Meg pulled her knees up on the couch and drew a fuzzy blanket from the back of the couch over her legs. She indulged in scrolling through the texts she and Jax had exchanged over the past week. They were super brief and to the point. But after her last text, he’d called her. More butterflies danced.
She typed out a text, then deleted it, then retyped something shorter. Might as well stick with the status quo. Congrats on the goal and the win. Good luck at the hockey camp. SEND.
She didn’t expect him to reply right away, and he didn’t. In fact, she wondered if he would reply tonight at all. She wouldn’t stay up and wait, but she wasn’t really tired. So she browsed some online clothing-designer shops to see when they were showcasing their upcoming spring lines. The major designers had already debuted their lines at the New York fashion week in September, but Meg wasn’t after the big designers. She liked to discover up-and-coming designers or small designers with a unique flare.
A sigh escaped as she realized she should be looking not to increase inventory but to consolidate and find cheap rental space for warehousing purposes. Her thoughts strayed to Jax, and she ended up searching for more articles on him. She clicked on the Wikipedia link and froze. He was only twenty-eight, which meant she was four years older. Hmm.
He seemed older, but she should have known. There was always a wrinkle with her and the guys she dated. Before Blaine, she’d dated a guy named Carson. He’d lived with his parents still. Before that, Richard—who liked to play both sides of the field. And her first boyfriend out of high school—Lance—had been arrested for embezzling money from his real estate job.
So her track record was pretty lame, and that was why, at thirty-two, she was still single.
Her phone rang, startling her out of her haze of thoughts.
Jax.
He was calling. At midnight.
Breathe, Meg, then answer in a normal voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
That was all it took to wake up the butterflies in her stomach. “Great game.”
“You should come to the next one.” His voice was low, raspy, like he’d been yelling or talking all night. Or simply kicking butt in a hockey game.
Meg burrowed deeper into her fuzzy blanket. “I think I will. My grandma says she’s up for it too.”
Jax chuckled, and Meg let the sound ripple across her skin.
“Consider it done,” he said. “We’re playing the Wyoming Steers, so you can meet Rocco.”
Meg sat up on the couch. Rocco De Luca was the player Jax had talked about in his interview after the game. He wanted her to meet his former teammate? “Okay.” Had her voice squeaked? “When’s the game?”
“Monday night.”
Four days suddenly felt like forever. “Sounds good.” Yeah, her voice was definitely squeaky. “My grandma will be ecstatic.”
“What about you, Meghan?”
She laughed. And blushed. The way he called her by her full name made her toes curl. “Are you fishing for compliments, Jax Emerson?”
His laugh was warm and deep.
Meg pushed off the fuzzy blanket. Way too hot now.
“See you soon,” he said in that low voice of his.
“Okay.” How many times could she say okay in one conversation? And then the call was over. Meg, of course, had already started to analyze every word he’d spoken. What about you, Meghan? See you soon. What did soon mean? Monday? Or would he really come by her shop?
Jax had looked up Meg’s Loft on his phone before heading over to her shop, or boutique, or whatever she called it. So he knew it would be closing in about thirty minutes. He could hang around and maybe talk her into dinner. It had been less than eighteen hours since he’d talked to her after last night’s game, and he’d thought of her for about twelve of those hours. Unless he counted when he was sleeping too, because when he woke up, she’d been on his mind.
The Northbrook guys were all flying in tonight since the youth hockey camp was tomorrow. So The Pit was already chiming with plans to meet up for a late dinner. Jax wasn’t committing to anything since he wasn’t sure how things would go with Meg . . . not that he was planning on an extended evening with her, but he was keeping his options open. Besides, he’d see all the guys bright and early tomorrow morning.
Now Jax pulled his truck into a parking lot from across the shop. The sign for Meg’s Loft glowed blue against the dark winter night. Closing time was 7:00 p.m. on Saturday, so that should give them time to hang out and eat before Jax redirected to the Northbrook guys. Right?
He gazed at the storefront for a moment. The large window displayed three mannequins wearing satiny or sequined dresses that looked much too cold for Chicago in December. Maybe they were party dresses for Christmas or New Year’s?
He shut off his truck when a couple of texts chimed in.
What about Romero’s Homestyle Restaurant? Dice wrote. Yelp says it’s amazing.
Uh, leave the restaurant choices to us Chicagoans, right, Jax? Clint replied.
Agreed. None of those tourist traps.
As long as there’s BBQ, Zane wrote. I’m craving it. What’s up with the snow here? I didn’t know I had to pack an Eskimo coat. Zane must have landed already, coming in from Tennessee.
This is nothing, Clint wrote. Chicago’s having a mild winter so far.
Stop complaining, Tennessee boy, Rocco said. Download a weather app or something.
Jax chuckled, then put his phone on silent. These guys could go on forever, and as entertaining as they were, Meg was only across the street.
He climbed out of his truck and pulled up his hoodie because it was rather cold and the wind had picked up. Then he crossed the street, after looking both ways for cars, of course.
The shop was warm, and the scent reminded him of Meg—vanilla and cinnamon and something sweeter—but she wasn’t in sight.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked, looking up at him. Way, way up, because she couldn’t be more than five feet tall.
The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties with about eight layers of eyeliner. She wore all black, and her equally black hair was twisted in some sort of funky bun with two decorative sticks poking out.
“Looking for a gift? Your wife, perhaps? Or sister?” The woman pointed to a rack of long flowy things. Were they dresses or skirts or shirts? “These just came in from Nerve, a designer from Canada. We only have one size in each color, so tonight is the perfect time to buy. I’m assuming she’s tall, but if she’s not, that’s all right too. We do carry petite sizes in most everything. Insisted on by me, of course, since I always wear petite.” She was barely breathing. “Or our popular lounge pants are thirty percent silk, and we have them in the most gorgeous winter colors. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Pale pink and seashell blue are winter colors? That’s fashion-forward thinking for you.”
Jax rubbed at his beard, wondering when it would be a good time to cut in and ask after Meg. It seemed he’d just encountered her top saleswoman, perhaps in all of Chicago.
“What’s her hair color?” the woman continued. “Most women don’t know their season, but if you can tell me her hair color and her complexion hue, then I can tell you her season and help you pick out the perfect—”
“Nashelle,” another woman said. “Can you help me with—”
The voice stopped, and Jax turned.
Meg’s eyes widened. “It’s you . . .”
“Who?” the woman named Nashelle said.
Jax tugged back the hood of his sweatshirt. “It’s me.”
“Who?” Nashelle said again.
Would it be rude to ask her to just go away?
“Uh.” Meg’s green eyes seemed darker than a forest. “Nashelle, this is Jax Emerson, a . . . friend of mine.”
Nashelle set her small hands on her miniature hips. “Jax Emerson? Sounds familiar.” She looked at Meg. “Why is that name familiar?”
“He plays hockey for the Chicago Flyers.”
&
nbsp; Nashelle bit on her lip, which happened to be covered in black lipstick.
Thankfully, Meg wasn’t wearing black lipstick, because Jax decided he didn’t like it. No, Meg’s lips were perfectly . . . rosy. And her hair was braided and hanging in a long tress over one shoulder. She wore a deep-red long-sleeved shirt and some sort of patchwork vest over it. Her short skirt revealed her long legs, covered by red-print tights.
“No, that’s not it,” Nashelle said. “Are you a singer by chance? Maybe I’ve seen you at Brando’s Speakeasy on Dearborn?”
Jax wanted to laugh. “No, I don’t sing in public.”
Nashelle shrugged. “Well, whatever. You got this, Megs? I’ve got that date tonight with that guy I met on Tinder.”
“Sure,” Meg said. “Thanks for your help today. See you Monday.”
Nashelle blessedly, mercifully, walked to the back of the store somewhere, out of sight.
When Jax moved his gaze back to Meg, he hoped she didn’t think he was laughing at her employee, but what had possessed her to hire such a person?
“Sorry about that,” Meg said in a rush. “I should have given her a heads-up, but I didn’t know if you were coming, or when, or . . .” Her voice trailed off as Jax stepped closer to her.
It was really good to see her again. And he caught her vanilla scent, like her store. “Interesting tights.”
The blush that bloomed on her cheeks might have been too gratifying, and Jax couldn’t help smiling.
“Um, thanks. I guess.” Her gaze did a slow perusal of him. “You know, if anyone but Nashelle had greeted you, they might have thought you were a gangster.”
His brows lifted, and he moved a step closer. “Is gangster even a word anymore?”
Meg’s eyes filled with laughter, but she didn’t laugh. She rested her hand on a nearby rack. “It is in this part of the city.”
“Sorry I didn’t dress for shopping in a fancy store.”
Meg did laugh then. “We don’t have a dress code, but you’re . . .” She waved at his person.
Jax looked down at his jeans and tennis shoes, then he met her gaze again. “I’m what?”
“Sort of a big, intimidating guy.” She folded her arms.
“Nashelle sure didn’t have a problem selling the new lounge pants to me.”
Meg smirked. “Well, you still look expensive, even if you are just wearing a hoodie and jeans.”
“Expensive?”
Her blush was back, and he noticed that her eyes weren’t solely green but had some brown in them too. So, hazel then.
“You know.” She waved a hand again. “You definitely don’t shop at a discount store.”
Jax looked about the boutique. He guessed that nothing inside the place was cheap. “And you would know, being in the clothing industry.”
“Correct.”
“So what do you recommend?” he asked, closing the distance between them and examining the rack she was leaning against.
Faint lines appeared between her brows. “For what?”
“My mother. Although I don’t think she’ll like those flowy things. She’s more into the tailored stuff.”
This clearly surprised Meg. “You’re here to shop?”
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Of course.” Jax leaned close and picked off a small string that was on her braided hair, then he lingered, his gaze on her. “Why else would I be inside a women’s clothing boutique at seven o’clock on a Saturday night?”
Then he moved away and began to look through clothing as if he’d truly come to buy something.
The bell over the door tinkled, and a woman bustled in.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” Meg said immediately.
Jax glanced over to see a fifty-something woman who looked like she owned stock in the diamond business, if the glittering jewelry at her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers were any indication.
“I need a hostess gift,” the woman said in a stiff tone. “I’m running late to a benefit and nearly forgot. Do you offer gift wrap?”
“We do,” Meg said. “Are you looking for a clothing item, such as one of our handwoven silk scarves, or perhaps a pendant fashioned after the Renaissance era?”
Jax was standing right next to a table display of scarves, and he assumed they were the ones Meg had referred to. “My mother loves scarves too,” he cut in. “Do you think I should get her a color for every season? I think she’s autumn.”
Both women spun around and looked at him.
Maybe he’d gone too far?
Meg’s brows arched in surprise, and the customer’s ice-blue eyes narrowed as if he’d spoken out of turn, which he had.
Then the customer’s mouth fell open. Her eyes widened, and that’s when he knew. The woman was a—
“Jax Emerson! Oh my goodness! I didn’t know you shopped here!” Diamond Lady literally rushed to him, and he had to take a step back because he was suddenly afraid of what she might do. “That goal last night was amazing. I told my Pete that you’re on your way to getting league player of the year.”
And, yep, her long, manicured nail poked him in the chest.
“Would it be too much trouble to take a selfie with me? Pete is just going to die.”
Jax cleared his throat. “That would be fine, ma’am.”
He caught Meg’s stunned expression at the edge of his vision. He sent her a help me look, but she didn’t budge, didn’t intervene. She didn’t even offer to take the picture. Meg merely observed as Diamond Lady pulled out her equally decorated cell phone from her giant shiny purse, then looped her arm through his.
“Smile,” Diamond Lady said.
Just as she snapped the picture, her other hand squeezed his arm. “Goodness, you are strong.”
He thought he heard Meg giggle. Why wasn’t she helping him? He didn’t mind fans in general, but there was really nowhere for him to escape to right now. So he might as well get the woman buying something and on her way.
Diamond Lady turned so that they were very, very close to each other. “You’re the same age as my son, but he’s not athletic at all. No, he’s a computer programmer.” She sighed. “I guess we can’t all get lucky.”
Jax had no idea what she was talking about, but he needed to put some distance between himself and this woman. “Maybe you can suggest a scarf for my mother.” He stepped away from her and walked to the other side of the table.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” And just like that she began to pick through the scarves on the table. She held up one after the other, discarding some and creating a small collection with others.
Well, maybe this would take longer than he thought. Hadn’t she been in a hurry?
“That one’s perfect,” he said about the next one she held up. “And it’s her favorite color.” He didn’t even know what color he held in his hand. Some sort of orange red.
“I think I’ll get the same one too,” Diamond Lady said. Something beeped on her phone, and she looked at it. “Oh, goodness, I’m going to be late.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “It was so wonderful to meet you, young man. You tell your mother I hope she enjoys her gift.”
Diamond Lady followed Meg to the register, and within a few minutes, she’d waltzed out of the store, waving goodbye to Jax.
When the door shut behind her, Meg said, “Wow. Does that happen a lot?”
Jax rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had some interesting run-ins, but that might have topped them all.”
Meg locked the door and turned the open sign to closed.
“You’re locking me in?”
“We can take the rear exit.” Her mouth lifted at the edges.
“You’re assuming a lot.”
She smirked, but she walked toward him. “Are you really going to buy that scarf?”
Challenge accepted. “I am. How much?”
“One hundred seventy.”
He tried not to look surprised, but he failed.
“I can give you the owner’s discount if
you want.”
“No, I’m just not familiar with women’s clothing prices, and this seems like a piece of fabric.”
Meg reached him and took the scarf from his hands, her fingers brushing his. “It is a piece of fabric, but it’s also handwoven silk.”
“Right.” He watched her walk to the cashier desk. The print on her tights was little swirls, like half circles that didn’t connect. He forced his gaze higher before she turned around. He decided that she fit into her surroundings. Meg was elegant and stylish yet mysterious somehow, much like the clothing on the racks and hanging from the walls.
“Will that be all, Mr. Emerson?” Meg asked, tapping something into the register.
Jax took his time walking to the counter. Then he rested his palms on the flat surface. “I believe we had dinner plans?”
Meg’s gaze lifted, and in her eyes he saw something he liked a lot—interest.
“I thought you were here to shop,” she said in a coy voice.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“I’m always busy.”
He pulled out his wallet. “Are you hungry then?”
She smiled. “I’m paying.”
Jax nodded and slid his credit card across the counter. He’d take what he could get. “Deal.”
Was she really doing this? Climbing into Jax Emerson’s truck while he held the door for her? She was pretty sure she’d had a mini heart attack when she discovered the man Nashelle was speaking to was a six-five pro hockey player. There to see her. No matter what he’d said about shopping.
And now he was walking around the front of his truck, carrying one of the Meg’s Loft bags with his purchase.
It was zany. It was surreal. This didn’t happen in real life. Not to her.
She’d texted her grandma that she was going out with a friend for dinner, and her grandma had texted back: Enjoy time with your boy.
The driver’s side door popped open, and Jax climbed in, then started up the truck. He adjusted the heater vents and turned up the heat. Strangely, Meg wasn’t all that cold, although it had to be around thirty degrees.
Powerplay Page 5
