silverware then unfolded the napkin and set it over his lap. “When there’s time. Nothing very good though.” He’d never mastered the guitar like he had the piano.
“Huh.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ability has nothing to do with enjoyment.”
“Too true. But that applies to just about everything, doesn’t it?” Hockey being one of those things. And why in the hell would he open a door that had to remain firmly closed?
Her head bobbed in agreement. “That it does. So.” She leaned in. “Do you enjoy playing?” He panicked for a second before she added, “The guitar.”
His breath escaped in a slow release that settled his heart back down. The guitar. Not hockey. “I do.”
“But not the piano? Not anymore at least?”
He grunted, arms crossing over his chest. “Persistent, aren’t you?”
“Crap.” She sat back, wincing. “Sorry. It’s none of my business, is it?” She blew out a breath. “I can be a bit intense about music. I imagine you’re the same about hockey.”
And she would be wrong about that. He shrugged it off and deftly deflected the assumption. “So how did you get into music?”
Her face lit up, pure joy emanating from her. “We had an old upright piano in our basement. Badly out of tune, but I didn’t care. I played it anyway. I pestered my parents for a year for lessons, but we never had the money. Then...” Her gaze drifted away, glow fading as she got lost in the past. She cleared her throat. “Then things changed, and music became my escape.” The lame finish said there was a lot more she wasn’t saying.
So they both had past secrets that first dates didn’t get to know about. That was standard, but he actually wanted to know about hers. Yet another difference from his other dates.
Their food arrived, and they both dug into their meal. He’d moved past hungry to the close-to-starving stage about thirty minutes ago, so he focused on rectifying that problem until the hunger pains eased. A chicken breast and a side of olive-oil-tossed pasta with vegetables later, he glanced up to see her nibbling on her fries, burger half gone.
“Good?” She motioned to his meal.
“Ahh.” He sat back, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “The food? Yeah.”
“My brothers inhale food like that all the time. Especially after a hockey game.”
He looked at his plate. He still had another chicken breast and a side of steamed vegetables to eat. “I just got out of hockey practice.”
“Cool.” She waved at his plate again. “Don’t stop because I said something.”
He gripped his fork, hesitating. “How’s your burger?”
“Excellent.” Her grin was wide. “Just like you said.” She scooped up a glob of mayo then ketchup and plopped another fry into her mouth.
Easy. She was just so easy to be with. No drama. No show.
He had no clue how to handle it.
“Do you know who I am?” he finally blurted out. Would she change once she fully understood? “I play for the Minnesota Glaciers.”
Jacqui frowned, slowly straightening. Confusion wrinkled over her brow and the awkwardness grew the longer she didn’t respond.
He’d done it now. This was where she’d bail. Not a surprise. A nice girl like her wouldn’t want a guy with his reputation.
He settled back, hands folding in his lap. He was a pro at handling endings. Especially ones that’d never really started.
Chapter Six
Jacqui wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he expecting a reaction? Obviously. But what? Her stomach churned around the food she’d just consumed as she tried to figure him out. Maybe he was playing her. But why?
“Is that supposed to impress me or scare me away?” There. She put it back on him since she had no clue what he wanted and she really didn’t want whatever this was to end.
He ducked his head, eyes closing for a long moment before he puffed out a soft laugh. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. His eyes were dark when he raised his head. “Maybe I was hoping for neither of those.”’
Her heart did a little hitch and stutter that overtook the jumble of nerves fluttering through her chest. He was possibly the worst guy for her to get involved with—not that she was getting involved—but she didn’t want to walk away from him. Not yet, at least.
“Do you have plans after this?” she asked, going on impulse.
“No.” He wet his lips. “Not ’til four. And that’s flexible.”
“You do now.” She set her napkin on the table and reached for her bag. “Are you done?” She nodded at his