That’s not the only way they look at you.
What did it matter? Technically they were no longer his teammates. His contract was up, and after screwing the pooch in two Stanley Cups, rumors were starting to swirl that his complete cave under playoff pressure wasn’t so much psychological as it was criminal. His agent thought there’d even be an investigation.
Dan scrubbed his hands over his face and walked over bowed floorboards to a tiny en suite bathroom that had seen better days. Probably twenty years ago, before Grandma and Grandpa had moved south and rented the old Paulle place out.
Apparently rented it out to people who didn’t care much for comfort or things of this century.
Which was fine. Part of this self-exile was about pushing himself out of his comfort zone and doing some hard work that had nothing to do with hockey. Far away from any rumors that he was some game-throwing asshole. Let the NHL investigate. In fact, he hoped they did, because he’d be proven innocent. Sure, he was still an asshole, but he was not a cheater.
The pounding coming from the front of the house was muffled enough that Dan thought about ignoring it, but then he remembered his consultant was supposed to be showing up today.
He had no idea what time it was. Crap. He grabbed a T-shirt out of his suitcase and pulled it on as he walked through the old hallway he just barely remembered from his childhood, through the kitchen decorated in blue ducks, of all things, and to the front door.
Buck, the guy who’d been doing maintenance for his grandparents the past few years, stood on the porch next to a young woman. They were both smiling…until they looked at him.
Then those smiles died. While he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with hockey, he’d been on the end of that change enough times to fall back into old habits. Because if people weren’t going to be happy to see you, why not make them really unhappy?
“Howdy, partners,” he said.
The woman’s cool expression went to pure ice, jaw setting, dark eyes not even bothering to meet his. “Mr. Sharpe, I assume.”
“And you are?”
She stuck out her hand, grudgingly it seemed. Like she didn’t want to touch him. Or even be here. Not the normal reaction from women who sought him out. “Mel Shaw.”
He tried to keep the shock from showing on his face, but he couldn’t manage it. When Buck had suggested Mel for the job, he’d never mentioned she was a woman. A young woman. A young, attractive woman, even under all the cowgirl garb she had going on.
She was tall, her hair a rich brunette. She had a pert nose dusted with freckles, and a lush mouth that didn’t match the sharp angles of the rest of her. Her hand wasn’t soft as it shook his, but she had long, delicate fingers.
Not at all the picture of Mel Shaw he’d had in his head when Buck said he’d arrange for a summer consultant.
Mel glared at Buck as she dropped his hand. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Sorry, too fun.”
“You’re a jerk, Buck.”
“Anyway, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” The man tipped his hat, and if Dan wasn’t mistaken, laughed himself all the way back to his truck.
Dan’s Harley looked out of place sandwiched between two old, huge pickup trucks. He looked back to the woman on his porch to find that nothing about her irritated expression had changed.
“I don’t care that you’re a woman.” He didn’t. Really. She was wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, jeans streaked with dirt and dust, and a plaid button-up shirt. In every respect, she appeared to be the real deal. It didn’t matter that she also had breasts.
Which she then crossed her arms over, because apparently he’d been staring. Crap.
“And I don’t care that you’re some hotshot hockey player, so I guess we’re even.”
“Well, calling me a hot anything kind of says otherwise.”
She looked to the sky and took a deep breath. “Mr. Sharpe, I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”
“You’re right. Come on in.”
She furrowed her brow at him. “You’re not even dressed.”
Dan looked down at his T-shirt and ratty gym shorts. “Well, I’m not naked.”
Her cheeks went a little pink, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Of course, the grin that usually caused women to bat their lashes or slip him their number just caused Cowgirl to roll her eyes.
“I bet you expect women to drop their clothes when you smirk like that.”
He wasn’t sure why her disdain struck him as funny, but it did. Maybe because it had nothing to do with the rumors, nothing to do with him booting the puck more times than a reasonable person could think was an accident.
“Well, Mel, can’t say I’d mind that.”