Romancing the Grump (Appies, #4)

by Jenny Proctor

To all my readers in their hockey romance era. Me too, friends. Me too.

You stole my parking space. I’m face-to-face with a beautiful woman—one I’ve thought about more than once since I first met her a few months ago—and that’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth. You. stole. my. parking. space.

“He totally just looked up here. Also significant: Nathan is a defender. That kind of hotshot scoring move isn’t exactly his M.O.” “Which means what?” She gives me a pointed look. “Which means I think he was trying to impress someone.”

“Kiss me,” she repeats. “If you want them to know you’re spoken for, then show them you belong to me.”

We make eye contact, and I smile, lifting my hand to the glass. He stops directly opposite and lifts his glove to the same spot. And then he smiles. Not the little half-grin I’ve seen whenever I tease him, or the annoying smirk he gives his teammates when he thinks they’re being ridiculous. This smile is wide and real and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and it’s possibly the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

She looks…perfect. Completely casual, a little rumpled from sleep, but…perfect.

As her feet nudge their way under my thigh, their coldness immediately permeates the thin fabric of my joggers. My muscles tense at the cold—you’d think as a hockey player I’d be used to ice, but her feet are something else entirely—but then she breathes out a happy sigh and my muscles relax. I’ll deal with the cold all night long if it means hearing her make sounds like that.

In the past forty-eight hours, my relationship with Summer has gone from zero to sixty. We were friends before—sort of. Now, the entire world thinks we’re together, we’ve kissed, we’re sharing a bed, and she knows about my brother, something I hadn’t even told my teammates before the reporter brought it up and forced my hand. I don’t need a rule book with this woman, I need a survival guide.

I may be morally opposed to relationships on principle, but it did feel good knowing there was someone at the game just for me.

As I walk to my gate, a dull ache settles into my heart, and I intuitively know it won’t disappear until I see him again.

That saying about distance making the heart grow fonder? Absolutely true. Because five days without Nathan around has made me miss him enough to stop caring that our relationship isn’t real.

Oh, great. He’s a coffee connoisseur and he volunteers to teach children how to play hockey. Honestly. This isn’t even fair anymore.

He is warm and strong and solid, and somehow, he’s holding me both tightly and gently at the same time. He dips his head, burying his face in my hair and just…holds me.

I want Nathan to be happy for his own sake, regardless of whether that happiness has anything to do with me.

“I don’t…want you to go,” he says, and my hand stills. “I just…think you should go because of how much I want you to stay.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and drop my head onto her chest, immediately deciding this is my new favorite place. Right here in my bed, with Summer beside me. But then, I have a sneaking suspicion my favorite place might actually be anywhere Summer happens to be.

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, or what I’m going to think when I’m healthy again and can think about things with any measure of circumspection. I just know I’m too tired to fight. And it feels so good to have her hold me.

It was one of the most intimate things I’ve ever experienced. And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that, under his towel, Nathan was naked. It was more just…the touch. The act of washing his hair. His complete vulnerability. He couldn’t even sit up all the way without leaning against me. He wasn’t making a move or trying to be close, he just needed me.

Not after that kiss. I could write poetry about that kiss. I probably will write poetry about that kiss.

It’s not hard to imagine that kind of life with Summer. A home. Kids. A family.

But I keep it together and ask, “Did I tell you I finally figured out what enforcers do on the ice?” He narrows his gaze, like he can’t quite tell if I’m joking or not. “You did not,” he says slowly. I shrug, like I fully expected his answer. “Okay. Just checking.” Nathan freezes, holding my gaze before the brightest, most beautiful smile stretches across his face. Then he throws his head back, eyes closed, and my very grumpy, perfectly imperfect, love-of-my-life hockey player starts to laugh.