by Anna Sugden
But he was slowly driving her nuts.
They were sitting in a funky little café-cum-bookstore in her neighborhood. J.B. wanted their baby to have everything top-of-the-range and had no concept of budget.
“The standard crib is good value and it has a nice matching dresser with a changing-table topper.” Issy sipped her tea, trying to shore up her patience.
“But the other one can be converted into a toddler bed, then a sofa, and has the dresser built in.”
“It’s also three times the price of the crib and dresser combined.”
“It’ll save you money in the long run, because the kid can use it longer.”
“I can’t afford to spend that much on one item, even if it is multipurpose. I have so many other things to buy and I haven’t even started looking at high chairs or strollers or car seats.” The thought of what she had to do to prepare for her baby was overwhelming.
J.B. looked thoughtful. “If money were no object, which crib would you prefer?”
He was annoyingly persistent. “You know the answer.”
“What if I buy the furniture for you?”
Issy bristled. Why was money always his solution? “Babies have survived for centuries without fancy cribs. In some European countries, babies sleep in a box. Peanut will be fine with a standard crib.”
“Whoa.” J.B. held up his hands. “That didn’t come out right. I meant that if I topped up your budget, you could get the crib you really want without strapping yourself.”
“You’re giving me enough money already.”
“How about if I match your budget and you decide if you want to spend the money on that four-in-one crib or something else?”
Issy knew throwing money at problems kept him from having an emotional connection to them. Well, she wouldn’t let him buy his way out of responsibility. “I’ll accept your generous offer on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re involved in the decision-making.”
His laughter had a nervous edge. “I’ll put the furniture together and I’ll help you research the specifications. Isn’t that involvement enough?”
Issy looked at him steadily.
“I trust your judgment.” He gave her his famous charming smile. “Anyway, I’ll be busy playing and traveling. I won’t be able to go on more shopping trips with you. As much fun as this one has been.”
Her answering smile was sweet. “I’ll email you the links and you can send me your opinion.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” He rubbed his hand over his jaw.
“Nope. Of course, if you don’t give me the money, we’ll be all square.”
J.B. sighed. “All right. I accept your condition.”
“Then I’ll accept your check.”
“And you’ll get that four-in-one crib.”
She could be gracious in victory. “Thank you. I will.”
“And you can buy us both a couple of chocolate brownies to celebrate.”
Issy laughed. “Hold up. Brownies aren’t baby goods. They shouldn’t come out of the baby budget.”
“You tell me that when this kid is driving you insane at 2:00 a.m. for the third night running. Ask Jake what Maggie stocked up on for the first six months of Joe’s life. Chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate. I’d say they’re essential baby goods.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to buy the brownies.”
“Aha. So now you’re happy to spend my money.”
“Chocolate is the exception to any rule.” Her lofty tone was spoiled by her grin.
“I wish someone would write these rules down.” He rose. “I guess I’d better get some brownies, then. Are you sure you don’t want a pickle or some other weird thing with that?”
“My cravings are more savory—seven-layer dip, hummus. Although, perhaps a brownie dipped in hummus...” She laughed as J.B. looked horrified. “Just kidding.”
“Are you done for today or would you like to hit some more places?” J.B. asked when they finished eating the brownies.
Issy was hit by a wave of tiredness. “I’m worn-out.” She yawned. “I’m sorry. This happens a lot. I’m fine and then, all of a sudden, I need to sleep.”
“Let’s get you home.” He cleared away their stuff. “Am I allowed to say I’m glad? I don’t think I can handle looking at high chairs right now.”
“Be grateful you’ll miss the rest of the shopping. Your road trip is conveniently timed.”
“I got the NHL to organize it specially.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Her steps dragged as they walked back to his car. She’d barely got her seat belt fastened before she’d fallen asleep.
When Issy awoke she was still in the car, but it wasn’t moving. J.B. sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his phone. The dashboard clock told her she’d been asleep for almost two hours.
“I can’t believe I slept that long.” Embarrassed, she straightened and undid her seat belt. “You must have stuff to do before you leave tomorrow night. You should have woken me.”
J.B. looked up from his phone. “I tried, but you were sleeping like the dead. You have a cute snore.”
“I do not snore.”
“How do you know, if you’re asleep?”
“Sapphie would have told me.”
“She probably didn’t want to upset you.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pots shouldn’t call kettles black.”
“Yeah, yeah. Seriously, I did try to wake you, but when I couldn’t, I figured it was best to let you sleep. I thought about carrying you inside, but I didn’t want to dig around in your purse for your keys.”
She laughed even as her cheeks warmed at the thought of being cradled in those strong arms.
She took out her keys. “Thanks for coming with me today.”
“You’re welcome. It was surprisingly fun.”
“Compared with what? Getting stitches?”
He smiled. “I’m serious. I enjoyed being with you.”
“I enjoyed being with you, too.”
The silence in the car was heavy with unspoken words.
Before it could turn awkward, Issy opened her door. “Have a good trip.”
J.B. got out of the car.
She gave him a half smile. “I’ll be okay.”
“Work with me here.”
“All right.” She unlocked her front door and slowly climbed the stairs. “There you go. Safe and sound.”
He smoothed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “You have my contact details, right? In case you need to get hold of me while I’m away.”
“I do, and I’ll be fine. I appreciate the concern, but there’s not a whole lot you can do from California. Just concentrate on your game and not getting injured.”
“So you worry about me, too.” His cocky grin made her pulse skip.
Damn it. Why couldn’t she be immune to him? “How will I get the nursery painted and all that furniture put together if you’re laid up?”
“It’ll get done. Even if I have to organize things from a hospital bed. Trust me.”
Strangely she did. “I can imagine. All those nurses lining up to do favors.”
“I meant you could rely on my buds to help you out.”
“Still, I’d rather you weren’t injured.”
“Pfft. Not gonna happen.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Email me with how you’re getting on. About the furniture and anything else. Take care of yourself and Peanut.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Definitely not your mother.” He pressed a brief kiss to her lips.
Before she could react, he’d gone.
The sound of the front door closing spurred her to move. She touched her fingers to her lips and sighed. She really couldn’t fathom him.
She understood the issues with his family and his childhood. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own
baggage. But, as she got to know him better, she found it hard to believe that he would abandon his own child.
J.B. was a good person and a loyal friend. She’d seen several examples of the man he was at the party. From the respect and affection he’d shown Jake’s parents, to the camaraderie with his teammates, to his indulgent teasing of Emily and Joe. There were definitely more layers to Jean-Baptiste Larocque than she’d first thought.
The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to find the real man hidden beneath the cocky but charming exterior. She was also aware that, like the proverbial onion, the risk she took peeling away those layers was that she could end up in tears.
But for the sake of their child, she had to try.
Her cell beeped a few minutes later with a text. Put your feet up!
For a man who didn’t want ties or responsibilities, he was getting very involved.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“NICE POSTGAME INTERVIEW.”
Issy’s voice washed over J.B., firing his blood, even though she was talking to him over a crackling phone line from Jersey and he was in Nashville. He sat on the bed, stretching his tired legs out in front of him. Three-o’clock face-offs were hard on the body, especially at the beginning of the season. He hated missing his afternoon nap; it messed with his system. Maybe he was getting old.
No freaking way.
“You saw it?” The thought of her watching him on TV pleased him. “Did you catch the whole game?”
“I did. Another goal to add to your tally. The announcer said you’re averaging over a goal a game. At this rate you’ll be breaking NHL records.”
The admiration in her voice made him feel like he’d already won the Rocket Richard scoring trophy. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but Gretzky holds the record with ninety-two. The closest anyone has come in the past seventeen years is around sixty in a season.”
“Then it’s time someone changed that. Why not you?”
“I’d love it to be me and I’ll be trying.” He searched the internet on his tablet. “Even if I got a goal a game from now until April—eighty-two—I’d still only be fifth on the all-time list.”
“Not that you’ve checked.”
“It’s always good to know where you stand.” He settled back more comfortably against the pillows and drained his Coke Zero. “Anyway, the number of goals isn’t as important as the number of wins.”
Issy groaned. “I’m glad I don’t drink. I’d be totally blitzed by now.”
“I don’t get it.” J.B. frowned, confused.
“Sapphie has a drinking game based on clichés in player and coach interviews. You have to take a shot for every time someone says ‘we need to stick to our game,’ ‘we have to execute our system,’ ‘we need to be more disciplined’ or ‘it’s not my goal that matters, but the win for the team.’ What you said has to be on the list.”
J.B. thought back to his comments after the game and winced. “I went four for four.”
“You weren’t the worst—that guy who stands between the benches is terrible.” She laughed. “Like I said, it’s a good thing I only drink soda.”
“So, did you enjoy the game?”
He didn’t know why it was so important that she liked hockey. He’d dated plenty of women who hadn’t.
Since he’d be spending time with Issy, at least until the baby was born, and the situation was fraught enough, it would help if she didn’t hate hockey.
Her enthusiasm was a relief.
“I’m finally getting the hang of the rules and can actually follow the play now. It’s a lot easier in the arena, where you can see all the action. Of course, no one hears me swear at the officials at home.”
“Anytime you want tickets, let me know. I have two seats by the glass.”
“Thanks, but the seat next to Sapphie is empty, so I can go with her.”
He shoved his disappointment aside. So what if she didn’t want his seats? “If the two of you ever want to watch the game from the lower bowl, my seats are yours.”
“I may take you up on that.”
“Anytime.” He changed the subject. “Have you ordered all the furniture, so it’ll be ready for our nursery-painting party in a couple of weeks?”
“Everything essential will be here by next Friday. I emailed you the color references for the paint. Let me know what you think.”
“I’ll check them out later. Did you figure out how many cans you’ll need?”
“I did, thanks to that idiot’s guide you sent me.” Issy laughed. “You should see all my math. I must have recalculated a dozen times to make sure I got it right.”
Issy yawned. “Sorry. It’s my bedtime. I should let you go. You probably have a club to hit.”
Normally she’d have been right. Nashville was a great city to visit, especially when they had an off day before they played the Predators. He’d always scored more than goals in Nashville and he’d scored plenty of those over the years.
Tonight, though, the partying had quickly worn thin. He’d ducked out early and joined Jake, Ike, Juergen and a few others for dessert at their favorite restaurant, then headed back to the room he shared with Ice Man. The veteran forward was currently out at a blues bar with Mad Dog, Kenny and Blade.
J.B. had wanted to call Issy before she went to bed.
He and Issy had spoken practically every day on this trip. Usually after dinner, except on game days, when they’d catch up before his afternoon nap.
It was a little unsettling. He’d never communicated so much with a woman before. Then again, he’d never wanted to. But, as the trip wore on, he found himself thinking about Issy more and more. He tried not to think about the implications of that. He didn’t want to go there.
He’d also picked up a couple of gifts for her on impulse. While in California, he’d bought a second-hand CD with the song they’d done that crazy dance to—“Oops Upside Your Head”—in Antigua.
“J.B.?” Issy’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Tired, too,” he admitted rather than explain what he’d really been thinking about. “How’s Peanut behaving?”
“So far, so good. I haven’t felt a kick yet, but I keep getting a sensation of movement.” She chuckled. “It’s probably indigestion.”
Gross. Sounded like something from a movie about aliens. “Is it weird?”
“Not really. Just different.”
“Rather you than me.”
“I didn’t get much choice in the matter.” She yawned again.
“Go. Get some sleep.”
“Good luck tomorrow evening.”
“Thanks. It’ll be a tough game. The Predators have started the season hot and Rinne is like a brick wall in net.”
“Lucky that you’re just as hot, then.” The husky note in her voice suggested she wasn’t just talking about his play on the ice.
“Yeah. Sleep well.”
“Good night.”
J.B. was restless once he’d hung up. He switched on the TV, but nothing caught his interest. He started to read the thriller he’d picked up at the airport, but the plot was too complicated and needed his full attention. He was too wired to sleep.
The hotel was too quiet.
Maybe he’d go down to the bar and get a drink. Some of the older guys might be hanging out down there. Maybe he’d just grab something from the minibar instead.
What’s your problem? He pulled himself up short. Jeez, he was acting like he was middle-aged. He should haul ass, get changed and go out. It wasn’t that late.
He stalked over to the closet, grabbed some clothes and tossed them on the bed.
Twenty minutes later he strolled into the blues bar and saw his pals at a table in the back.
Kenny wolf-whistled. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
“Missed me, did you?” Ice Man grinned.
“Like a hole in the head.” J.B. motioned the waitress to bring him a beer.
“Wh
at changed your mind?” Mad Dog raised his beer bottle in a toast.
“He finished blowing kisses down the phone to the lovely Isabelle.” Kenny made loud smooching noises.
“Aw, you lonely for your girlfriend, Larocque?” Blade asked while the rest laughed like a pack of freaking hyenas.
“Funny.” J.B. flipped them the bird. “I wanted a night where I didn’t have to stare at your ugly faces, but I realized if I wasn’t here, you’d be miserable and boring.” He waved his arm around to emphasize his statement. “No one should leave Nashville until they’ve had a great time. As good as the music is, sitting and listening is not my idea of a great time.”
His so-called friends responded with a variety of colorful expletives.
J.B. arched an eyebrow. “I’m not hearing any denials. Who’s up for a couple of hours in this sweet club I know not far from here? The music’s hot and the babes are hotter.”
“Let’s crank up the volume and party.” Ice Man pumped his fist in the air. “I’m ready for some Tennessee action.”
The others chorused their agreement and finished their drinks. Chairs scraped back and, en masse, they headed for the door.
* * *
THEY MADE IT back to the hotel just before curfew.
A short time later J.B. lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, still unable to sleep. It wasn’t Ice Man sawing logs that kept him awake—J.B. had learned to tune that out—but the worrying realization that he hadn’t enjoyed the night as much as he should have.
The club had been hopping, as always. The band had been young but enthusiastic and extremely talented. Gorgeous women had flocked around the hockey players like honey bees. Hell, J.B.’d had enough phone numbers stuffed into his pockets to keep him busy until Christmas. The other guys had been in their element.
The evening had been fun, but it had lacked something. J.B. hadn’t been interested in a single woman. One dance, one drink, one selfie and he’d moved on. Partway through the night, Blade had muttered that J.B. was being too damn picky. At the time, his friend had had a blonde on one arm, a brunette on the other and a redhead in his lap.
