by Anna DePalo
Oh. Now he told her. Talk about pressure. Not only did Dante need Jordan on the ice—he was a big draw for the fans, obviously—but now there were other deadlines. For a big star like Jordan, his contract and endorsements would be everything.
She’d heard stories about his lucrative investments in business ventures, but still, she was sure that continuing to play hockey was integral to his plans. She knew about other sports celebrities who had gone on to invest in everything from franchises to restaurants to car dealerships, after playing as long as possible.
“Thanks for sharing,” she quipped.
Within the four walls of Astra Therapeutics, she’d almost forgotten what a different life he led from the one she did. It was about big money and celebrity and high stakes. Jordan’s physical prowess and athleticism had landed him at the pinnacle of professional sports.
“Have dinner with me,” he offered, “and I’ll tell you all about it. There’s a new place in town I’ve been meaning to try.” He shrugged. “But, you know, the knee injury put me off my game.”
“Another hockey pub? Angus will be jealous,” she parried before getting serious, because she needed to drive this point home. “And we’re not dating—remember? Saturday night was a never-to-be-repeated blip on the radar.”
“It’s not a date. It’s friends having dinner. And no, I have someplace a little more sophisticated in mind.”
Sera fought the little prick of awareness at his words. He was a master of the segue. “That was smoothly done.”
Just like the other night. She’d been replaying the feel of his hands moving over her...again and again. No...just no. She wouldn’t let herself go there. She was putting Saturday night into a tidy little box and sealing it tight. She took a deep breath. “We’re not even friends.” Are we?
“Okay, in-laws dining out,” he responded, but the gleam in his eyes said he recognized she hadn’t said no yet.
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.”
“Sure we do.” He consulted his watch. “We’ve talked our way through this therapy appointment. Time flies.”
She looked heavenward. Were all the Serenghettis this stubborn?
“There’s plenty to discuss. The latest news from our joint family for one,” he said, counting on the fingers of his hand again. “And your aversion to hockey and wariness around men.”
Around him. “I have nothing against hockey.”
“What about men?”
She sighed. “I’m not allergic to men. Saturday night should have put that notion to rest.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.”
She took another deep breath. “Obviously, physical therapy isn’t the only type you need. We need to add mindfulness because you have to learn to live in the present and stop cycling back to the past.”
“I am living in the moment. And aren’t you the one caught in a loop about being burned in the past?”
Back to that, were they? Still, she knew Jordan was only guessing if he was referring to anything beyond their kiss on a beach. There was no way he could know about Neil.
“I want to prove you wrong about me.”
She was suspicious, cautious...curious. “Why?”
Jordan gave a small smile. “You’re funny and smart. You’re a hard worker who went back to school to earn her degree while putting up with smart alecks like me at the Puck & Shoot. You’re caring. You trained for a profession that makes a difference in people’s lives.”
She started to melt and then straightened her spine. Still, she couldn’t help asking, “Smart alecks? How about glib lotharios?”
He leaned forward, his look intensifying. “I know I have a reputation, but the other night between us was special. I’ve never felt a connection that fast with a woman before.”
“Because I’m good with a comeback?”
“Angel with a smart mouth, yeah. You’re one of a kind.”
How many times had she wanted to be special and valued for herself? And she especially didn’t want to be known as Sera who needed to be protected—as her family saw her. Still, she had to keep these sessions focused on business—she had her work reputation to think about, even if Bernice was the kind of boss to appreciate a good-looking guy. “I’m a therapist, and you’re my client. We have to keep this professional.”
“We are. I’ve been doing the homework that you’ve assigned.”
Sera nearly threw up her hands. He was persistent and had a counterargument for everything.
“I hear that you box,” Jordan teased. “I’d ask you to meet me for a date at Jimmy’s Boxing Gym so we can hit the punching bags together. It’s one of my regular haunts but—” he nodded at his knee with an apologetic expression “—I doubt I’m up to that kind of exercise yet.”
“Let’s take a rain check, then,” she said, dodging the invitation before glancing at the clock on the wall. “I’m about to be late for my next appointment.”
Jordan looked at her as if he saw right through her.
She wished she could take that rain check for their therapy sessions. Because if Jordan kept on with the charm offensive, it was going to be hard to keep up her walls against him...
* * *
By the next week’s session on Wednesday afternoon, as he waited for Sera’s arrival, Jordan had realized he needed a plan B. The problem was he’d so rarely had to resort to a backup strategy where women were concerned, he wasn’t even sure what plan B was. Except that he needed one.
Ever since their fateful Saturday night encounter, he couldn’t get Sera out of his mind. Her scent lingered, her touch tantalized, her taste made him yearn for more. Sometimes a great memory was a curse. He must have been an ignoramus eight years ago.
The direct approach—an invitation to dinner—hadn’t worked with Sera. She wasn’t biting, so he needed to sweeten the offer for her. How? Couldn’t Cole and Marisa invite some family over for the baby’s sleeping-through-the-night celebration or something? He’d debated his options, had searched his brain during interminable repetitions of his physical-therapy routine at home—when all he could think about was her—and had finally come up with a scenario that involved recruiting his mother.
Needing help from his mother to score a date was as low as he’d ever gone. Frankly, it was embarrassing and humbling...and all part of the new territory he was in with Sera.
When Sera entered the treatment room, her expression was all business. Still, she looked fresh and perky and delicious. He now knew she responded to him as no other woman ever had. She was attuned to him on a level he’d never experienced before. So it made it impossible to even pay lip service to her ridiculous plan to forget that Saturday night ever happened.
“Nice move leaving my car keys with the security desk in my building,” he observed.
She swept her hair off her shoulder. “Thank you again for the loan of a set of wheels. My car is out of the shop.”
“Congratulations. But I thought I’d at least find some memento of your stay.” He shrugged. “You know, a forgotten lip balm or a pair of sunglasses. Or at least your lingering scent on the upholstery.”
“I wasn’t able to do a complete makeover in a few days,” she deadpanned right back. “Your imprint was hard to eradicate.”
He loved her sass. “But you tried?”
“I’m sure you’d like to be considered unforgettable.”
“I’ll settle for immortality,” he teased.
She scrolled on the tablet she’d brought to their session this time instead of a clipboard with paperwork.
He eyed her. “I’ve got a request.”
She looked up. “I give you points for being direct.”
Jordan laughed as he leaned against the treatment table. If Sera wanted to pretend their close encounter hadn’t happened or was an anomaly, then he was willing to play any of the li
mited cards he had left. “I’d like you to appear on my mother’s cooking show.”
Sera’s eyes widened. “What? You can’t be serious.”
He shrugged. “Consider it a thank-you for the use of my car.”
“Sneaky.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, Marisa may have appeared on the program once, but it’s not for me. I’ve caught your mother’s show a few times on television, and I consider it a spectator sport.”
“My mother’s station is under new management. Mom is worried about being canceled and wants to make a good impression. And I’m trying to help her out by coming up with some ideas.”
“Why doesn’t she just switch to online? She can go viral.” Nevertheless Sera contemplated him thoughtfully. “Still, it’s nice of you to try to help her.”
“I was an Eagle Scout. Good deeds are my forte.”
“Are you sure you want to involve your mother? Who knows what I might tell her?”
He smiled lazily. “That’s the point. You’ll be on the show, so I’ll be on my best behavior...because you’ll be doing me a kindness.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” she remarked drily.
“And it’ll be a good show,” he pressed. “Just what my mother needs right now.”
“How do you know I’d be appropriate? I might burn the calzones.”
“C’mon, you bring homemade dishes to the office, and your coworkers praise your cooking.” He’d found a bargaining chip in her baked ziti.
“Remind me to tell them not to be so loose-lipped,” Sera grumbled, nevertheless looking flattered. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Jordan snapped his fingers as an idea hit. “You might teach me how to cook. There’s no format yet, but the audience would eat up a show about a pro hockey player bumbling his way through the kitchen.”
“Well, somehow I doubt any acting would be involved on your part. But anyway, your mother can teach you how to cook on the show.” Sera frowned. “In fact, why hasn’t she?”
“When the equivalent of Julia Child is at home, why would she let anyone else mess around in the kitchen?” He shrugged. “Besides, I was always at hockey practice. I only made my own breakfast when I slept in. Everyone was doing what they did best. Mom in the kitchen, me on ice.”
She smiled too sweetly. “You remember that scene in one of the Star Wars movies where Han Solo undergoes carbon-freezing...?”
“I know you’d love to put me on ice—” his expression turned seductive “—but you’ve heated me up instead.”
“Jordan—”
“I like my name on your lips almost as much as your hair down.” Instead of her usual ponytail, her hair was swinging loose for a change. Somehow, even with the scrubs she was wearing, the style made her look seductive. He fought the urge to touch her.
As if on cue, she held up a staying hand, and he schooled his expression.
“Right. Behave.”
“As if you can.”
“I’m trying. And your appearance on my mother’s cooking show would help hold me to the bargain.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Let’s get started on your exercises for today.”
He flashed a grin. “So that’s a yes? You’ll do it?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Your behavior. Fortunately, we’re already in phase two of your rehabilitation.”
“Great, so you’re rehabilitating my knee and my playboy ways at the same time. Impressive.”
She arched her brows. “I didn’t say yes, but just call me a multitasker anyway. Today we’ll be focusing on improving your strength base and balance.”
As it turned out, the exercises she introduced him to in the gym were some he was familiar with from his pre-injury workouts. He had no trouble with leg squats and glut extensions, and then the various resistance exercises that she threw at him. All the while, Sera evaluated and corrected his body alignment and positioning.
Jordan concentrated on keeping his mind on the exercises. Focus was something that he normally excelled at, but with Sera nearby, he found that his concentration was shot. Instead, his mind wandered to the fullness of her lips, the softness of her skin and the pleasure of her occasional touch.
“We’re looking for symmetry of right and left in your gait,” she told him.
And he was looking for a yes to his proposition, so he aimed to please. At the end of their session, he couldn’t resist asking, “So how did I do?”
“Great.”
He winked. “And my reward is...?”
“I’ll speak to the agent who handles my public appearances and get back to you.”
He just laughed—because he was willing to chalk up anything other than an outright no as a win.
Eight
Sometimes it was good to catch up with teammates. Marc Bellitti and Vince Tedeschi lived just outside Springfield, where the Razors were based, so even in the off-season, they were good for an occasional beer at the Puck & Shoot, or for lunch like they were having today at another of their customary haunts, MacDougal’s Steakhouse.
Except today, Jordan had a motive for asking them to meet up. “I need your help.”
With a cooking show. He’d debated how to float the idea of making an appearance on her program to his mother. He knew she’d be delighted to have one of her children back on the air. And Jordan’s star power in particular couldn’t hurt—just as when his new sister-in-law, Chiara Feran, the Hollywood actress, had gone on the show. Debating what tactic he’d take since talking to Sera and finally getting a tentative commitment, he’d hit upon the idea of a cooking competition—among hometown-team hockey players. Sort of like Iron Chef with an ice-puck spin, and Sera as the judge. Brilliant. His mother had loved it.
All he needed was to recruit a couple of his teammates—and c’mon, they had to have time to burn in the off-season, and a little positive publicity couldn’t hurt.
“When don’t you need our help?” Marc joked, snagging a remaining fry from their burger lunch. “Need advice on how to talk to women? I’m your man.”
If there was anyone who could best him in the smart-aleck department, it was Marc. But Jordan held his fire, because—as much as this pained him—he needed Marc to play along here. And not in the way his teammate probably imagined. Aloud, he said, “It involves Vince, too.”
From across the table, the Razors’ goalie held up his hands. “I’m good. Whatever scheme you two are coming up with, count me out.”
“Vince, if it’s about women, believe me, you could use all the help you can get,” Marc shot back.
On that score, Jordan had to agree. Vince Tedeschi was a big, hulking, taciturn guy. He was the team’s rock, but he let others do the razzle-dazzle.
“It’s ’cause you’re such a straight arrow that you’re perfect for this gig, Vince,” Jordan said.
“Which is?” the goalie asked warily.
“I need you and Marc to cook.” Jordan paused. “On air. On my mother’s show.”
Vince groaned.
“Hey, you’re used to being on television.”
“But not cooking, man.”
“It’ll impress the ladies. They’ll be calling and writing in.”
Vince knitted his brow. “What’s the demographic of Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti? My grandmother watches.”
Next to Vince, Marc swallowed a snort. “And there’s your answer right there.”
“You won’t be the only ones on it.”
Now Marc looked intrigued.
“My physical therapist will be judging our cook-off.”
Now Marc burst out laughing. “Great, I’ll have a chance to kick your butt on air.”
“Yeah, think of it as a golden opportunity,” Jordan said drily.
Marc liked to indulge in the occa
sional prank, and Jordan had had his butt slapped by a hockey stick on more than one occasion.
“You’ve recruited your physical therapist, too?” Vince seemed perplexed.
“Serafina Perini,” Jordan said. “She’s an in-law.”
Marc’s brows shot up. “Do tell.”
Jordan shrugged. “She’s Cole’s wife’s cousin.”
Vince grumbled. “Jeez.”
Marc raised his hand. “Hold up, Tedeschi. Is this Serafina under eighty?”
“Yup.” Jordan was tight-lipped.
“Single.”
“Yeah.” Jordan didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading.
“Attractive?”
Jordan narrowed his eyes.
Marc rubbed his chin again. “Sounds like a woman to get to know.”
And Jordan was feeling the urge to rearrange Marc’s pretty face. He hadn’t been able to get Sera out of his mind ever since their night together. Being around her was like a euphoric high that he’d only experienced one other place—on the ice. He was restless to see her, touch her, spar with her again.
“Wait, wait.” Marc rubbed his chin. “Serafina Perini is ringing a bell... Was she the gorgeous ash-blonde poured into a satin dress at Cole and Marisa’s surprise wedding?”
The way Jordan saw it, Marc’s great memory could be a pain in the ass sometimes. He made a mental note not to invite the Razors’ defenseman to any other weddings—not that he was planning to host one himself. “Her hair is a honey blond.”
“You noticed.” Marc flashed a knowing and triumphant grin.
“Just setting the record straight.”
“Hey, is this the same Serafina who recently waitressed at the Puck & Shoot?” Vince suddenly piped up. “That woman you were chatting up during our last time there addressed the waitress as Serafina, and that’s kind of an unusual name.”
Jordan bit back a grimace—now Vince had to get all verbose on him? “I was not chatting up Danica. She walked over to me, and I was being polite.”
