His forearms were defined with muscles that carried up to his biceps. He held his shoulders back and now that she got a good look at him from behind, he had a really nice ass. Round and firm beneath his shorts that led to muscled thighs and chiseled calves. Her stomach flipped at the thought of all that power focused on her—in bed. Dang, that was hot and so not appropriate.
She shook her head and yanked her mind from the side-trip into fantasy land. Who was this man? Her lip cocked up in understanding when she saw the bumps on the back of his heels.
He played hockey. A lot, she’d guess, given the size of his Bauer bumps.
Two of her brothers had required surgery to fix the deformity caused by the heels rubbing on the back of the skates. Didn’t he know about the heel pads he could wear to reduce those?
“You weren’t rude,” she finally responded, still distracted by his feet. Should she say something about the pads? Would that be rude of her? Intrusive? Probably. “So...” She motioned toward the large display of guitars. “Would you like to try any of them out?”
His gaze went to the display before shifting back to her. “I know my feet are ugly.”
Holy crap. Heat flew up her neck to flame her cheeks and her mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut. “That’s not what I was thinking.”
“No? Most women do.”
Her disgust was pushed out on a short burst of air. “Then I’m not most women.”
He shifted to face her, arms crossing to match her stance. “Then what were you thinking? I know you were staring at my feet, and there’s no way you could miss how fugly they are.”
“Fugly?” She quirked a brow, lips twitching. “Really?”
He grunted—a real caveman-style grunt. “I know they’re fucking ugly. I don’t need anyone to tell me that.”
And the challenge was raised. Or was it a dare? The curse word was both natural and stiff on his lips. Yup, manners. She’d guess he didn’t like swearing in front of women or had been raised not to do so. Like her brothers had.
“Do you want to know what I was really thinking?” She stepped forward, undaunted by his size or attitude. Her instinct told her this man wouldn’t hurt her. Plus, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. She hadn’t kicked the butt out of cancer—twice—by giving up when the odds were against her.
She stopped a few feet from him, his imposing height seeming to tower over her five-seven frame. He was all hard muscle and intimidation that sent a zing of want-laced fear through her. Still, she met his eyes and cocked a brow waiting for him to answer.
He tipped the bill back on his cap, and her breath caught. Green. He had dark-green eyes that held hers captive with their layers of questions and defenses. “Sure.”
Sure? Sure what?
She blinked then jerked her gaze away from his. With a quick inhale, she stepped to the side and pointed at his heels. “I wondered if those hurt and if you’d tried the gel pads in your skates.” She glanced up. “Should I continue?”
“Huh.” He shook his head then to her surprise coughed out a “Sure.”
His arms were still crossed in a protective gesture over his chest, making this man so very different from the one who’d pantomimed keys on the edge of the piano. What was his story?
“Okay.” She warmed to the byplay, even though she was unsure where it was going. “I was thinking you must play a lot of hockey to have bumps like that. The muscles in your thighs and ass confirm that assumption, along with the calluses on your pointer fingers and palms.” A byproduct of repeatedly tying his skate laces. She measured his reaction before breaking into a grin. “And that was it. Ugly didn’t cross my mind. Not even once.” Not even close.
“The muscles in my ass?” His brow quirked, amusement tugging at his lips.
“Really?” she hedged, ducking her mortification. She usually didn’t tell strangers—customers—she’d been checking out their backside. “That’s what you got out of that?”
He met her stare for a silent second or two before a half smile broke free. “Hockey fan?”
“No,” she quickly assured him. Maybe too quickly, based on his sudden scowl. “I have four older brothers who all play. I have knowledge by osmosis more than desire.”
“Oh.” His frown pulled his brows down and flattened his smile. “So you don’t like hockey?” His