The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,5

to know her better, not just undress her tonight. The realization is heady and dangerous. Still, I can’t stop the thrill that blazes through my body like fire, making my fingers want to reach out and glide over her smooth skin.

The Indiana Merrick I remember was prudent and oblivious.

This version is just as sweet but wildly tempting.

A recipe for trouble.

3

Indy

Noah Scotch.

The second my gaze collides with his, I forget how to breathe. I remember the sweet talker with his rugged jawline and deep, chocolate eyes from my teenage years. Back then, Noah seemed so far out of my reach, it’s like we weren’t even in the same galaxy. The first time I met him at my aunt and uncle’s house, I blushed and fumbled through the entire dinner. Noah sat beside me and when he reached for the grated parmesan cheese, his elbow ran down the length of my arm, causing goosebumps to break out over my skin.

He was the first guy I ever had a real crush on. Of course, it was harmless and innocent. Later that year, I met Jace and everything in the world seemed to melt away as I fell in love with him. But standing here now, with Noah looking at me like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about my career, those old, delicious memories resurface.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks after we’ve been chatting for a solid fifteen minutes. By this time, my cousins have reappeared and disappeared several times. Luckily, Austin acquiesced to Claire’s demands to stay, although he’s been watching my devious cousin like a hawk as she makes her rounds, laughing and flirting with all the hockey players.

“Sure,” I say cautiously.

He rubs a hand along his jawline and I catch the movement, wondering, for one tiny instant, what it would feel like for his fingers to swipe across my cheek, dip down the column of my neck.

He clears his throat and I startle, flicking my gaze back to his but realize he’s pondering how to pose his question.

“Just ask it.” I flash him a smile.

He chuckles, the sound nervous. Shuffling forward half a step, he dips his head and I breathe in his scent. It’s fresh like pinecones and mountain air and it makes my mouth water. “How do you balance it all? The commitment to your career and your social life and dating…I just, I wonder because I thought I was balancing it all fine and now…” he trails off, shaking his head. Pink stains his cheeks and I catch his embarrassment, softening to him even more because of it.

I tip back to peer into his eyes, surprised by his question. Not that I knew what he was going to ask but it definitely wasn’t that. We just jumped from polite, comfortable chitchat to something deeper. I recall the headlines and social media stories surrounding Noah this summer. His fiancée Courtney cheated on him with a lawyer or engineer or something. I shuffle even closer to him, as if pulled by an invisible thread. One dipped in hurt and vulnerability, one seeking understanding and comfort.

His honesty spurs my own, even if it pains me to admit it out loud. “I don’t.”

Noah’s brow furrows, as if my answer is confusing.

I clear my throat. “I don’t balance it at all. My entire life revolves around my work, my research, that’s it. Claire dragged me out tonight by sheer will and her ability to guilt trip.”

The corner of his mouth turns up even though his eyes remain serious, disbelief ringing their edges. “Me too. Until Courtney I mean…I just, I was all about the job.”

I take a long pull of my drink. “It’s easier that way.”

“Safer,” he agrees, rattling the ice in his glass.

We stare at each other for a long beat, some type of understanding passing between us. “I’m sorry about Courtney.”

He shrugs, glancing out over the crowd. “I’m not.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m gutted about the way it went down. But I’m not sorry. I would much rather have understood her expectations, have her realize the type of life and future she wants, before we exchanged vows and not after, with a handful of kids in tow.”

The thought of Noah as a dad causes my chest to ache. My God. Claire was right; I need a life. Still, I admire his rational outlook and I tell him as much.

He snorts, polishing off his drink. “I can say this now, six months later. Right afterwards”—he pauses, a