Chapter 11
Alex
Shaking my head in consternation, I walk out toward the lobby of the practice rink because that’s where I told Sutton I’d meet her. Outside of having to chase Cassie off at the beginning of practice, I actually had a pretty good time out there. I’m not sure if it’s because Sutton was there watching me or the fact that Garrett was cracking joke after joke as we were waiting for the next drill. The dude has an endless supply of jokes that are dirty as hell and were only suitable to be told amongst a group of comedically immature guys. No matter if I try to stay aloof with him, he won’t let me. It’s like he refuses to let me be an ass, and God help me, I’m starting to like that about him.
It’s actually the first practice session since I joined the Cold Fury that I can actually say I enjoyed, start to finish.
What’s even more enjoyable is, as I step out into the lobby with my equipment bag over my shoulder, my eyes immediately zero in and lock on Sutton. She’s standing by the front glass door, her back to me, gazing outside. Dressed super casual in just T-shirt, jeans and black Converse, she looks young, fresh and adorable—actually edible.
Adorably edible and my pounding pulse seems to agree.
I start toward her because she’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, when something grabs hold of my arm. Looking around, I see Cassie standing there, gazing at me with heated eyes.
“We need to talk,” she says with determination.
I pull my arm away. “No, we really don’t.”
“What the f*ck was that little stunt out there on the ice?”
“You’re classy as ever,” I remark dryly, and turn to walk away.
She grabs my arm again, her nails digging in. I arch an eyebrow up at her, my look giving her about two seconds to get off me. Luckily she takes heed, releasing me just as quickly.
“Are you throwing me over for that girl?” she says loudly, nodding toward Sutton. I turn my gaze and follow Cassie’s stare. Sutton has overheard this little byplay and stares back at us, her face impassively serene despite being called out.
Turning back to Cassie, I tell her quietly, hoping to bring the noise level down a bit, “I’m not throwing you over for her. I’m throwing you over for me. I’m just not interested anymore and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you’ll let this go.”
I give my back to Cassie without giving her a chance to respond. In three long strides, I reach Sutton and take her elbow, turning her toward the door. With my free hand, I push it open and usher her through it before me. She gives me no resistance, trusting in my direction.
We step out into the midday sun, and I note there’s finally a crispness to the air that signifies that maybe fall has truly arrived.
“So, is the life of a hockey star normally filled with stalker ex-girlfriends?” Sutton asks me as the door closes behind us.
I turn to her with a grin. “I think it’s part of the standard résumé. And for the record, she was not my girlfriend.”
“What was she, then?” she asks me with complete confidence in her nosiness.
I’m not sure she’ll like my answer but I give it. “She was a hookup. Nothing more.”
“Oh…okay,” Sutton says quickly and I’m pretty sure I just lost some brownie points with her.
“Where’s your car?” I ask Sutton just to change the subject.
“My car?”
“Yeah…figured you could drive if you don’t mind. Mine is behind the complex in the players’ parking lot and yours is probably closer.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly and takes off toward the parking lot. “But I have to warn you…it’s a little junky. I’m not sure a celebrity of your status should be seen in it.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I tell her with a chuckle, although when she stops at a rusted-out bucket of a car to unlock the door, I’m not sure it will get us to our intended destination.
“It runs fine,” she assures me, the look on my face undoubtedly giving away my concern. “We can take your car if you’re worried about it.”
“I’m definitely not worried,” I tell her as I walk to the passenger door and wait for her to unlock it. She shoots me a grin, unlocks the driver’s door with a key, and then climbs in to reach the passenger lock. Good Lord, it doesn’t even have automatic locks. I didn’t know cars this old still existed.
I’m not even sure what type of car this is, but it’s small so I have to fold my frame practically in half to get in the seat after I toss my equipment bag in the back. Despite the car probably being made several decades ago, it’s very clean and well kept on the inside.
When Sutton turns the ignition, the engine sputters to life and gives a lusty purr. She turns to me and grins. “Let me guess…you probably drive a sports car, right? Red, maybe convertible, goes from zero to sixty in about three seconds flat?”
“You so have me pegged wrong,” I tell her with a mock glare. “I drive a used Suburban. While it’s not as old as this bucket, it’s got its share of miles on it.”
“Wow,” she says, like I just told her the most amazing thing in the world, and puts her car in drive. “Consider me impressed.”
“Why does that impress you?”
“Well, because I just placed an unfair stereotype on you. I just assumed all wealthy sports stars spent money like it was going out of style.”
I can’t help the bark of laughter that pops out. “It would probably surprise you, then, to learn I live in a small apartment and I hoard my money, although I do have an addiction to large flat-screen TVs.”
“Definitely busting my stereotype,” she agrees. “So why the obsessive saving of money?”
“So I have something to fall back on when I’m done playing hockey. I don’t know anything else.”
“And just how long do you think you’ll be playing hockey?”
Turning to look at her while she drives, I notice that the side view of her face is just as beautiful as the front view. Her long, red hair is hanging loosely with a slight wave to it, setting off the sparkle to her eyes, which reflect the brilliant flecks of green from the sun angling in through the windshield. I notice for the first time that she has a tiny sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She fascinates me like no other person I’ve met, and that scares me just a bit. It excites me too.
The answer to her question should be easy, but it’s really not. I decide to lay it out honestly to her. “Just a few weeks ago, I was on the verge of quitting. I didn’t like the team pushing me…attempting to mold me into something I wasn’t. I didn’t love the game enough to let them do that to me.”
“And now?” she asks quietly, shooting me a quick glance before putting her eyes back on the road.
“Now? I’m looking at the game a bit differently,” I admit to her.
“Why is that?”
Her voice is so soothing, I absolutely want to capitulate to her. Rather than hide my feelings like I normally do, I want to tell her everything.
Well, almost everything. There are some things I’d never be able to share with her.
“Because you’ve made me look at things in a different light,” I tell her, and her head spins to meet my look. She stares at me a moment longer than what’s safe before she turns back to look at the road.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asks with a soft smile on her face. I have the unbearable urge to reach my fingertips out and trace them along her jaw but I resist. She’d probably slap me if I tried that.
“Good, I think. I’m still testing the waters, so to speak.”
Sutton turns into a parking lot that houses a cheap strip mall. She pulls in front of an Indian cuisine restaurant and turns the car off. Turning to look at me, she says, “Whether you dip a toe in or jump in headfirst, I’m glad you’re testing the waters. Experiencing new things, growing from that experience…I’m glad to see you trying that.”
She looks at me with warmth and even a bit of understanding. Yes, she understands something about me when I’m not even sure I understand much. It’s like she is wise beyond her years and I feel like she could threaten to crumble the very platform that I’ve built my entire knowledge of the world upon. It’s a scary prospect, but one that I find challenging in a good way.
Taking my silence as a hint that the conversation is over, she turns briefly to look at the restaurant, then back to me. “I hope you like Indian.”
I don’t even spare the restaurant a glance. “Thank you…for taking the time to try to get to know me. And I think maybe for getting me when I’m not sure I even get myself.”
She sucks in a small breath and her eyes go wide over my proclamation. Then she smiles at me, and it is filled with care and understanding. I want to f*cking kiss her so bad, my chest aches, but it’s not the time…it’s not the place. I wonder if it ever will be.
“Come on, let’s eat,” I tell her as I open the passenger door and pour myself out of the little seat.
After we’re seated in a booth and have placed our orders, Sutton turns all business on me, which is fine. After reading the binder of information she gave me, I’m actually feeling pretty excited about this project. Mainly because I’ll be working in close proximity to Sutton, which is a schmucky thing to admit, but I’m also excited about the prospect of helping kids who may have suffered some of the same stuff I went through. Just being able to give them an outlet for help is beyond thrilling to me, because I always felt so trapped and helpless while I was growing up.
“Did you finish reading all of the materials?”
“Yup. And while I have no other programs to compare it to, the California program is very impressive. I’m not even sure we’d have to modify it that much, assuming all of the information about addiction is accurate. That’s your expertise, though.”
Sutton nods, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s all accurate, and while we wouldn’t use their material verbatim, we can definitely follow the outline of the program. I’ve got all of the necessary materials we can convert over that have been produced by our crisis center.”
“What do you want my role to be?”
“Well, you are the spokesperson, so most of your work will come on the back end when we start traveling to schools and events, but I’d still love to have your input while I put the program together. As I draft the materials, I could forward them to you for review, and we’ll need you to do some photo shoots for the brochures and pamphlets, videos…that sort of thing.”
“Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?” I ask, the words popping out of my mouth so suddenly, I have no clue where they came from. Clearly my subconscious decided to overtake my sensibility and make itself known.
Sutton’s eyes go round and her lips part in surprise. F*ck…I’m completely surprised myself that I just asked that.
“As in a date?” she asks carefully. “Or to work on this program further?”
“As in a date,” I tell her while looking her levelly in the eye. “Of course, we can talk more about this if you want, but I’m asking you out on a date.”
Sutton’s eyes fall to the table and she fiddles nervously with her fork. She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth and her eyebrows scrunch with consternation. I wait patiently for her to answer me.
When she looks back up, she doesn’t surprise me at all when she says, “Should we be crossing that line? The one that splits the professional from the personal?”
“I’ve never given much of a f*ck about labels and lines, Sutton. I do what I want, and I very much want to see you on a personal level. If you have qualms about crossing a line that’s important to you, I respect that and I won’t try to talk you out of it.”
She glances back down at the table for just a moment, then her eyes come back up and look at me with a hint of mischief. “What if I want you to talk me out of it?”
My lips quirk upward while my heart trips end over end. “Depends. How much convincing do you think you’ll need?”
Sutton brings her index finger up and taps it against her lips while considering my question. “Hmmm. I’m pretty torn up about this. It might take a good effort on your part.”
She’s teasing the f*ck out of me and damn if it doesn’t feel good. If she’s expecting me to come back at her with some teasing of my own, she needs a quick lesson in the fact that Alex Crossman usually goes in for the kill pretty quickly.
Standing up from the booth, a quick step puts me over on her side. With no hesitation I bend over and slip my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her up slightly toward me. A tiny gasp of surprise comes out of her mouth but I see her eyes fill with challenge.
Game on.
I angle my head in decisively and bring my mouth to hers. My kiss is confidently persuasive and she opens up to me. I don’t plunder her invitation though, giving her just a moment where our lips touch, move against each other’s in a whisper, then I pull back and release her.
Standing up, I look down at her and say, “Convinced?”
She nods back at me, her fingertips coming up to lightly touch at her lips, and I swear I can almost feel the touch against my own.
Moving back to my seat, I place my napkin back on my lap and ask again, “So will you go out with me tonight?”
She smiles at me. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“Great—” I start to say, but then she cuts me off with a slap of her palm to her forehead.
“Shit, wait. I can’t. I have plans already.”
My hackles immediately rise up high, because I assume it’s a date she has planned. My anger builds quickly but before I can say something, she says, “Unless…you’d want to come with me?”
Blinking at her a few times so I make sure I understand what she’s saying, I ask, “Where would that be?”
“To my parents’ house. Family dinner.”
My immediate instinct is to say no and several reasons filter through my head. First, I want Sutton all to myself. I don’t want to share her right now. Second, seems kind of lame to meet her parents for our first date—and this could be our only date for all I know—and finally, did I mention I want Sutton all to myself?
Then I remember that I’m leaving tomorrow for an extended away-game schedule and won’t be back for another five days. Suddenly I realize I’ll take Sutton any way I can get her. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Really?” she asks, looking at me skeptically.
“Yeah, why not?”
“It’s just…seems kind of lame, going to my parents’ house for a first date.”
“Thought the same thing when you suggested it.”
“Painfully honest, right?”
Grinning at her, I nod. “Yup. But I realized I’d just like to spend time with you, and if your parents are half as cool as you, I’m thinking this will be fun.”
“They’re great. You’ll love them. My mom and Jim-Dad have achieved sainthood already in my book.”
“Jim-Dad?” I ask with a laugh.
“He’s my stepdad. He’s raised me since I was about eight.”
“What about your real dad?”
“Jim-Dad is my real dad,” she says, not with any censure but with genuine warmth and amusement. “Now, if you’re talking about the sperm donor who is my birth father—well, he’s floating around Raleigh somewhere. He flits in and out of my life on occasion, depending on whether he’s clean or not.”
My mouth drops open and I stare at her in disbelief over what I think she just implied, and the way she said it with full acceptance and not an ounce of bitterness. “Your dad is a…?”
“Drug addict? Yup. He’s definitely not father of the year, but I try to support him as best I can.”
“And by support you mean…?”
“Not financial. I mean I try to give him encouragement and emotional support, but it’s hard when I’ve watched him yo-yo back and forth.”
I’m quiet for a moment, comparing her revelation to thoughts of my own father, who battles with alcohol. No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t battle. That would imply he’s tried to quit at some point, but he never has to my knowledge. He has succumbed, nothing more.
“Is that why you do what you do?” I ask her.
“Drug counseling? Pretty obvious, right?”
“Pretty f*cking impressive, I’d say.”
Sutton’s face flushes red and she averts her gaze with uncharacteristic shyness. She picks up the fork and starts fiddling with it again while she continues. “My life was very bad when my dad was part of it. His drug addiction brought a lot of suffering down on my mom and me. My mom saved me, though. She got me out of that environment—as best she could. Then Jim-Dad saved us both.”
Laying the fork back down, she lifts her eyes to meet mine, and she is smiling in a moment of happy reflection and love for her family.
I want to hear all about her story, but I’m actually afraid to. I’m afraid to hear it because of the comparisons I’ll draw to my own life, and I hate thinking about my childhood. I also don’t want to hear her story because something churns a bit in my gut. It appears we both had crappy childhoods, yet Sutton seems to have adjusted just fine. At least from what I can tell.
Me?
Not so much. I’ve let my past shape me into something that a few weeks ago I was pretty comfortable with.
But now?
Now I’m not sure I like looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection. I’m pretty confident that while Sutton has been a beautiful, bright spot in my life recently, she could also cause me a world of hurt by peeling away my scabs. I like her, want to get to know her, want to spend time with her.
Want to f*ck her, no doubt.
But I don’t want to get too close. I think that would cause repercussions that I probably couldn’t bear in the long run.