Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (5 page)

“I’ll just keep running, then. I can wait.”

“Right.” Nathalie shook her head and turned to the massage table where an older woman was waiting for a session.

Brody hit the Tarrytown streets, trying hard not to let the impatience in his stomach get the best of him.

By the time he return to the Center an hour later, he was sweating, breathing hard, and still so impatient he couldn’t stand still. What the hell was it about Ann that scattered his focus?

He was going to get his ass cut if he kept up like this.

His team needed him. He wasn’t a superstar player, like Semenov or Emmerson or Jahr, but he was a grinder and a good defenseman. He was also one hell of a fighter. Because of that, it was his job to make sure the other team played nice and when they didn’t, he took care of the problem. It meant a lot of time in the penalty box, but he was happy to do it for his teammates. During his brief time in the NHL, he’d built a reputation for aggression on the ice, and it meant his team was safer.

That aggression came from focus and a very solid sense of justice. But without the focus, he wouldn’t do his team any good.

During the long, hard run, he recognized he was more…invested in what happened with Ann than he should be after one date. Women were a wonderful part of his life and he enjoyed their company, but they never interfered with his work or his concentration. No one had ever distracted him during a practice session before, or set him this much on edge just because he couldn’t be instantly in contact with them.

That should have been enough to push him in the opposite direction from the good Dr. Bell.

It wasn’t. Which meant somewhere during their train ride and lunch, he’d grown a lot more attached to her than he’d expected. And he had to see where that took him, no matter what.

His brother was going to get a huge laugh out of this.

Nathalie found him when he emerged from the locker room where he’d gone to shower so he didn’t offend her with his stench.

“She’s agreed I can give you her number.”

He breathed out in relief and grinned.

“But she’s asked that you not call her for at least a week.”

So much for relief. “Why?”

“She has some things to do first.”

“Like?”

“Like none of your business.”

“I knew it. She does have a boyfriend, doesn’t she?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then what?”

“If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you. In the meantime, leave her alone if you don’t want to drive her off.”

He grunted. If not for that last jab, he probably still would have called before the week was out. Now he
had
to wait.

“Fine.” He considered Nathalie a moment. “She’s your sister, but you two don’t look a lot alike.”

“Same mother different fathers. I took after my father—fortunately.”

“Ah. That bad, huh?”

“None of your business, either.”

He made a face. Nathalie and Semenov were notorious for protecting their privacy. Even though he played on the same team with Semenov, he didn’t really know The Wall very well.

“So are you and Ann close?” he asked.

“So nosey. No. Not at the moment.”

“But you might be?”

“Brody, if you want to know more about Ann, you’re going to have to ask her yourself. Next week. When she’s ready to talk to you.”

“But you know why she wants to wait?”

“I do.”

“Is there any way at all I can bribe you into telling me? Food? Jewelry? A good book?”

“That’s a wide range of bribes—all of which are nice offers, though Alex will kick your ass if you give me jewelry.”

“I’d risk it.”

“I can’t be bribed. Be patient with her. She’s going through things that will require time. You’re not going to be able to rush her.”

“I hate waiting,” he said with groan.

She patted him on the arm. “I know.” Then she handed him a folded piece of paper and went back to work.

He stared at the paper. He wasn’t known for his patience. But Ann was worth it. He’d just have to find things to do to keep occupied.

Training. Training would keep him busy. Lots and lots of training.

As the Empires hit the locker room after another win, Semenov stopped Brody just inside the door, out of the way of any milling reporters. The bright, blue room smelled of sweat, soap, and melting ice—Brody’s favorite scents. At least before he’d met Ann.

The clanking crash of dropping gear and loud conversation made Brody smile. He loved winning. He loved the way the locker room felt after a win.

“What’s up?” he asked his goalie.

“Great game. Little rough on that winger.”

“He shouldn’t have taken Dobrynin out. Poor bastard might be out for weeks with that injury.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t deserved. Glad you did it. But you were a little more…aggressive than usual. Even for you. Anything you want to talk about?”

He frowned. “What’s Nathalie told you?”

“You’re interested in her sister.”

“Is this the part where you try and scare me off?”

“Why would I do that?”

“She’s your fiancée’s sister.”

“Whom I’ve only met once. If Nathalie tells me to drop kick you to New Jersey for hurting her sister, I will. But otherwise, I don’t care who you date.” He leveled a hard look on Brody, his blue eyes as sharp as ice chips. “Unless it interferes with your performance on the ice.”

“Are you saying it did tonight?” He was starting to get a little pissed off—which didn’t happen often off the ice.

“No. You played great tonight. Just more intense than usual.”

“I take the game seriously.” But he flinched, knowing he was bullshitting Semenov. “Fine. I’ve been distracting myself with work. She made me wait the week before I could call her.”

“Nathalie’s sister?”

He grunted a yes.

“When are you allowed to call?”

“Tonight.”

Semenov nodded at one of their teammates when he shouted something rude at him. “Better get on the phone, then,” he said and smacked Brody on the arm before heading to his locker.

Brody grinned and glanced at the clock. He should probably shower first, but a week of keeping his impatience in check had been more than enough time. He snatched his cell from his locker and went back out into the echoing corridor, still in full gear, moving away from the reporters hovering around the entrance.

She answered after only two rings.

“I saw you play tonight,” she said without waiting for him to tell her who was calling.

That made him grin wider. She’d been expecting his call and knew it was him. For some reason, that was as thrilling as their win.

“What’d you think?” he asked, leaning against the hard concrete wall.

“You’re very…dangerous.”

He chuckled. “Only to other hockey players. Not my teammates.”

She made a non-committal kind of humming sound that wasn’t exactly agreement. “Is that one player going to be OK?”

Dobrynin took a serious enough hit, he’d had to be carried off the ice. Brody ensured retribution was paid to the opposing player and had spent five minutes in the box for it.

“He’ll be out for a few weeks,” Brody said. “Maybe longer. But he’ll be OK.”

“I’m sorry.” She paused.

He wanted to say something into the silence, but instinct had him waiting her out.

“I didn’t realize how…violent hockey was.”

Brody frowned. His gut tightened with just a hint of worry. “Does it bother you?” She sounded like she wasn’t saying something.

“No. Just, you were so easygoing last week. I wasn’t expecting you to be so…mean, I guess.”

“Mean? I wasn’t mean. I was just doing my part for the team.”

“You slammed that man into the glass pretty hard. And then punched him. A lot.”

“He hurt my teammate. It’s what I do.”

“He made you angry?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Are you still mad?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Because I hit him back, and then everything was even.”

“Do you get angry like that…when you’re not playing?”

Ah. He was starting to understand. Maybe. “The me you met last week is the man I really am. I only beat people up on the ice—and only when it’s justified by something they’ve done.”

“You threatened to kick your own twin’s ass.”

“Well. He’s my brother. That doesn’t count. We’ve spent our lives beating each other up.”

She fell silent.

“Hey, I’m not violent by nature,” he said, wondering if she heard the edge of panic in his voice. “I promise.”

More silence. Then, quieter, “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” He glanced at his swollen knuckles and shrugged. She didn’t need to know about that. “Were you worried about me?”

“Maybe a little.”

He let his shoulders relax. “Good. I have hope for us.”

“Why did you want to call me?”

He pulled the phone back to frown at it before answering. “Because I like you. And I didn’t like how things ended after our date.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”

He chuckled. “That wasn’t what I was talking about and you know it. Give me another chance?”

“Meaning?”

“Go out with me again. Tonight.”

“I can’t. I have work tomorrow. Early.”

“Fine. Saturday night, then.”

“Don’t you have a game on Sunday afternoon?”

“I still have to eat Saturday night. Dinner. You like food. I like feeding you.” When she didn’t answer for a long moment, he said, “Please. I’d really like to see you again.”

Her resigned sigh was loud enough he grinned.

“OK. Dinner. Saturday. I’ll meet you. Where are we going?”

“You like Mexican?”

“I’m from Texas. I was bottle fed Mexican food.”

He gave her an address in the Village. “You’ll love this place. Excellent guacamole.”

“Sounds good.”

Her voice softened, and he pretended he’d made her smile.

“Have a good night,” she murmured and disconnected before he could say more.

Didn’t matter. He was going to see her on Saturday. That was enough hope to keep him happy for the rest of the week.

Ann tried not to fidget as she waited in front of the restaurant. Cold air kissed her cheeks, probably turning her nose red, while the scents of the restaurant behind her made her mouth water. The Village was bustling, with people laughing and shouting as they passed, hands in pockets against the chilly wind.

Staying close to the restaurant wall, she let the waves of people flow by as she practiced her breathing. Nerves jumped around her belly, a sign of potential trouble if she didn’t concentrate. But the week of working with Nathalie and her father, Mr. Mendez, had helped. She felt a little more in control—at least, she didn’t feel like she might burn something down at any moment.

She spotted Brody easily as he sauntered toward her. He was hard to miss at 6’7”. As usual, a few people stopped him and shook his hand. But most of his attention was on her as he approached, an intensity that had her stomach muscles tightening in anticipation.

He was criminally handsome. Really, no one should be that good looking in real life. Even in New York where movie stars and super models walked the streets. Despite telling herself to take a step back from the emotions battering her, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And the closer he got, the more her excitement and anticipation built.

Flexing her hands, she pushed away from the wall to greet him, unable to resist smiling back at his grin.

“You showed,” he said.

“You were worried?”

“Hell, yeah. You didn’t sound entirely sure about this on the phone.”

“I wasn’t. But I wouldn’t have left you standing here without calling.”

His grin softened. “I knew I liked you.” He motioned to the glass door entrance. “Shall we?”

He held the door for her, and then held her seat when they were shown a table in a private corner of the restaurant. The place was comfortable without being too large, with a casual ambiance of Tex-Mex kitsch, quiet Spanish music in the background, and all of it highlighted by a delicious spicy scent. The light level was low enough to feel intimate, without being so low she couldn’t see her menu.

“Very nice,” she said.

“Glad you approve. The food is fantastic. Best I’ve had in New York. So far.”

“So far?”

“I’m working my way through as many restaurants as possible while I’m here. Don’t want to miss anything.”

She sighed. “That sounds like the best way to experience New York I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re more than welcome to join me on my odyssey. In fact, I’d love to have you with me.”

He held her gaze, no longer smiling, his expression too serious for a second date.

“You still don’t make any sense to me,” she murmured, focusing on her menu.

“What’s bothering you now?”

He sounded casual enough, almost amused, as if she’d mentioned a joke. So she wasn’t sure if he actually cared about her answer or not. She risked a glance up. He was also studying his menu.

She released a breath. “You’re very scary on the ice. Vicious.”

“I get paid well to play that way.”

“But off the ice, you’re so…easy.”

“I am not easy.”

She smiled at his mock-offense. “I meant easygoing. You chat with perfect strangers. You smile a lot. You joke a lot. How can you be so aggressive one moment and so laid back the next? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought. Hockey is just a game—I mean it’s my job and I’m very serious about my job. I take the games seriously. I play hard. I want to win and I want to take care of my teammates. But when I’m off the ice, it’s not like I feel the need to go around hitting people.”

“But how do you separate those parts of yourself?” She looked up then, really wanting to know.

She felt so split down the middle. All the time. Most of her numb so she wouldn’t hurt anyone, but a part of her chafing at those restrictions and wanting to throw caution to the wind. She’d never dared before. Being out with Brody a second time was the closest she’d come to this kind of risk. So how did he contain the violence he showed during a game and not let it spill into his ordinary life?