Getting Lucky - Jennifer Lazaris Page 0,6
Born and raised in Toronto. The ‘eh’ give it away?”
“Definitely.”
“You know, I walked like that when I took a puck to the ankle in the playoffs a few years ago. Anyway, this is mine.” He nodded toward the black Cadillac Escalade. He’d spent way too much money on it, but other than the classic Pontiac GTO he’d purchased when signing his first big contract back in Montreal, it was his only vehicle.
She paused to stare at the SUV. “Wow. Nice wheels.”
“Thanks. How old are you today?” he asked, holding the door open for her.
“I’m twenty five.”
He jogged around the front of the vehicle and climbed in. “Good number.”
“Huh?”
He backed out of the parking space. “That’s my number.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She leaned her head back against the headrest.
“It’s a big milestone,” he said, glancing over at her.
“Right now it feels more like a boulder. What about you?”
“Thirty.”
“Dirty thirty. How’s it feel?”
“Old,” he replied. When the subject of his age arose, it made him think about hockey and how many quality years he had left to play the game. Eight? Ten? Some guys played well into their forties, but he hoped when the time came he’d know when to hang up his skates.
“This is weird,” he said.
“What is?”
He glanced over at her. “I guess I’m used to overly enthusiastic women fans. You definitely aren’t one of them.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. Are you really famous?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that question without sounding like a conceited asshole.”
“Try.”
“Hmm. How can I put this in terms you’ll understand? Whoever you think the most famous actor in Hollywood is, that’s how famous I am in the hockey world.”
“Impressive. Should I ask for your autograph?” She smiled at him, and his gaze dropped to her lips. Perfect, rose-colored lips made for kissing. And other activities, he mused.
She gave him directions to her apartment, and he watched as she pulled an old cell phone from her purse.
“Wow,” he said. “Is that a flip phone?”
“No, it has a sliding keyboard for texting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know they still made those.”
“They probably don’t. It’s old. I’m not much of a techie and I only text, so I don’t need a data plan or anything.”
“What, no social media for you?”
“Once in a while I use Facebook on my laptop. I don’t see the point of taking food photos or endless selfies. No offense to those who do, it’s just not for me. The camera on this is broken, and with no data, it’s kind of useless anyway. What about you?”
“I use Twitter sometimes. Team stuff mostly.” He glanced over at her and shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“A woman in her twenties who doesn’t live on her phone? You’re full of surprises.”
Ryder pulled up to her apartment complex a few minutes later. “Here you go. Front door service.”
“I appreciate the ride, Mr. O’Bryan.” She fished around in her purse as they walked to the front door.
“Mr. O’Bryan is my father. Call me Ryder.”
“Thank you, Ryder.”
He loved the sound of her sweet voice, all feminine and soft, like the rest of her. He tried to steer his thoughts in the other direction, but something about her stirred his blood.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I can’t find my keys.” She sat on the stairs and dumped the contents of her bag onto the sidewalk.
He kneeled next to her. “Is there anyone you can call who has a spare?”
Zoe shook the purse again, then sighed. “My roommate shut her phone off for the night. She’s with her new boyfriend. I don’t know where he lives. I don’t even know his last name.”
“What about your other friends? I can take you wherever you need to go.”
“I only moved here a few months ago. I don’t have any other friends. The super is never here, so I can’t even get him to unlock my door.”
“This really isn’t your night.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I should never have moved here. It’s been one disaster after another.”
An overwhelming urge to protect her surfaced, taking him by surprise. She looked distressed and vulnerable, as if the entire night had caught up to her at this moment.
“Zoe.” When she didn’t respond, he tilted her chin up with his finger, bringing them face-to-face. “Hey. You can stay with me tonight, okay?”
“W-what?” she stammered. “No, Mr. O’Bryan, I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“I told you, call me Ryder. And you’re staying with me. End of discussion. Got it?”
***
Zoe’s heart beat stuttered, then began a