Tripping (Iced #2) - Kristine Allen Page 0,10

my date’s parents.

Kill me now.

“Resentment”—A Day To Remember

“So what do you do, Bleu?” my mom asked my date as we sat at the table after the ceremony.

“I’m a middle school music teacher,” Bleu replied—the epitome of grace and politeness. Of course, that was news to me because after the game, her friend had all too willingly thrown her under the bus by spilling a lot of her life details except that.

The one he didn’t reveal was the one I wanted to know the most. Which was why she hated hockey and hockey players. It’s not like she could have extensive experience with them. She was from Texas. Unless she’d known one of my teammates or previous players for the Amurs?

The thought of her with one of them drove me crazy.

I didn’t stop to consider why that was my response, nor why I was so interested. Mostly because I didn’t want to examine why I was so attracted to Bleu.

“How did you meet Cameron?” my mom asked next.

“Uh,” she stuttered before looking at me for assistance.

“We met after one of my games,” I inserted, then regretted my response as soon as the words left my mouth. My mother’s expression told me it was the wrong answer.

“Oh” was all my mom said. Bleu appeared confused.

“Mom, stop.”

My mother raised a brow at me. When she excused herself to go to the bathroom, I asked Bleu to save my seat with a wink, then went after my mother.

Waiting outside the bathroom, I crossed my arms. When my mother exited the room, she jumped a little and held a hand to her chest.

“You scared the crap out of me, son.”

“Mom, stop with the questions.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with an innocent bat of her lashes. That had me rolling my eyes, and she huffed a sigh.

“You can’t blame me. Until you said you met after a game, I thought maybe it was different. She’s the first girl you’ve brought to anything since—”

“Stop,” I interrupted.

“Cameron,” my mom gently started, then searched my face. “You know we just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Mom. I have hockey, money, and women falling at my feet. What more is there to make a man happy?” I was slightly sarcastic, and a hint of guilt crept in at my attitude with my mom.

“There’s so much more to life than that. It’s been almost ten years; I think you need to quit blaming yourself and move on.”

I straightened up from the wall. “I’ve moved on just fine. Bleu is only a date.”

“A date you brought to your friend’s wedding.”

“It’s only a date,” I reiterated.

“Fine, son. It’s only a date.” The look in her eyes told me she wasn’t truly done with the conversation, merely conceding for the moment.

After the wedding reception had wound down, I took Bleu to Zilker Park to walk through the Christmas light display. When I first asked if she wanted to go, she balked, saying she was in heels. So I’d stopped at Walmart and we’d bought her a pair of velvet flats.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate,” she said as we were getting ready to leave the evening holiday display.

“Thank you for humoring me and being my date to the wedding and then joining me for this. I’ve never been,” I admitted.

Her laughter sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the fact that it was cool and Bleu was wearing my suit jacket. “I thought you’d been here for years?”

“I have, but this was never really on my radar.” Hands shoved deep in my pockets, I shrugged as I dropped my gaze to the ground. For some unknown reason, I was embarrassed that I’d not had one single date of this type in the entire time I’d lived there.

Sure, I’d brought women to team dinners and charity events, but none that I would say were more than a pretty accessory on my arm. It definitely unsettled me.

I held out my arm, and she slipped hers through.

We were silent on the walk to the car. Her soft, pale hand rested in the crook of my arm, and I had the briefest mental image of her spread across my dark sheets. The contrast would be stunning.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said when I’d helped her into the car.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her it didn’t need to end there. It was how I’d proceed if she was any other woman, yet there was