by zipping up her coat. “Sure.” The rain had stopped, but a wind swooped into its place to send a chilly breeze at them. She shivered and tucked her hands into her pockets. “Aren’t you cold?” His sweater couldn’t offer much protection. But then it hadn’t against the rain either.
His quick glance down was finished with a jerk of his shoulder. “No.” He smiled slightly. “So what’d you change?”
She stepped to the side so a couple of people could enter the building and tried to dodge his question too. “You play excellent for someone who doesn’t play for others.”
His smile dropped away and he started walking back the way they’d come. He still had her backpack, so she hustled to catch up.
“Why are you so touchy about people knowing you can play? Is it unmanly for a hockey player or something?”
“What? No.” His scowl said exactly how silly he found her comment. “Hockey has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what is it?” His skills were superior to a number of students she played with at the school. “Shy?” That didn’t fit his public image at all. “Worried about what people will say?” That most definitely didn’t mesh with his gruff, who-gives-a-shit persona. Although he wasn’t so gruff right now.
He hadn’t been at all when he’d been lost in the music either.
“What the heck?” He stopped to stare down at her. “What does it matter to you?”
Her pulse fluttered and took off as she met the challenging question in his eyes. She wasn’t backing down though. “Because it’s important.” She believed that. Sensed it in him too. “You obviously love it. To hide something that means that much to you must hurt.”
He didn’t respond for a long beat. A harsh gust of wind pelted her side, shoving her hair across her face that she impatiently brushed away. She caught his deep swallow before he started walking again.
Well that conversation had gone well.
“Can I have my backpack?” she called, unwilling to chase him even if her heart was kicking at her to do so. Her car was parked in the other direction.
He stopped, head dropping. “Right.” His chin was up when he turned around, her bag held out in his big hand. “Thank you for meeting me for lunch.”
So they’d returned to formal. It had her missing the slightly bumbling, softer side of him. “Thanks for playing with me.” She nodded toward the practice building, taking her backpack from him to hook it over her shoulder.
He eyed her again, a deep perusal that never left her face. She shifted, uncomfortable under his steady intent. Yet she held his gaze, waiting him out. He had more. “I’d really like you to be my date on Saturday.”
Saturday, Saturday, Saturday...what was Saturday? She backtracked through their discussions to remember his first invite. The team party. Right. “No.” Visions of cameras and gossips and too much glitz had her sprinting away. “I told you I have to work.” And she did. She could trade the hours with someone, but not for an event that would most likely be way out of her comfort zone. It didn’t matter how much she’d like to see him again, the party wasn’t happening.
“I have a C. Bechstein B 212 grand piano at home.”
Her chuckle jerked out on a short breath. Where’d that come from? “That’s nice?” In truth, it had the green monster of envy banging against her chest. The hand-crafted German-made piano was an absolute dream instrument. But much like the hockey blurt, how was she supposed to respond?
“Would you like to see it?” His brows rose with the hope in his voice.
See his piano? Really? As in see his piano, like, come up for coffee? That was a pretty unique line—if that was what he meant. Again, she was stumped for words.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching before they dropped back down. “It was my grandmother’s.”
Would he bring his grandmother into the conversation if he was just trying to get her to his house to have sex?
“Did she play?”
“Yes.”
And that was it. He shut down so quickly she could almost see the shutters snapping closed. Why? What were his secrets, and why did she want to know them?
If she said no, would she regret it? Here was a chance to take what she’d been trying so hard not to want. It’d be impulsive and wild and bold—exactly what she wouldn’t let herself be for fear of hurting her family. And December was so dang close...