Romancing the Grump (Appies, #4)

by Jenny Proctor

Summer?” Tucker asks. “Want to hear something funny?” I sit up a little taller and smile, happy for the distraction. “Always.” Tucker grins. “Ask Dumbo what his real name is.” I think back to the player roster I studied and memorized last week. Dumbo’s last name is Cavendish, but I’m pretty sure his player bio doesn’t list his name as anything but Dumbo. “Okay,” I say, taking the bait. “Dumbo, what’s your real name?” Dumbo stands up, folds his arm across his waist, and bows forward like he’s addressing the British monarch. “Prescott Lawrence Cavendish, the third, at your service.” Alec, Van, and Tucker all lift their hands in unison, like they’re tipping their hats in formal greeting. “His dad holds an actual title in Britain,” Nathan says, his voice low and close to my ear. His breath sends a shiver across my skin, and for a moment, I forget about my disappointment regarding his no-dating policy. “He’s a baron,” Nathan continues. “Or maybe a lord?” “Why doesn’t he have an accent?” I whisper back. Nathan shrugs. “He grew up here. But when he’s talking to his family on the phone, you can definitely hear traces of one.” “Wow,” I say to Dumbo, ignoring the tingling sensation still ...

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” a voice says from behind me, “but do you guys play for the Appies?” Sure enough, it’s one of the women from a few tables over who has been staring through most of our meal. The guys all look at Alec. Apparently, he functions as team captain off the ice too. Alec sits up a little taller, his expression shifting as he smiles wide. It’s actually kind of miraculous to watch him shift into his public persona. It’s not a bad persona at all—he’s charming and charismatic. But I definitely prefer the more unguarded version of Alec. “We sure do,” he says, his voice smooth and confident. “Are you a fan?” “I knew it!” the woman says, her nerves making her voice tremble. “I’m a huge fan. I don’t know much about hockey, but I love your TikTok account.” She holds up her phone. “Do you think I could get a picture with all of you?” When the guys nod, I jump out of my seat. “Here. I’ll take it for you.” The guys crowd together around the table, and the woman crouches down so she’s in the frame next to them. I snap a few photos, then try to return the phone, but the woman doesn’t take it. “Maybe just one more of me and Nathan?” A few of the guys chuckle and let ...

Though it’s going to feel like miles if Nathan is silent the entire way. “Um, sorry if I messed up your plans back there,” I say a little sheepishly. He looks over. “What plans?” “I don’t know. You seemed irritated that I was coming with you. I thought maybe you wanted to find the woman who asked for a photo.” His frown deepens. “What? No. I don’t really…do that. And she reminded me of my mom.” His words make me unreasonably happy, and I have to stop myself from grinning. “I mean, I was also getting the mom vibes, but I didn’t want to judge.” Nathan doesn’t say anything else, so I keep rambling. “Though, you have to admit, she totally qualifies as a hot mom.” He gives me a sideways look. “A hot mom?” “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. They’re all over Instagram. They’re the ones with perfect wavy hair and adorable children who look like they’re constantly modeling for Gap Kids and Christmas presents all wrapped in matching white and gold paper and little lunch bento boxes for their kids, full of fresh fruits and vegetables and toasted quinoa.” Nathan huffs out a laugh. “I’m not on Instagram. And that doesn’t sound real.” “It probably isn’t,” I say. “But the hotness is. These women are gorgeous. That mom back there would totally qualify, so, I’m just saying, I wouldn’t fault you if you wanted to…go after her.” His steps slow, then stop as he looks over and studies me, his expression curious, maybe even a little amused. “Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?” I st...

“I don’t mind that you’re walking with me,” Nathan finally says, and a tiny ribbon of happiness unfurls in my chest. “I just didn’t want to give the guys the wrong impression.” Oh. Oh. My happiness quickly fizzles. I hate to ask, but I also have to ask. “Impression about what?” “About us,” he answers quickly. “After the Dominik thing, and then when I sat with you on the bus, I think—” He shakes his head and pushes his hands into his coat pockets. “All that stuff about you being off-limits because you work for the team? They made that up. I think they’ve decided you’re off-limits because of me.” Disappointment settles over me, and I force a deep breath, doing my best to squelch it so it doesn’t show up in my words. “Right,” I say, my tone a little too cheerful. “And that would be the wrong impression because that’s not what’s happening,” I manage to say. “Right.” Nathan’s voice is unwavering. Perfectly resolute. “It’s not.” “You were just being nice.” “Demanding Dominik be respectful.” “Which I appreciated.” “And which you deserved.” We reach the hotel, and Nathan opens the door for me, holding it open while I step inside. I brush past him, and it’s all I can do not to linger and breathe in a lungful of Nathan-scented air. But that’s the last thing I should do, especially now that we’ve very firmly established there is nothing going on between us. The trouble is, the more time I spend with him, the more I want there to be something going on. I actually didn’t care when Dumb...

I’ve only been in my room ten minutes—barely long enough to pee, check my teeth, and change into leggings—when a knock sounds on my door. The main door, not the one connecting my room to Nathan’s. I still can’t get over how he literally fell into my room earlier. I thought my heart might stop. I couldn’t see his face—he was just this giant blur of a man—and I panicked. Then I realized it was him, and my heart started pounding for an entirely different reason. I look through the peephole and recognize Nathan, then give myself a tiny mental pep talk. I can do this. I can control my feelings. I can squelch a teeny tiny crush and move on. I open the door and smile. “Hi,” I say, gesturing for him to come in. “Hey.” He steps inside, and I close the door and move into the room. He follows behind me, almost bumping into me when I stop at the foot of the bed. It’s possible we didn’t really think this through. There’s nowhere to sit in here, not unless we want to sprawl out on the duvet, which doesn’t exactly feel conducive to a serious conversation about his brother’s legal trouble, especially when I’m also trying to quell my growing feelings. The only chair is all the way in the corner, facing the built-in desk. At least he can sit in that one. I’ll just have to make perching on the edge of my bed not seem awkward. “Do you want to take the chair?” I ask, gesturing toward it. “Sure.” I’m standing at the foot of the bed when he moves past, and he lifts a hand to my arm, his fingers ...

Nathan picks up the chair and moves it closer. Then he pulls a bag of Peanut M&Ms out of his back pocket, holding them up. “I thought since you said you weren’t above bribery…” Oh. my. gosh. Nathan brought me M&Ms. Is he trying to kill me here? Making himself irresistible while simultaneously telling me he’s completely off-limits? “That’s what you had to do downstairs?” I say, reaching for the bag. “You had to buy M&Ms for me?” “Let’s call it a thank you,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not even sure I can help.” I grab a couple of shrink-wrapped plastic cups from the bathroom counter, then return to my spot and open the M&Ms. Without even thinking, I immediately start sorting them into the cups by color. “Seems like you’ve done this before,” Nathan says, nodding toward the cups. “Only about a million times,” I say. “My twin is a weirdo who doesn’t like to eat blue food, so we’ve been dividing M&Ms since we were kids. I get yellow, orange, and blue, she gets red, brown, and green.” “Why blue?” “A traumatic incident when we were six involving a stomach virus and a blue raspberry iCEE.” “Sounds…painful?” Nathan says. “And gross.” I hold out one of the cups. “Do you have any problems with red, brown, or green?” He takes it and immediately pops a green M&M into his mouth. “Not even a little bit.” I don’t know why it makes me so happy that he’s willing to eat an M&M. Maybe because he’s a professional athlete who only ate salad while his te...