A warm shiver traveled the length of her body that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the man next to her. His scent had filled the truck, all masculine and spice mixed with pine.
“Where are we going?”
His gaze flashed to hers before he pulled onto the street. “Are you a salad girl or a pasta girl?”
“Either-or, maybe both?”
Jax nodded. “There’s a little place not far from here. It’s quiet, but good.”
“No crazy fans?”
The edges of his mouth lifted. “I can’t guarantee that, but there’s a back booth that’s pretty private.”
Meg’s pulse jumped at the thought of anything private with Jax. She decided not to overthink it, because if she did, then she probably would stop breathing on the spot.
Jax had been right—the Italian restaurant was tiny, but the moment they stepped inside, Meg knew it would be delicious. The aroma of fresh bread and marinara sauce wrapped around her. The place was about half full, and no one paid them much attention as a waiter led them to their table.
Their booth was by the kitchen, but it was separated from the rest of the place, which gave them privacy from the other restaurant patrons. “Do you want me to take your coat?” Jax asked.
She wore a lightweight down coat, but it would get too warm quickly. “Sure.” She drew it off her shoulders, and Jax slid it the rest of the way, the tips of his fingers brushing against her arms. He set her coat on the end of the circular bench.
Jax motioned for her to go first, and she slid about halfway around the circular booth. He tugged off his hoodie, and his T-shirt rode up, flashing a bit of his torso.
Oh wow.
Where was the ice water? She picked up the menu and scanned the choices without reading a word as Jax slid into the booth next to her. Well, not right next to her. About two feet away. Still. Sitting this close to him was doing crazy things to her pulse. She could smell his spice-and-pine scent, hear his breathing, and practically feel the warmth from his body.
His muscled forearms were propped on the table, and Meg couldn’t help peeking at the definition, born of years of hockey.
“Good evening.” Their waiter was back. “What can I get you to drink, folks?”
Meg ordered water, and Jax ordered water too.
When the waiter left, Meg looked over at Jax. “Water? I’m surprised.”
“Need to stay hydrated,” he said. “Plus maybe I like surprising you.”
She tried to focus on his gray eyes, but her gaze kept straying to his shoulders, to the length of his arms, to his fingers . . . His fitted blue T-shirt seemed to be made for his exact dimensions. “As long as they’re good surprises.” She picked up her menu—she needed the distraction from all that was Jax. The menus looked like they’d seen better days, but at least there were English words along with the Italian.
He opened his own menu, and she glanced at his wrist. He wore a different watch than he’d had on the day of the accident.
“What do you usually order?” she asked, dragging her gaze back to the menu.
“Lasagna is sort of my go-to.”
No way.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his lips curving upward.
She blinked. She’d been staring at him. Again. “That’s sort of my specialty. In fact, I made it last night for dinner, you know, for my grandma. I make several different kinds.”
“You’re kidding me.”
She shook her head.
“Then what are we doing here?” he asked. “Do you have leftovers?”
Meg held back a surprised laugh. “I think you’d give my grandma a heart attack. She’d need a lot more notice.”
“Tomorrow night then?”
This time she did laugh. She didn’t know if he was teasing, but she couldn’t imagine a world in which Jax Emerson walked into her grandma’s house, ever. “Um, don’t you have that youth hockey camp thing?”
“Yeah.” Jax was still looking at her, completely ignoring his menu. “But it’s over at five.”
Okay, so those gray eyes of his were boring straight into her soul, and she wondered if anyone had ever told this man no. “My grandma’s probably having leftovers right now, so if I made lasagna tomorrow, that would be three days in a row.”
Jax’s gaze moved over her face, and she was pretty sure she was going to blush.
“I don’t see a problem with that, do you?”
Meg reached for her ice water and took a small sip, feeling Jax’s gaze on her every movement. “I think you’re a man who’s used to getting his way, Jax Emerson.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s a maybe later.”
He threaded his fingers through his beard as if he was in deep thought. “I can live with that.”
Would it look obvious if she used the menu to fan herself?
“Are you folks ready to order, or do you need another minute?” the waiter asked, reappearing suddenly as if he was waiting for the slightest break in the conversation.
“We’re ready,” Meg said quickly. “I’ll have the, uh . . .” She scanned the menu. Maybe there were more things in Italian than she’d realized.
The waiter waited. Jax waited.
“You order first,” Meg said, glancing up at Jax to see an amused gleam in his eyes.
“I’ll have the classic lasagna with extra parmesan bread,” his voice rumbled.
Then it was her turn again. There was no way she could make a decision with the two men waiting for her, so she took the easy way out. “I’ll have that too, but with salad instead of the bread.”
When the waiter left, taking the menus with him, Meg drank more of her water.
“You’re really thirsty, huh?” Jax said.
She set down her water and folded her arms. Again, Jax tracked her every movement. Was it a hockey player thing, or was he an intensely observant man?
“I am thirsty,” she said, defending herself. “And the water’s really good.”
He nodded, his eyes amused. “Have you always lived with your grandma?”
“You mean, why would a thirty-two-year-old woman live with her grandma? After my grandpa died and my grandma had to have a double knee replacement, I was going to move out of my apartment and stay with her for a bit. But my boyfriend talked me into putting money down on a two-bedroom. Said he’d pay the lease until my grandma was better, then we’d, uh, live together there. Things went south between us, though, and I didn’t want to move into a place with memories of him, or us, so I decided to rent it out.”
His brows lifted. “You’re thirty-two?”
“Is that all you got out of my spiel?” Might as well get it out in the open. “And you’re what . . . twenty-something?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Yeah . . . she knew that.
“I’m an old woman compared to you,” Meg said, not sure if she was kidding or not.
Jax draped his arm across the bench behind him and turned more toward her. “You’re not old.”
“Four years is a big difference,” she said. “I was driving when you were in sixth grade.”
He smiled. “When you put it like that.”
She playfully shoved his chest. But he was rock solid and didn’t move an inch.
“Maybe I like older women,” he said, still smiling.
She really liked his smile. Were they really doing this? Flirting? Meg reached for her water again, Jax’s eyes not leaving her face. “Do you, um, usually bring older women here?”
“You’re the first,” he said.
His fingers strayed to her braid, and although he didn’t touch her skin, she could feel the warmth of his fingers anyway.
“Maybe that’s my problem,” he continued.
“With what?” she asked, because him touching her braid was really distracting, and she was having trouble following his conversation.
“With my past relationships,” he said. “You know, dating wome
n younger than me. They’re immature and don’t see much past my career and income. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places and I should have been looking to the older, more established type.”
Meg leaned her head back, which put more space between them. Jax’s hand dropped, but his fingers were about an inch away from her shoulder.
“The older women do seem to like you. That lady in my shop would have probably asked you out if she hadn’t been married.”
He chuckled. “I don’t mean that old, no offense to Diamond Lady, or whoever she was.”
Meg smiled. A heartbeat of silence passed between them, and she knew she had to ask him the big question. “Why are we here, Jax? I mean, you should hate me, or at least not want to have anything to do with me. But you’ve been . . . understanding. Sweet. And you’ve gone way above and beyond any expectation by any standard.”
“A beautiful woman’s buying me dinner. What more could a man want?”
She scoffed, although the compliment had sent a horde of butterflies spinning in her stomach. “You’ve turned down all my apology offers, and then suddenly you show up at my boutique.”
He hooked his finger around her braid. “I don’t know exactly,” he said in a low tone. “And that’s the truth. But I do know that I find you interesting, intriguing, and I want to figure out why. Yeah, we met in an unconventional way, but I don’t hold any grudge against you.”
Meg released a breath. “So I’m sort of like a research project?”
His fingers brushed against her shoulder. “Sort of.”
Now she had goosebumps racing down her arms. “Are you ever going to tell me where you were going in such a hurry that day?”
For the first time all night, his gaze shifted away from her. “I had some bad news,” he said in a low voice, “and it was already a crappy day. I wasn’t focused on where I was going. I didn’t even see your car.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “So I made your day worse?”
His gaze cut to hers again. “Maybe you saved my day. If I hadn’t been knocked out and taken to the hospital, I might have done something rash and jeopardized my career.”
This was not what she expected him to say. “That serious?”
It was his turn to drink some water, but he didn’t move away from her.
“My dad . . . well, I found out some things about my contract, and it shocked me, when in fact, maybe it shouldn’t have shocked me at all.”
Meg didn’t intend to take his hand, but somehow her body acted on its own, and she grasped his hand near her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For whatever it was.”
He nodded, then he linked their fingers together.
Meg tried to ignore the heat racing through her. She’d only meant to comfort him, simply offer a listening ear, but nothing with Jax Emerson was simple.
“Your lasagna, ma’am.” The waiter had returned.
Meg drew her hand from Jax’s and turned reluctantly toward the food on the table.
“Smells great,” Jax told the waiter.
Since Meg could see that the lasagna was piping hot, she started on her salad, but Jax didn’t wait on his.
They ate for a few moments in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though. Meg wanted to ask him a dozen questions, about what the bad news had been, why his father was so involved in his career, and why it had already been a crappy day for him.
“Is it as good as yours?” Jax asked.
Meg looked up from her plate. She’d only had one bite of the lasagna. “It’s a close second.”
“Oh, you’re killing me,” Jax said. “How about I pay tonight, and then you’ll owe me something like a homecooked meal. We’ll give your grandma plenty of notice.”
Meg wiped her mouth with a napkin. When she’d offered to bring him food after the accident, it had been to his place while he was convalescing . . . having him over for dinner at her grandma’s house was a whole other matter.
“I’m sure my grandma would be thrilled,” Meg said.
Jax’s mouth twitched. “And what about her granddaughter?”
“She would be fine with it.”
Jax shook his head, but he was smiling.
“But I’m still paying tonight.”
Jax had never told anyone he’d dated about his complicated relationship with his dad. Not the history or the details. So when he found himself opening up to Meg as they sat in his idling truck outside of her closed shop, he surprised himself. Maybe it was because she had told him about her deadbeat parents, and how her mom had hooked up with some other man and her dad had gone off the deep end after that, leaving her grandparents to raise Meg and her brother.
Jax could tell it was something she didn’t talk about much, especially when she told him that all of her girlfriends were married, with kids, so really the only social interaction she had now was when one of her friends went through a divorce. But that ended quickly enough when the next man came along.
So Jax had told her about his ex-girlfriend, Lacy, the one he’d thought would be different. It turned out she was worse than everyone else.
“Well, I’m glad you found out who she really was before you married her,” Meg said.
“Yeah, I should be glad too,” he said. “It took me a long time to even speak to my dad after that. We’ve only been on cordial terms. Nothing more. The first time we had an in-person conversation for months was at the hospital.”
“Well, maybe your dad’s learned his lesson,” she said, and before he could refute that, she added, “At least you weren’t with Lacy for three years like I was with Blaine. He never proposed, though, so maybe that was the red flag I ignored.”
“Three years, huh?”
“You didn’t think I was just hanging around being single for so long, did you?”
“I’m surprised you’re single now.”
Meg smirked. “I know, what’s not to love?”
“I haven’t found anything to scare me off yet,” he teased.
“Okay, you’re way off topic here, Jax Emerson,” she said. “Tell me about your growing-up years.”
Nice detour. “My parents were the very definition of helicopter parents—mostly my dad, though. He had no relationship with his dad, so I think he became overzealous when I was born, trying to prove himself or something.”
He felt her gaze on him in the darkness. And if they were talking about pretty much anything else he might have leaned over and kissed her. Yeah. He wanted to kiss her. Not that he’d tell her that. She seemed hung up on their age difference, since she’d brought it up a few times during dinner. But Jax found he didn’t mind at all.
“And you’re the only child,” Meg said. “So your dad’s attention can’t be divided, right?”
Strangely, Jax was comfortable with her questions. Maybe because she truly listened. It was something he liked about her. She heard everything he said and didn’t miss a beat.
“That’s true,” Jax said. “If he and my mom had a better relationship, maybe he’d be with her more. As it is, they basically live separate lives. My mom has her friends, her music, her art, and she’s often traveling. Whereas my dad’s firmly situated in Chicago, coming to all my games and running his businesses.”
“Does your mom come to your games?”
“When she’s in town.” It was fine, it really was. He couldn’t expect his parents to be coming to every game, not when he’d been playing the sport since he was a kid. A good twenty years now.
He looked over at Meg. She’d pulled her feet up under her. She looked relaxed and comfortable, and he liked that. He liked her. She was beautiful, yes, but she also had an aura of calm and peace about her. Which he had found out tonight in her boutique. Maybe it was maturity and being older than him, but she was also quiet, in a good way. Not a loud, brassy, or pushy woman, but someone who thought through things before acting with confidence.
“How did you get started in hockey of all sports?” Meg met his gaze. “I mean y
ou could have probably played anything.”
“My dad played, and it was his way of dealing with his own demons,” Jax said. “But he never competed beyond high school. He told me he was on the cusp of playing in the minor leagues, but he was cut. Went to college instead, majored in finance, and now he uses his money to get what he wants.”
“And to control others.”
“Exactly.” Jax exhaled.
“Can you talk to him about it? Man to man—”
Jax gave a short laugh. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Meg merely nodded, not pushing him. “Maybe it’s his love language. You know, buying you things, helping you out financially.”
“You don’t understand,” Jax said. “My agent told me that my dad donated money to the Chicago Flyers.”
“As a sponsor?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I want to get my lawyer to look into it,” Jax said. “My agent says my dad donates the exact amount of my contract each year. Three million dollars.”
Meg’s intake of breath told Jax that she understood what that meant. She shifted closer. “You’re an amazing player, Jax. Your career had been stellar, and if you didn’t play for the Flyers, you’d be playing somewhere else, right? Still making those points and—”
“I don’t know, Meg.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I would have been offered by another team. The Flyers was the first one, the only one at the time, and I thought I was the big man in Chicago to get an offer right in my hometown. But now I find out that my dad might have bought my way onto the team. Who knows, maybe he added a little extra to bribe the coach to make me a starter.”
Meg grabbed his hand from his neck and tugged it toward her. Then she clasped his hand between both of hers. “I think you need to talk to the coach and find out if the donation was made legally, before you bring in your lawyer.”
Jax looked at his hand in hers, then met her gaze. He liked that she’d taken the initiative. He liked that she wasn’t afraid to offer up her opinion. “You’re probably right. Because if the donations aren’t legal, then my dad could be prosecuted.”
Meg moved closer and leaned her head against his shoulder, still keeping his hand in hers. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move, because his pulse was doing crazy things. It was too soon, he knew—too soon to kiss her. To do more than hold her hand. Her scent of vanilla and cinnamon was like an aromatherapy, and it was quickly becoming his favorite scent in the world.
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