Chapter 3

B y now, I'm two and a half beers in and have no clue how to let this woman down easy. No way in hell I'm doing her show… It sounds like my worst nightmare. Besides, I don't like the idea of her setting me up with someone. Mostly because I'm attracted to her and want to run with it. This "business meeting" is ten times better than any date I've had in the last year. She keeps me on my toes. She's funny and driven and knows how to hold a conversation. I like that she throws a little sass my way. On top of that, she's fucking gorgeous with her rich warm skin, curly hair, and light-gray eyes I could get lost in for a week. Don't send a search party.

I find myself forgetting to breathe, and instead of telling her no, I've been stalling, redirecting our conversation. I'll do anything to draw this out.

"Do you miss hockey?" Kendra asks.

"I do, actually. I miss it a lot. I've tried other sports, but nothing has been able to fill that void that hockey left."

"I mean, not to talk you out of being on my show or state the obvious, but why don't you do something hockey related?"

The half-full pint glass in front of me slides as I pass it from one hand to the other. I nod because it is what I want to do. "I was offered a commentary spot with MNSports, but it's not the same as being on the ice. I don't want to sit in a studio and talk about hockey, I want to be out there again," I explain. "Barrett Conway is my best friend, we played together on the Lakes. He recently retired and has a hockey charity called Camp Conway, so I volunteer with that on the side, working with some of the kids. I love it, but it's only during the summer."

"What about coaching?"

"I'd love to coach. Honestly, that would probably make me happiest, but the university just got a new coach last year. If they ever asked me, I'd say yes in a heartbeat… Until then, I'm happy spending my mornings at the arena skating or volunteering with kids. I share the ice with a couple young figure skaters. I was a figure skater before hockey, so I've been able to do a little bit of coaching with them. It's nice, but obviously very different from a hockey team."

"Wait, you were a figure skater before a hockey player?" She stares at me wide-eyed. A lot of guys started with figure skating. They're usually the more graceful players.

I nod after taking a sip of beer.

"Like triple Salchows and shit?"

Her beaming smile is contagious. "More like a double, at best. That was a long time ago. You know, because I'm old ."

"When did you find out you were better with a stick?"

"When I was tired of being the only guy in a class full of girls." I chuckle. "But as it turns out, the guys were all jealous that I got to touch Amber Tolefson during our partner routines."

"Oooh. Did you and Amber Tolefson ever… ya know…" She bounces her eyebrows.

I smile and shake my head. "No, Amber was not my type. Also, we were nine."

She laughs. "You had a type at nine?"

"Oh yeah, I had a type. My English teacher, Mrs. Wilbur. Every time she turned around at the board, her ass was covered in chalk marks."

She parts her lips in faux shock. "What a tease."

I take another sip and chuckle. "Right? What about you, who was your childhood crush?"

"Hmm…" She narrows her eyes toward the ceiling, and a big smile splits her face. "Oh, I know! Corbin Bleu."

I laugh. "Isn't that a food?"

"No, Greatest Generation, that's cordon bleu."

"Excuse me, I'm a millennial." Barely, but I made the cutoff. She can't be that young. She's drinking, so she's at least twenty-one. And I don't feel forty-two.

She raises her eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. Elder millennial. On the line of Gen X, but that's the cool generation. How old are you?" I ask.

"Just turned twenty-three." She takes a sip of her drink. Shit, I'm almost twice her age. I could be her fucking dad . "How old are you?"

She knows how old I am. It was obvious she did her homework when she brought up my sponsorships and career highlights earlier.

"Does it matter?" I ask. That's the important question.

She looks down and straightens her cocktail napkin, pausing before she answers. "No."

The tension between us is building. I've dated on and off for almost a year and not once have I experienced the attraction I share with her. Maybe it's true what they say: you find someone when you're not looking. I've all but given up on dating, and she practically falls into my lap. I file that image away for later. How do I say No, I don't want to do your show, but would you like to go out to dinner with me? without sounding like a complete asshole? Like I'm haggling for a lower price, handing over a hundred, and asking for change.

It's a dick move. Man, my luck sucks.

Other than the fact that she's trying to set me up with other women, there's not one thing I dislike. I'm not doing Kendra's show… I could do Kendra, though . She's gorgeous, funny, and sweet. She's fun and easy to talk to. The past few months of dating have taught me there's a difference between nice and kind, Kendra is the latter. Those captivating silver eyes are difficult to turn down. And she's right, I want to find love, but not in front of a camera.

I like this girl. I like her a lot. I like that her clothes are vibrant and she wears too many bracelets. I like the way she tells a story, her voice, how she occasionally touches my arm when I make her laugh. I love the look and feel of her hand when it lands next to mine. Hell, I like that she does her research before going to a business meeting. She's motivated and on top of her game and can still have fun. She's got a brain full of big ideas and plans for her future and is determined to see them through. It's sexy as hell.

She peeks at her phone. "Whoa, we've been here over three hours!"

No wonder the wait staff has been checking on us so often.

Feels like twenty minutes. We've got that lose-track-of-time connection. The one I've been looking for.

"Time flies."

"So…" she says. "What do you think about the show? How about you take a couple days to think about it?" She bites the corner of her lower lip. Fuck me.

I lean back in my chair and rub both hands down my face. Just bite the bullet and get it over with.

"Kendra, I'm sorry. I can't do the show. It's not for me."

She pauses for a moment, lets her head fall forward, then nods. She's not happy, but I suspect she knew it would never happen. Still, seeing her bright eyes turn disappointed is harder than I imagined it would be.

"I get it," she says. "No worries. Thanks for coming out tonight."

She gives a tight wave to the server to let her know we're ready for the check. Damn, I'm losing her. Maybe I should have tried to prolong my answer. I don't want tonight to end like this. I'm still gonna shoot my shot.

"Hey, I'm starving, have you eaten yet?"

She takes the last sip of her drink. "I'm good. I had a protein bar on the way over."

"That's not a meal. Come on, let me get you dinner. I mean, it's the least I can do after turning down the show."

Her eyes narrow as she seems to consider my invite. It's more playful than scrutinizing. It's a good sign. "It really is the least you can do."

"Then let's start with dinner and go from there."