimum of fuss. “Yep. I have early practice, so I need to get to bed.”

“You taking the subway?” Chris asked.

It was late, and when push came to shove, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with trying to remember which subway line was working and which one had decided to stop. “Gonna try and get a cab,” she said. Especially considering in this part of Brooklyn, one called taxis on the telephone. So much more convenient than standing for hours on a street corner. “You guys have a number you use, right?”

Chris looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Tonight you’re going to try and get a cab. Really?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m serious. More sense than trying to take the subway.”

He rolled his eyes for some inexplicable reason, as if he’d already decided to implement a solution that made sense to him and nobody else. Then he took a breath and looked around at the group that had gathered near the coat closet. “Rook,” he called.

There was only one rookie she knew on the team, one rookie who might be standing near the coat closet. “
Ouais
,” that one rookie said as he joined them. “What can I do,
chef
?”

Awkward. Nerve-wracking and awkward. She wondered whether Chris was blind or willfully ignoring the way the room had started to crackle. Or maybe it was just her.

“You live in Manhattan, right? Above La Poutinerie”

Max nodded, and she could see tension in him. Damn it. “
Ouais, chef
. I do.”

“Good. You need to escort my sister home. Right home. No funny business.”

“
Ouais, chef
,” he replied as he settled in beside her. She watched as his hands flexed and fisted beside her, then focused on his heavy exhale as he shoved those hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Kay. Eyes here,” Chris said.

She still didn’t like the expression on her brother’s face.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re OK with this, because it’s happening. Now.” He stepped toward her and put his arms around her. “Love you, little sis,” he said.