Hockey Obsession: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 76)

by Flora Ferrari

  And of course his last comment only makes my cheeks feel hotter.

  “Shall we go?” he asks and turns towards the door as he extends his arm out for me to take.

  “Thank you,” I say taking a step towards him in the discount heels I got from the shoe importer warehouse down the street from my house just before they closed shop for the night.

  It’s the first time that I can remember being in something other than sneakers, flats, or Crocs.

  But the animal I feel most like right now is a newborn baby deer…as it tries to stand for the first time.

  But Henrik must notice because he gets in close allowing me to hold on to his arm really tight and use his big body for balance.

  “Off we go,” he says as he opens the door after making sure that I’m balanced and ready to take another step.

  And the second we step outside I practically lose my balance entirely when I have the out of body experience of seeing that car of his that I’d liked so many times before on Instagram sitting right in front of my building.

  “The Lamborghini,” I say under my breath.

  “We can take something else if you’re not comfortable in it. It is a bit low, especially with heels on, but I promise to help you in and out without rushing you once,” he says.

  So much for my comment being under my breath.

  “No, it’s perfect,” I say.

  “Completely useless actually, but definitely a lot of fun,” he says.

  And his easy-going way and kind of good guy self deprecating humor tell me this is going to be a really fun night regardless of what happens at the end of it.

  Or perhaps even inside a Lamborghini Gallardo with 552-horsepower, all-wheel drive and a top speed of 202-mph. Not that I remembered the statistics of his car along with his hockey statistics or anything like that.

  “I completely agree. I love mine, but I drove it so hard that it’s in the shop right now for a tune up.”

  “Yeah, it’s easy to do that,” he says as if he completely believes me.

  But then he turns to look at me he sees that I’m trying my best to hold back my laughter and completely failing.

  “You don’t really have one?”

  “No,” I say. “First time being in one too.”

  “Well, you never know in this city. It wouldn’t surprise me if you did own one. You’re not one to show off your beauty so why would you show off your car?”

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  “About what?” he says as his eyebrows raise as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Not wearing makeup today.”

  “That was one of the first things I noticed about you…that you don’t need it. That you’re naturally beautiful. And that you’re unassuming.”

  “You read all of that from one look at me?”

  “It’s my job, in a roundabout way. As the goalie you have to read people in order for your team to have a chance to win. And in a big city like this you have to read people to stay alive sometimes, not to be overly dramatic or anything. Whether it’s choosing to drive down the wrong street or picking an accountant who doesn’t embezzle your money. Life is often about reading people and everything I’ve ever read goes right along with my thoughts on that.”

  “Can I ask what your thoughts are?”

  “Always follow your gut?”

  “And what is your gut telling you now?” I ask.

  “That I should shut up and kiss you.”

  And that’s exactly what he does causing me to lose my balance yet again.

  But it doesn’t matter because I’m already on his arm and it’s a short fall into his arms…right where I belong.

  CHAPTER 8

  Hazel

  The entire ride I was breathless.

  Henrik is an amazing driver, and safe, but I could tell by the objects outside of the window that we were moving at a pretty good speed.

  I guess it’s just that when you’re in such a high performance car it doesn’t feel like it at all. And his Lamborghini is about as high as high performance goes, or at least I would guess. I know he has a Bentley too. I’ve seen it on Instagram and would definitely like to see the inside of it as well.

  “Hey boss,” the man at the backdoor of the building we’re about to enter says to Henrik.

  “Hey Bruto,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to my woman.”

  “Whoa! Really boss? After all these years you finally found the one for you.”

  “The one and only,” he says and I practically melt at his words.

  Bruto is huge, and apparently some sort of VIP security guard judging by the fact that he’s guarding a secluded back entrance to someplace I’m about to discover for the first time. But in the presence of Henrik I can see he’s a gentle giant and that Henrik has a real connection with him…something more than just a professional relationship and I know that Henrik’s introduction of me means a lot.

  We make some small talk with Bruto and next thing I know we step inside an absolutely top notch sports bar type of restaurant, but this isn’t the chicken wings and beers type of place that you’ll find across America, this is something swanky with incredible sauces, Indian Pale Ales, and all kinds of other options. Sure they have chicken wings and draft beer, but at a whole nother level.

  And I know right away where I am.

  “No Gino’s,” I say.

  “You’ve been here?” he asks.

  “Honesty time?”

  “Always,” he says.

  “I saw it on your social media.”

  “Well now you can see it for the first time with me, and I’m glad I’m the one who gets to be your first…to see the place,” he says.

  He didn’t mean the sexual innuendo that just came out, but I certainly caught it and apparently so did he.

  We grab a booth in the back and there’s food on the table the second we sit down.

  “We don’t order here?” I ask.

  “Or pay,” he says. “They’ll just keep bringing it until we tell Gino no,” he says.

  “I forgot,” I said. “I love the concept.”

  “Thank you,” he says.

  In hockey a “gino” is a slang term for a goal. And of course in the restaurant business it’s a popular name for an Italian restaurant.

  Henrik is in charge of stopping goals at work and I read that he always eats spaghetti and meat sauce before games, hence his love of Italian food and his consistency meaning he never needs a menu. He knows exactly what he wants.

  So the name and this restaurant were the perfect fusion of his personal life and his professional life.

  At No Gino there are no menus. They just keep bringing you different types of Italian food until you can’t stuff anymore down your throat…until your belly is about to bust. It reminds me of those sushi restaurants I’ve heard of where the owners also don’t take orders, instead opting to just keep giving you more stuff to try until you can’t try any more.

  “How do you like it?” he asks.

  “Amazing,” I say after I swirl some spaghetti Bolognese around a fork and then drop it onto a bruschetta and take a bite.

  “Great. Because there’s a lot more where that came from. And not just tonight. You’ll be eating here as often as you wish going forward,” he says.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.”

  We both laugh in-between bites of Italian prosciutto that practically melts in your mouth.

  “Sure,” he says raising his hands like he might to stop a puck. “Hit me with your best shot.”

  “Why did what happened at the autograph signing earlier…happen?”

  “You mean my reaction to you?”

  “Yes. That exactly. I’m trying to process, but I can’t.”

  “That’s because you can’t. And I don’t mean that in a condescending way at all. No one can process the moment when you meet the one, and sometimes that’s before you even meet them.”

 
; “When you see the one?”

  “Exactly. For example, do you remember the first time you saw me?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I do. I was flipping through the channels one night deciding what game I was going to watch and suddenly I saw your picture on the screen next to the names of the six guys in the starting line up.”

  “At the beginning of the game when they show a quick picture of each guy and make a comment or two about him?”

  “Yes. Then exactly. I felt the remote just fall from my hand and,” I pause and feel myself blushing but figure what the heck, “my jaw fell into my lap. I think I spilled some popcorn actually.”

  “No joke?”

  “No joke, but to be honest I didn’t spill some popcorn…I spilled all of it.”

  We both laugh and suddenly the sommelier arrives with a bottle of red wine which he shows to Hazel.

  “Merci, Jean Paul,” he says.

  The sommelier is French?

  Where am I right now?

  I know…heaven. This place is absolutely incredible. It’s exactly what I would start if I had the money and the sophisticated yet laid-back way of Henrik’s. But I don’t have anything so I couldn’t even fathom a place like this, but I sure can enjoy it.

  Jean Paul pours two glasses and quickly disappears. Henrik passes me one and raises a toast.

  “To new beginnings and the future that may bring,” he says.

  “Cheers,” I say as we clink glasses and take a sip.

  Of course it’s delicious, unlike the bottle of “two buck Chuck,” or Charles Shaw wine that’s always priced at a dollar and ninety-nine cents at Trader Joe’s, that I tried once in the apartment with Adriana before she had one of her big nights out.

  “So back to your question,” Henrik says. “Because I’m not trying to dodge it at all, but I find sometimes it’s better to take the person you’re speaking with through an example in their own mind, pulled from their own experiences, that can best answer a question…especially compared with the person who was asked the question being asked it directly.”

  “You do know we’ve started drinking, right? If you keep using big sentences like that I’m going to get ‘lost in the sauce’ real quick,” I laugh and he smiles, offering a toast again.

  “That’s the beauty of it. There are no big words needed. It’s a gut reaction. Something you just know that might not be explainable to anyone other than yourself.”

  “Like when you see a couple having a great time together, but on the surface they look like a complete mismatch.”

  “That’s a great example.”

  “But wouldn’t we be considered a complete mismatch? I mean this is a Cinderella story at it’s finest.”

  “I have to stop you and disagree with you there.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, but let’s use your Cinderella example just for kicks.”

  “I like this!” I say. I’m already starting to feel the wine and just the mention of being compared to Cinderella is already making me feel like a Disney princess.

  “Cinderella was beautiful. In the story she had a covering of cinders on her face, which is why she was referred to as Cinderella. But in our story you were the exact opposite. You had nothing on your face, and to many people that would be the equivalent of the cinders, but not to me. I’m a busy guy. I’m playing hockey. I’m running a restaurant. I’m into cars. I spend part of my year here in New York and part in Sweden. I’ve seen it all…the ways people put on their masks, both theoretically and literally, to present a version of themselves to the world that’s not their true self. It’s okay though. I get it. People want to present their supposed best self. No harm there. But in doing so maybe they hide the beauty that’s really inside. Well, you didn’t do that one bit. When I saw you I saw that true beauty. I saw that directness, even though you were back in the corner looking a bit nervous, but that’s you and your way of being direct. What you said to me, without saying anything at all was, ‘Hey. This is who I am. Take it or leave it. I’m here today to meet you and get your autograph because I’m interested in you as a hockey player.’ That’s what I heard you say when you said nothing at all. And do you know how often people communicate like that these days? Almost never.”

  He pauses just briefly before speaking again.

  “There are no games with me and there are no games with you. And because of the way body language and lack of makeup convey honesty, I’m also interested in you because I can see you’re an honest person.”

  I sit frozen at the table processing what he just said. The calm demeanor and straightforward way in which he delivered those words so matter-of-fact and not up for debate makes me realize he believes them one hundred percent, which in turn makes me believe them in totality as well. The more my mind turns them over the more they make sense.

  “So that was it?” I ask.

  “Well, that and that you’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. That didn’t hurt either,” he says and then he smirks at me and my heart rate goes from high to that area on a car’s engine gauge that is completely red, when the tachometer is telling you to pull over before you blow a gasket.

  And speaking of blowing a gasket I think I’ve got a leak of my own, as in my panties because they are damn sure getting wetter by the second.

  “So what might not immediately make perfect sense makes perfect sense. It’s hiding right there in plain sight. That’s why the counterintuitive is often the most logical once the mind can work through the reasoning, in the cases where reasoning is necessary.”

  “But reason wasn’t necessary in this case, right?”

  “No, but I know the mind is a powerful thing and when it has a question that it can’t answer it will work day and night to find an answer. It will work consciously and subconsciously until it comes up with an answer that satisfies it so it can move on to something else. So in our case we didn’t need an answer, but if we look for one it’s very logical and makes complete sense. But just to reiterate, I didn’t need a reason for the way I felt when I first laid eyes on you, but we do have one if we want one.”

  “And you’ve never had this gut reaction before?”

  “Never, and that’s why I went for you as aggressively as I did. I knew you were the only woman in this world of billions for me and I wasn’t going to let you get away.”

  “That’s a good ‘reason’,” I say lifting the two first fingers on both hands to make air quotes.

  Henrik smiles and I can’t help but to smile at his beautiful smile as well. His teeth are white and just the right size, if there is such a thing.

  “But the most important thing? The thing that I don’t ever need a reason for?” he says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Is this,” he says as he leans in closer to me and stops just short of my mouth. I can feel the heat from his breath and my lips part just slightly before I feel his hand on my cheek and then the softness I didn’t know such a big, strong, rugged man was capable of when his lips touch mine.

  CHAPTER 9

  Hazel

  “You want me to bring some more wine?” Jean-Paul says as I take a quick break from Henrik’s lips so we can both enjoy another bite of food.

  “I think we’re good for now. Thank you.” Henrik says.

  “Even after the news?”

  “What news?” he asks.

  Jean-Paul’s entire face pinches in towards his eyes as he displays a look of pain. He pulls the remote control, that was hiding behind the plant on the table next to us, out and flicks through the channels before finding ESPN and I watch as the volume bars fill from left to right as the announcer’s voice becomes audible.

  “So breaking news out of New York on the eve of the NHL season. The Gotham Guardians have acquired rookie Rusty Brown from the Boston Bears in exchange for the Guardian’s first and second round picks next year and half a million dollars. We repeat…Rusty Brown was unable to come to terms with the Boston Bears after
being drafted in the first round out of Boston College, and the Bears have decided that on the eve of the NHL season it’s better to cut ties as they ship him off to the Guardians for picks and cash.”

  “You’ve gotta wonder how that’s gonna sit with Henrik Magnusson fans,” the other announcer says.