The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,21
Torsten and I, lost in our own thoughts, remain silent until we pull up to a tiny but brightly decorated restaurant in Boston’s West End.
“What is this place?” I ask, sliding out of the car.
Torsten glances at me over the hood. “A hidden gem.”
I snort, following him into the small restaurant. The moment I enter, the delicious scent of culinary expertise wraps around me and I breathe in deeply.
Torsten chuckles and tips his chin toward a table.
I follow him, glancing at the plates on other patrons’ tables. Everything looks delicious. Bright, colorful, classic Mexican dishes with modern twists.
Is that sushi on nachos? This place is a hidden gem.
Right before I slide onto a chair, I glance up and my gaze connects with Little Indy Merrick. Thoughts of our night together flicker through my mind and instead of feeling awkward, like I should get the hell out of here before she latches onto me, the way I would with other women, I grin.
She freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her laptop.
Some of the tension in my shoulders deflates just seeing her again. “Indy!” I call out to her.
Across from me, Torsten turns in his chair. “Hey there, sweetheart. Want to join us for lunch?”
Indy stares, her eyes widening like she can’t believe we’re here. Her hair is twisted into a complicated-looking knot on the top of her head. Big, triangle earrings dangle from her ears. She’s rocking this tie-dye sweater that looks more like a throwback to the nineties than what’s trending today. The sleeves are pushed up on her arms. Other girls would look ridiculous but on Indy, the look just…works. She looks comfortable and cute and completely confident in her ensemble from way back when.
She stares for so long that I wonder if she’s feeling that awkward need to run, or if she’s worried that I’ll somehow latch onto her, or if I interrupted something important for her work by greeting her.
She shakes her head, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before realizing it’s tied up. A blush works over her cheeks and she ducks her head, offering a small smile that I can’t help but return. She’s adorable when she’s flustered.
“Hi, guys. Sure, thanks.” She closes her laptop, slips it into her bag, and picks up the coffee she’s drinking.
I pull up a third chair to our table and Indy sits down, dropping her bag onto the back of the chair.
Torsten dips his head forward to kiss her cheek hello and I roll my eyes even though I know he means nothing by it. It’s how he greets every woman, from the college girls who beg for his autograph to the grandmas who tell him about their hockey-playing grandkids. Still, the flicker of irritation that buzzes through me at his greeting Indy is new. I shake it off.
“What are you guys doing here?” she asks, her gaze darting between Torsten and me.
“Are you kidding?” Torsten replies. “This place has some of the best food I’ve ever had.”
“I know, right?” she agrees. “It’s one of my faves. I live just around the corner and I’m trying to guard it with my life. The last thing we need is its reputation getting out and the place being overrun with tourists.”
“It’s Scotch’s first time here. Don’t hate me for bringing him along,” Torsten teases.
Indy grins and tips her head toward me. “Just this one pass.” She raises a finger to Torsten before glancing at me. “You’re going to love it.”
“I bet,” I agree. “What did you order?”
“Oh, I haven’t ordered yet. Just a coffee.” Indy lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes distracted again.
“Hungry?” Torsten asks.
She nods. “Starving. I can’t even believe the time. I was so lost in my work.”
“What are you working on?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
Her expression transforms, her face opening like a sunflower. Her eyes dazzle and I find myself mesmerized by the way she glows. “Oh, gosh, I’m so excited about it!” She chuckles, ducking her head and nudging a menu in my direction. “Let’s order first.”
Torsten grabs a menu. “Just building that anticipation, huh, Indy?”
She flushes, her cheeks turning redder. She wrinkles her nose. “It’s probably not going to seem so exciting to you guys. You’re going to think I’m lame.”
“Nah, can’t be lamer than overanalyzing hockey plays.” I drop my menu. “Order for me. Whatever your favorite dish is.”