the knot in his stomach? He weaved through the tight tables and slid past a display of coffee mugs to reach her. Why did they always put things so close together in these stores? He inevitably felt like a lumbering ox trying to get through without knocking anything over. Or anyone.
It didn’t help that Jacqui watched him the whole way. Any finesse he had on the ice was lost when he was flat-footed.
“Hey,” he said when he finally reached her table. The rest of his conversation skills abandoned him after that.
She sat back to look up at him, lips quirking. “Did you follow me?”
Truth or lie? “Maybe.” Or something in between.
She shook her head then motioned to the empty chair across from her. “Have a seat.”
Another wave of relief rushed through him while a new round of nerves set in. The chair scraped over the tile floor and groaned out a warning when he sat down. He hoped it held. He doubted he could recover if the chair broke and he ended up sprawled on his ass. Because, yeah, that was where his mind went.
“Did you want a coffee?” She nodded toward the counter, and he belatedly realized that was supposed to be why he’d come in here.
“Would you like another?” He couldn’t tell if her to-go cup was empty or not.
She shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
A textbook was opened in front of her. School work. How old was she then? He knew better than to ask...unless she looked underage, and she definitely had a maturity that said she was legal. Plus Max had said she was in her last year of college.
“So...” She folded her hands over the book and leaned forward. “What can I do for you, Henrik?”
He liked the sound of his name on her lips. Heavy on the first syllable with the second one drawn out and soft. “Honestly,” he said, the truth tumbling out, “I’m not sure.”
Her laugh was light and airy. “All right.” She sat back. “I see you got your guitar strings.” She motioned to the plastic bag that dangled at his side.
“Yeah.” He set the bag on the floor and tried to relax a bit. “Max helped.”
“I bet he talked your ear off too, once he found out you were interested in guitars.”
He chuckled. “That he did.” And what would she say if she knew Max had babbled about her more than guitars? “He said you were in music school.”
Her scowl came and went so fast he almost missed it. “I am. Hence the attempt to study.” She tapped the book.
He leaned in to look at the text. “What class?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Music Business Economics.”
“Hard class.” He sat back, scratched his jaw. “Or I’m assuming it is.” It’d been years since he’d graduated, but he’d never been a fan of economics. Or finance, much to his father’s annoyance.
“It is.” Her emphatic agreement had him smiling. “So what do you do?”
The knot tightened in his stomach and worked the acid up his throat. Did he tell her? Would it change her perception of him? For better or worse? He hated lying. “I play hockey.”
She rolled her eyes, nudging his leg. “I already know that. But what else do you do?”
He gripped his hands together under the table and tried to play it off. “That’s it. I play hockey.” It was nice having a conversation with someone who didn’t already know that.
“For real?” The doubt was clear in her wide eyes. “Like professionally?”
And now what? “Yes.”
Sweat collected on his nape as he waited for her response. It’d been forever—if ever—that he’d met a woman who didn’t already know who he was. And Jacqui had made it clear that she wasn’t a hockey fan.
“Huh?” She took a sip of her coffee, brows lowering. “I guess that explains the Bauer bumps. But why don’t you do anything about them?”
Was she really concerned about his feet? That was what she wanted to talk about? “Because they don’t hurt. And I do wear the pads. They’d be worse if I didn’t.”
“That sucks.”
Her completely straight face and honest emotion had him finally relaxing. He let out a low laugh and settled back in his chair. “It’s all part of the game.”
She glanced at her phone then started putting her stuff back in her bag. “My break’s almost over. Sorry.” She wrapped up the uneaten portion of her sandwich, the distinctive scent of tuna fish wafting over to knock at his guilt.