Playing It Cool: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 8)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  But Bryan's kiss—now that had her considering much more than just a second date.

  "Judging by that smile on your face, I'd say the other night went well."

  Pamela's eyes shot open and she sat forward so fast, the chair actually banged against the desk. She dipped her head, hoping Anita couldn't see the furious blush heating her face, and quickly grabbed the stack of papers by her elbow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Mm-hmm." Anita hung her coat on the hook by the door, tossed her tote bag by the desk, then dropped into the empty chair. "Your blush tells me otherwise. Soooo—how'd it go?"

  "I'm just glad he wasn't a serial killer, especially after the way you abandoned me."

  "Oh, please. I didn't abandon you. And I wouldn't have left you if I thought there was even the slightest chance he might be a serial killer. Besides, I wrote his tag number down just in case."

  "Like that would have done me any good."

  "I would have made sure the police questioned him."

  "Gee, thanks."

  "That's what friends are for." Anita waved a hand through the air then leaned forward, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "Now tell me everything. I need details."

  "There's nothing to tell."

  Disappointment flashed in her friend's eyes. "Nothing?"

  "No, nothing. We had dessert and coffee after you left then he took me home."

  "You mean like, actual dessert? At the restaurant?"

  "Of course."

  "And that was it?"

  "What else were you expecting?"

  "I don't know. Something a little more exciting than dessert and coffee."

  "Like sex?"

  "Well, yeah."

  Pamela rolled her eyes then nudged the wireless mouse to waken the computer. "That wouldn't have happened no matter what and you know it."

  "A woman can hope, can't she?" Anita pushed her toe against the floor and slowly rolled the chair in a small circle. "So other than the boring no-sex part, what did you think?"

  "It was..." Pamela paused, tilting her head to the side as she tried to find the right word. Fun? Interesting? Exciting? "Enjoyable."

  "Enjoyable?"

  "Yes. Enjoyable."

  "That sounds boring."

  "Since when does enjoying something mean boring?"

  "Since I was hoping for something a lot juicier than dessert and coffee."

  "Anita, I just met the man. Sex was never in the cards and I have no idea why you thought it might be."

  "Because he's extremely attractive and you two seemed to hit it off."

  "He is, and we did."

  "Well did you at least get a good-night kiss?"

  Pamela was helpless to stop the small smile spreading across her face—or the warm blush heating her cheeks. "Maybe."

  "Ha! That expression isn't saying maybe—it's saying 'holy hell, I want more and I want it now.'. That good, huh?"

  She didn't bother answering—she didn't have to, not when she knew Anita could read everything on her face. Pamela folded her arms on the desk and leaned forward with a little smile. "He asked me out again Thursday night."

  Anita did a fist pump in the air then spun her chair around with a small laugh. "Yes! I was hoping he'd ask you out again. I need details, woman. Now."

  "There aren't any."

  "What do you mean, there aren't any? You just said he kissed you. And asked you out again. You can't leave me hanging like this."

  "Yes, I can. I don't kiss-and-tell and I don't have any details for Thursday. All I know is that he's picking me up at five."

  "Why so early?"

  "Because he needs to leave early Friday to go out of town. The man does work, you know."

  "He's a hockey coach. How much work can that even be? Show up to the games on the weekend and that's it. Isn't it?"

  "I have no idea but I think it's more complicated than that. And I don't think it's just the weekends, either."

  "Hunh. Guess I never thought about it."

  "There's nothing to really think about. At least, not as far as that goes." Pamela nodded toward the files on her desk. "But I do have an idea I want to run by you for here."

  "I guess this means our conversation about the hunky hockey coach is over?"

  "Yes. We have more important things to discuss—like our business."

  "I'd rather discuss your potential new love life."

  "Anita!"

  "Okay, okay. Fine. I can wait until Friday. Hopefully you'll have something juicier to share by then." She rolled her chair toward Pamela's desk, all business now as she glanced at the scattered paperwork littering the surface. "What did you want to discuss?"

  "Sales are historically slower on Friday and Saturday nights."

  "Yeah? We mostly knew that going in, especially in this area. That's why we close at nine each night. What about it?"

  "What if we offer some kind of entertainment on one of those nights? Just once a month to start, to gauge interest and feasibility."

  Anita looked up, a frown on her face. "What kind of entertainment? You don't mean music, do you?"

  "No. At least, not like what you're thinking, and not to start."

  "Then what?"

  Pamela grabbed her notebook from the top drawer of her desk and flipped it open, then started outlining the barest details of her idea. But her mind kept wandering in circles, going back to Anita's last comment no matter how much she tried to steer away from it.

  Hopefully you'll have something juicier to share by then.

  But would she? It was just a date. A second date. Except for that delectable kiss goodnight, Bryan had been a perfect gentleman the entire evening. She didn't think he was the type to move so fast—at least, not fast enough to provide Anita with the juicy details she so obviously wanted. And even if he was, she wasn't the type who would eagerly go along with that pace.

  Or would she? She suddenly realized she didn't know if she would or if she wouldn't.

  And she wasn't as bothered by that realization as much as she would have been a month ago.

  Chapter Six

  Pamela's hand curled around the ball. Soft. Smooth. Hard and surprisingly cool against her palm. A deep breath. One more as she focused and told herself she could do this. It had been a while, maybe too long, but how hard could it really be? It was just like riding a bike, right?

  She extended her arm behind her, took three quick steps, then released the ball as she staggered and nearly tripped. The ball bounced once then rolled slowly down the lane, veering to the right before dropping into the gutter with an embarrassing plop.

  Pamela covered her face with her hands and swallowed back her laughter. "Oh, this is so horrible."

  Bryan's laughter echoed behind her, warm and easy and close. She turned around, gazed up into laughing green eyes as her face heated with something besides embarrassment.

  "I wouldn't say that. Your form was top-notch that time. I especially liked the little hop-skip at the end." He placed his hand against the middle of her back and veered her toward the plastic seats at the top of their lane. Her skin heated from the brief touch and she had to keep herself from leaning in closer. From pressing herself against him. From seeing if his entire body radiated as much heat as that single touch from his hand.

  She gave herself a mental shake and stepped away before giving in to the uncharacteristic temptation. "That wasn't a hop-skip, that was me tripping. Not my most graceful moment."

  Amusement danced in his eyes, mingling with the same warmth she had glimpsed several times earlier this evening. "No? It looked pretty graceful to me."

  "Then you need glasses."

  "I have some, actually."

  "Then you need to put them on because that most definitely was not graceful." Pamela reached for her drink and raised it to her mouth, took a small sip and looked around. It wasn't out of curiosity so much, but rather a need to break the eye contact with Bryan. Those moments had been happening more frequently and she w
asn't quite sure what to make of them, if she was reading more into them than she should. It wasn't just the lingering looks but the accidental touches: the way their fingers brushed when he handed her a drink; the way their shoulders touched when he sat next to her on the plastic bench; the way his hand brushed against hers when they both reached for a ball at the same time.

  And it was the not-so-accidental ones, too, like the way Bryan had placed his hand in the middle of her back a moment ago. She had a feeling he would have left it there, maybe even pulled her closer, if she hadn't stepped away so abruptly. Part of her wondered why she'd done that.

  Another part of her called her a coward.

  She wasn't, not really. She just didn't know what to expect. No, that wasn't even it. If she was honest with herself, she was worried that maybe she expected too much. Maybe he wasn't as interested as she thought he might be. Maybe she was reading too much into things. Maybe she was more interested than she wanted to admit.

  And maybe she just needed to stop mentally arguing with herself and relax and enjoy the evening. They were having fun. Couldn't she just leave it at that?

  She curled both hands around the plastic glass and watched as Bryan reached for one of the bowling balls. They were playing duckpin but the ball still managed to look even smaller than it really was, dwarfed by the size of his hand. He had nice hands, she realized. Big and strong, with long fingers and neatly-trimmed nails. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up instead of a suit; she could see the way the muscles of his forearms bunched and rolled as he adjusted his grip on the bowling ball.

  Her gaze dipped lower, admiring the way the dark denim hugged his rounded butt and strong thighs. There was a masculine grace in the way he moved, in the way his stride lengthened as he approached the top of the lane and in the way he cradled the ball in one hand until it was time to release it.

  The ball sailed along the polished surface of the lane, hitting the pins and scattering them with surprising speed and accuracy. Pamela watched the last one disappear into a dark void then raised both brows when Bryan turned back to her with a grin.

  "I think someone has been holding back all night."

  "Just a fluke."

  "Now why don't I believe that?"

  "It's all about technique. Anyone can do it."

  "Mm-hmm." Pamela pulled the last sip of her drink through the straw then placed the glass to the side. "Anyone being everyone but me, you mean."

  "No, even you. Come here, I'll show you."

  She watched him for a few seconds, ignoring the flash of heat in his gaze and the way her heart tripped and stuttered in her chest. Then she pushed to her feet and made her way over to him, reached around him and grabbed one of the balls from the rack. "Then show me this fool-proof technique of yours."

  "I never said it was fool-proof."

  She raised one brow in amusement then held the ball out to him. "Show me."

  He laughed, the sound low and warm and rich, then stepped closer. One large hand closed over her shoulder, spinning her so her back was to his front. Heat from his body wrapped around her and she forced herself to take a deep breath, to focus on his words instead of...well, instead of everything else about him.

  "You're too tense. I noticed the way you hunch your shoulders around your ears right before you let go."

  "Tense?"

  "Yes, tense." The fingers of the hand resting on her shoulder dug into tight muscles. Shivers raced over her, pebbling her skin and making her grateful for the long sleeve sweater she was wearing. Maybe he noticed anyway because his other hand briefly tightened over hers a split second before he cleared his throat and took a half-step back.

  "Just focus on where you want the ball to go. Pull your arm back, then bring it forward, like this—" He eased her arm behind her then slowly guided it in the opposite direction. "Then release."

  She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze locking with his. "Release?"

  "Um, yeah." He stepped back and crossed his arms in front of him. Was it a trick of the neon lighting in the bowling alley, or was that the faintest of blushes staining his cheeks?

  It was the lighting. It must be, because why on earth would he be blushing? Pamela knew why her face was heating but she couldn't imagine anything that would make the man behind her blush.

  She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the bowling ball cradled in her hands. It was easier to focus on that than to let her mind wander in a direction she wasn't sure she wanted to take yet.

  If she wanted to take that direction at all.

  And who was she kidding? She'd been doing nothing but thinking about that particular direction, ever since that goodnight kiss when he dropped her off the other night. Even if she had tried to put it out of her mind—and she was honest enough with herself to admit she hadn't tried at all—Anita's teasing these last few days would have made sure she didn't succeed. At least, not for long.

  Was that such a bad thing? Bryan was attractive. Very attractive. Confident. Successful. Stable. Mature in a way that was so very different from the last few men she had dated. Not in age, but in the way he both carried himself and presented himself.

  And why was she standing here, mentally counting off his attributes like items on a shopping list? She wasn't interested in anything long-term—or short-term, come to think of it. Tonight was supposed to be about having fun. Relaxing. Enjoying herself.

  Living in the moment.

  So that's what she would do.

  Pamela turned back to the lane, scowled at the ten tiny pins mocking her at the far end. She rolled her shoulders, pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then brought her arm back, eased it forward, and released—

  The ball rolled down the center of the lane and she held her breath, watching as it approached the pins. Close. Closer, veering only a little to the left before it knocked one pin into another then another until only two on the far right remained upright.

  She laughed in surprised delight then clapped her hands and spun in a jubilant circle—and somehow ended up in Bryan's arms. She stiffened in surprise but only for a second when he spun her around in congratulations.

  "See? Nothing to it." His green eyes danced with amusement as he settled her back on her feet. Pamela was so surprised that she stumbled against him, caught herself by bracing both hands on his shoulders. The amusement in his eyes faded, the irises darkening as his arm tightened around her waist. He dipped his head and Pamela held her breath, wondering if he was going to kiss her again, hoping he would—

  "Coach!"

  Bryan quickly released her and stepped back, already looking behind him. Pamela swallowed back a sigh of disappointment and hastily ran one hand over her hair, as if that would somehow make it look like she hadn't been hanging onto the man, eager to feel the brush of his mouth against hers. Not that it mattered what she looked like because Bryan wasn't paying attention to her, he was focused on the man approaching them.

  He was tall, well-built with a rugged face and dark hair showing a hint of gray at the temples. Warm brown eyes filled with silent questions darted from Bryan to her then back again.

  Pamela started to move away, searching for her drink before realizing the glass was gone, taken by the small staff that moved from lane to lane, collecting discarded plates and empty glasses. She glanced around, thought about going to the counter to order another drink, then stopped when Bryan's hand reached out and snagged hers, keeping her in place.

  "Aaron. What a surprise."

  "I know. You're the last person I expected to see bowling. Brooke said she saw you but I figured she was just pulling my leg." Those dark eyes drifted to hers again. A crooked smile teased one corner of the man's mouth as he thrust his hand out. "I'm Aaron Malone. I play for the Bombers."

  Pamela accepted his hand then glanced at Bryan, wondering why he suddenly looked uncomfortable and out of place. Their gazes met and that seemed to unfreeze him because he muttered a quick apology and waved a han
d between them.

  "Sorry. Aaron, this is Pamela. Pamela, meet Aaron."

  "Nice to meet you."

  Aaron nodded then turned back to Bryan. "The girls wanted a night out since we're away all weekend and we have one more game to bowl before we call it a night. Did you want to join us? It's just me, Savannah, and the girls."

  Bryan's gaze drifted to hers then quickly slid away. "Thanks but no, we were just finishing up."

  They were? That was news to her. She glanced behind her and looked up at the digital screen, surprised to see that they really were on the last frame of their game. How had she so completely lost track of time? She'd had no idea the evening was coming close to ending, had thought they'd be here for at least a little while longer. Bryan certainly hadn't given any indication that he was ready to leave, not until the other man showed up.

  Could that be it? Pamela looked back at the two men, noticed that Bryan's relaxed demeanor had lessened during the last few minutes. Was it because he wasn't accustomed to being with his players on a personal level? Part of her could understand that. She, herself, kept that clear line of separation in place between her and her staff—unlike Anita, who was like a surrogate mother to some of the younger kids who worked for them.

  Or maybe Bryan's slight discomfort was caused by something else. Was it because she was here with him? Maybe. Or maybe she was reading too much into this, as well, because Bryan's hand was still firmly wrapped around hers as the two men talked.

  Aaron finally nodded in her direction with a small smile, said his goodbyes, then turned to leave. Five minutes later, they were gathering their shoes and getting ready to head out the door—and she was left wondering what she had missed.

  Chapter Seven

  He'd screwed up.

  The realization had hit him thirty seconds after they left the bowling alley, about the same time he'd placed his hand in the middle of Pamela's back and felt her stiffen. If that hadn't been a sign, her quiet distance during the ride back to her place was. She sat in the passenger seat, her head slightly turned to her right, gazing out the window as he drove. Not ignoring him, not exactly, but not going out of her way to engage with him, either.