Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

King

"T here's a little bistro a few blocks down that has great sandwiches, quiches and stuff like that." I hold the door open for Willa to precede me out. Her sister, Brittany, and niece, Izzy, had already left by the time we finished turning in the equipment to the management office.

"Sounds good to me."

I help her slip into a wool coat she had draped over her arm. She reaches up to adjust the collar, her hand brushing against mine, and I swear prickles of electricity dance across my skin. We head out into the twilight, chatting about tonight's practice. Both of us are quick to mention our gratitude that we didn't have to deal with little Theo's dad.

When we reach the restaurant, we're led to a small wooden table in the back corner, bordered by windows on either side. Pedestrians hustle by, bundling up against the late-November chill. We're in a vibrant area near downtown with lots of restaurants, so it's busy for a Monday night.

Helping Willa out of her coat, I hang it over her chair after pulling it out for her. She murmurs a thank-you as she grabs a menu the waitress had left.

"So, what's good here?" she asks, looking even more beautiful in a pair of blue-framed glasses she pulled from her purse. She's got this whole sexy, smart vibe going that is way too appealing and makes me eager to get to know more about her.

But first things first… food. I point on the menu to an eggs Benedict special that's one of my favorite meals ever. Willa reads it out loud. "Sourdough bread, goat cheese, spinach, Vidalia-peach hot sauce, grilled marinated flank steak with poached eggs and hollandaise." Her eyes rise to mine, appreciation reflected in her stormy blue depths. "You're quite the foodie."

"If by foodie, you mean I like all food, yeah… there's that."

Willa's eyes crinkle as she laughs and my head tilts, captivated by the sound. It's a musical cascade, like she's got a secret stash of happiness inside, and she shares it with the world every time she laughs. "It's a good thing I like food too. I think I'm going to get that." The glasses come off and are tucked back into her purse.

A waitress brings us water and we order our meal, spending the moments in between talking about the Ice Pups' schedule. They only practice once a week, every Monday at six p.m., and one game a week, every Saturday at eight a.m. We pull out our phones, mostly looking over my hockey schedule but also a few conflicts that Willa might have with her work schedule.

We both make notations on which ones I can and can't make. "For the ones I can't be at, I'll give you a list of things to do at practice. Then at the very next game, it's those skills we'll want the kids to concentrate on."

"You're really a godsend," Willa says before taking a sip of her water. She had wrinkled her nose at the paper straw offered, explaining she can't stand the way they feel against her mouth and that made me concentrate way too hard on said mouth.

Her lips look as soft as petals and her smile has an undeniable allure. The curve of her mouth hints at secrets and wonders hidden within and I can't help but imagine how her lips would feel against mine. It's impossible not to be captivated by that lush mouth, so much so that I have to force myself to focus on the conversation.

But Jesus… even trying to meet her gaze as she talks is an effort in futility. I had thought her eyes were pure gray but as I study them, they're actually a matte iron blue. They're like the color of the sky on a rainy day just before the sun breaks through, and set against her pale skin, brown hair and golden streaks, they're shockingly brilliant. The rest of her face is perfect, but my favorite part by far is the smattering of freckles across her nose, cheeks and forehead.

And it suddenly hits me…

"I'm assuming one of your parents has brown hair like yours, and red like Brittany's?" Because the sisters look nothing alike.

Willa laughs, shaking her head in bemusement. "You're not the first to notice Brittany and I don't look like one another. Our parents are both blond with brown eyes. I'm actually adopted and well, Brittany… she picked up a recessive gene somewhere. She came along two years after me with red hair and was quite the surprise to my parents who couldn't get pregnant before her."

"I bet that's been the source of a lot of jokes in your family." I chuckle. Willa's smile slips, then fades completely, and I know I've put my foot in my mouth for a reason I can't fathom. "I'm sorry… did I say something wrong?"

She reaches across the table, her hand patting mine reassuringly. Her smile returns, once again given from the heart, but I can see naked honesty shining in her eyes. "You didn't say anything wrong. It's just… the way Brittany looks was a very sore subject with our father. He was an alcoholic and verbally abusive to our mother, and sometimes to us kids. One of his favorite things to rant about was Brittany's curly red hair. When he'd go on a bender, he'd accuse my mom of sleeping with someone else and that's why she got pregnant with Brittany and why she looks so different from them."

"Fuck," I mutter low. "I mean… what do you say to that?"

She lifts a shoulder. "Brittany and I didn't say anything. We knew not to get involved. But Mom would let him have it. It wasn't a peaceful household."

"I'm really sorry," I say solemnly.

Willa laughs and it's not the musical symphony that had me spellbound moments ago. It's dry and flat. "You know, I always wondered if my dad was right. Did Mom have an affair and that's where Brittany came from? I mean, I'd never tell Brittany those suspicions or even my mother because it doesn't change that she's my sister, but… I always wondered." Her voice trails off as she runs her fingertip over the condensation on her glass. She seems to startle, eyes darting up and locking with mine. "Oh God… I'm so sorry to dump that on you. That sounds totally morose and truly, it is not something that weighs down on me, Brittany or my mom these days. I've never even told anyone that before and I'm not sure why I told you now. It was way more info than you asked for and I usually don't share private stuff—"

Now I'm the one who pats her hand, a few quick taps to stop her word vomit. "Maybe you needed to say that suspicion out loud," I suggest.

"Maybe. I guess I can empathize with my mother if she did turn to another man. I know that sounds like I'm validating infidelity, which is horrible, and I'm most definitely not." Willa's eyes go even bigger, and she shakes her head. "I'm absolutely not validating it. I mean, my ex-husband cheated on me—the whole nine yards with a mistress he put up in a fancy apartment and everything—and there's never an excuse. If you're unhappy in a marriage, you leave. You don't cheat. And my mom eventually did leave and got remarried. Oh God…"

She covers her face with her hands and actually snort-laughs before peeking up over her fingertips at me. "I just let my mouth get all carried away. I am not the type to lay all that crap out on a stranger. I'm so sorry."

I chuckle, tugging her hands down. "I was totally following your train of thought and agree with you on all of it. I'm guessing you find me a trustworthy dude to share that. Do you mind me asking… do you have a relationship with your dad?"

Willa nods, her lips tilting up slightly. "A tenuous one. He's been sober now for four years. He's tried to make amends, but he said a lot of horrible things when we were growing up that are hard to forget."

"And your mom?"

"Not willing to forget or forgive. She and her new husband moved to Hawaii, about as far as you can get from a small town in upstate New York where I grew up and where Dad still lives."

I consider pushing for more, because she opened the door. I tend to lean toward chivalrous behavior, but I'm so intrigued by this woman, I don't think I can leave it alone. "So… you have a cheating asshole ex-husband."

Willa smirks, circling a manicured finger around the top of her water glass. "Scott. Divorced a year. Still an asshole."

"Let me guess what he does for a living," I say, taking a shot in the dark but knowing it's got a good chance at landing. "I expect he's a doctor too. But one with a huge ego, so I'm guessing a surgeon of some sort."

Willa laughs and claps her hands. "Very good. Orthopedic surgeon to be exact."

"Did you two meet in medical school?"

"We did and got married our last year. After graduation, he got offered a prestigious residency in orthopedic surgery at Cornell, and I was offered a highly sought-after residency at UC Irvine in obstetrics."

"But you said you practiced family medicine." I remember her saying that when we first met, just like I remember exactly what she was wearing and what her perfume smelled like that day.

That's definitely sadness I see in her eyes. Maybe a touch of bitterness.

"I gave up my residency. Followed Scott to New York City and took one in family medicine instead. We then ended up here in Pittsburgh after."

"But you wanted to be an obstetrician. And you couldn't get a residency in New York?"

"Yes and no. Obstetrics was my dream, but it was too late for me to get into a program in New York by the time we had to make our decisions. I gave that up so Scott could pursue his dreams."

It's all coming together now. She married a man, gave up her dreams for him and then he betrayed her by cheating.

Any sane man would say that's way too much baggage to bother with, between her alcoholic father and cheating ex-husband, but it doesn't seem that Willa's spirit has been crushed by those bad turn of events.

"Enough about me," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "What about you?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Where are you from? Do you have a big family? Girlfriend?" I'm captivated by her cheeks turning red. "Wife?"

We're interrupted by the waitress bringing our food so I don't get to answer her questions right away. Willa appropriately oohs and aahs over the presentation of her eggs Benedict and I have a moment of regret for not ordering it myself. But the Reuben sandwich with homemade kettle fries looks pretty damn good.

I watch as she cuts into the poached egg on top, gets a little bit of everything on her fork and puts it in her mouth.

That fucking mouth that I'm pretty sure I will dream about tonight.

She closes her eyes, chews thoughtfully and then groans with satisfaction. That throaty rumble is sexy as hell, although I know she doesn't mean it to be.

When she pins her gaze on me, it's wide and awestruck. "That might be the best thing I've ever had in my mouth," she purrs.

Christ…

"I can't remember," I say cheekily and give her plate a pointed look. "Can I have a bite?"

"Absolutely," she says without hesitation and cuts a portion for me. And then to my utter shock, she scoops it up—bread, steak, egg, goat cheese, sauce—and holds it out to me. I lean over the table and let her place the fork in my mouth.

I can't help the groan of satisfaction that matches hers as I chew and swallow. "So good. But you asked about my family."

Willa nods, her eyes flitting between me and the food as she cuts it up.

"Well, I'm from Minnesota. Grew up in a small town called Stillwater. My parents are amazing—Dad's a civil engineer specializing in sustainable infrastructure projects, and Mom's a curator and art historian at a regional art museum."

"Very cool," Willa drawls. "Siblings?"

"Three. Mike is the oldest and he's a mechanical engineer. Then there's me, followed by Jenny who's in her second year of veterinary school, and last, the baby of the family, Lucas, who is in his senior year of high school. He'll go into engineering like Dad and Michael."

"That's an accomplished family."

"They're the best. I wish I could say something bad about one of them, but I can't. Wouldn't trade them for all the money in the world." I could go on and on, gushing about my family, but I'm acutely aware that it seems my upbringing was a hundred and eighty degrees different from Willa's and I don't want to call overt attention to that. So I attempt a little flirtatious humor. "But the thing you were really wondering about was whether I have a wife or girlfriend—"

Willa's eyes flare and her jaw drops before she exclaims, "That is not what I'm really wondering."

I smirk, not believing that for a second. "Well, the answer is I don't have a wife or a girlfriend."

Lifting her chin, she gives me an overly exaggerated, dismissive look. "Good for you. Not that I was really interested in it."

"You're the one who asked," I remind her.

"I was being polite." She sniffs.

"It was an intrusive question." It wasn't, but I like poking at her.

Her eyes flash with a mixture of ire and amusement as she scoffs. "What are you… like eighteen or something?"

"Twenty-five," I reply easily. "And you?"

"Now look who's being intrusive." She smirks, then ignores the question by concentrating on her food.

I watch her cut, load up her fork and take a bite. I wait until she's chewing before I guess, "Without knowing anything about you, you look fairly close to my age… twenty-five. But since I know you went to medical school and residency, I'll guess twenty-eight."

Willa chews, tosses a thumb upward to indicate higher.

"Thirty?"

Thumb up again. Higher?

"Thirty-two?"

She swallows, wipes her mouth on the napkin. "Thirty-three."

"It's a beautiful thirty-three," I say, shocking myself with the flirty tone. It's usually not worth the effort, although I can be very charming when I want to be.

For some reason, I'm compelled to be now, with her.

Willa blushes and averts her gaze back to her plate. She clears her throat and asks, "Tell me how you got into hockey. I mean… your journey to play here with the Titans."

I'd love to talk more about Willa, see if I can get her to blush again, learn more about this fascinating woman, but I appease her curiosity and share my history. "It's not overly exciting, but I guess my parents and youth coaches would tell you I had a lot of natural ability when I was young. My parents really supported me and let me tell you, hockey is not an inexpensive sport. I played on high-level travel teams and then got recruited into one of the best junior leagues in the country at sixteen. Went and played on a team in Grand Rapids—"

"Wait… you left home at sixteen?" she asks, sounding both horrified and intrigued.

"You stay with a billet family. They basically provide a home for young players… like a surrogate family. I continued school and played junior hockey there. And well, my play was good and I got drafted straight into the professional league when I turned eighteen. I spent time down in the minors before getting called up to the Houston Jam, and then from there to the Titans."

"Very impressive," she says and lets out a wistful sigh. "I wish I could have done something like that."

"How did you get to be so good then?" I ask before taking a bite of my sandwich.

"I lucked out into a very good coach in Buffalo and spent a lot of time at the rink. Hours and hours of practice, and I stayed long after everyone else left."

And then it hits me… that wistful sigh. "It was an escape from your dad."

Willa nods with a rueful smile. "It was an escape," she confirms. "And it made me a very good skater."

It's fascinating how we were both athletes on the ice, mine cultivated by supportive parents who poured their hearts and souls into letting me pursue my passion. Willa became good at what she did because she spent so much time at the rink to avoid the dysfunction of her home life.

The rest of the conversation flows easily and I learn more about Brittany and Izzy coming to live with her just recently. "Brittany and I share the same bad taste in men," she says in a moment of candor. When I tilt my head in question, she explains, "Scott was verbally abusive, just like my dad. I always told myself I'd never be with a man like that, and yet… it's exactly where I ended up. Brittany was the same, but she never married Jeff. I think she was slightly smarter than me."

"We're products of our environment," I muse. "But you're not with Scott anymore. You broke out of that relationship, and so did Brittany."

Willa looks pained when she admits, "True. But I'm still mad at myself for getting into that position to begin with."

"You can't beat yourself up about it. You should celebrate where you are now, and besides… I think our greatest growth comes in learning from our mistakes."

She appraises me over her empty plate, offering me a crooked grin. "Awful wise for a twenty-five-year-old."

"Hardly." I laugh. "But I've got a lot of common sense, or so I've been told."

The waitress brings our ticket and I nab it, even as Willa makes a play. "My treat," I insist.

"Then it's my treat next time," she says but then immediately backpedals. "Not that there will be a next time. I mean, this was just a convenient grab of food while we talked scheduling."

"There should totally be a next time," I reply, leaning forward and crossing my arms on the table.

"To discuss hockey?" she asks tentatively, pushing for a conclusion that this is all business.

"Or a date," I suggest, and when I get a blank stare in return, I add, "I'd like to get to know you better, Willa."

Her eyes widen, turning a stormier gray, and then the stammering starts. "Um… wow, I mean… I'm flattered and all—"

"Unless this is a bad time for you because of your divorce? Too soon to date?"

She shakes her head, waves a hand. "No… it's not that. I'm well over Scott and I've been dating. He's nothing more than a thorn in my side that won't go away but—"

"Unless you think I'm horribly unattractive?"

"Of course you're attractive," she says with an eye roll. "It's just—"

"Unless you think you're too good for me, you know… being a doctor and all."

"That's ridiculous," she snaps. "You're a professional athlete, revered by millions."

"I don't know about millions, but—"

"You're twenty-five," she blurts, her expression almost panicked. "You're too young."

"Too young to take you out to dinner, buy a meal, have a drink? I am of legal drinking age, you know. I am an adult. I own my own house, have a retirement account, teach little kids hockey. I'm a solid guy."

I expect Willa to argue against all my points, because I could hear in the tone of her voice that the age gap is an issue. Instead, she stares at me a long moment before asking, "You're not bothered by the fact I'm thirty-three?"

"No. Should I be?"

She purses her lips, holding back a laugh. Pointing with her index fingers, "I've got wrinkles right here at the corners of my eyes."

I lean forward, squinting for a better look. "I think those are called laugh lines and I've got them too."

"Mine are deeper than yours." She huffs.

"You mean you laugh more than me?"

I'm rewarded with that musical giggle as she shakes her head, eyes shining. "You're very confident for being so young and you flirt like a pro. How can the ladies say no to you?"

"You might find this hard to believe, but I don't ask a lot of ladies out on dates."

Willa blinks several times. "You're kidding," she says with disbelief. "You have looked in the mirror, right? Flirting would bag you any woman you wanted."

"So my teammates often tell me." I shrug and then ask, "Would it surprise you to know I'm not overly experienced?"

Jaw dropping, she hushes her tone to a whisper. "Like… you've never dated? Are you a virgin, looking for an older woman to show you the way?"

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. "Jesus… no. I'm definitely not a virgin. I just mean, I haven't dated a lot. I had a long-term relationship that started when I was fifteen and it ended two years ago. Since then, I've been focused on my career and well, I just don't casually date."

Willa seems to consider something. "And why me?"

I don't have to ponder the answer to that question. "Because you agreed to coach peewee hockey and didn't know anything about it. Because I thought it was very attractive how you tried and you know how to treat the kids. When you stood up to Theo's father… well, that made an impression."

"Oh," she murmurs, another pretty blush from the compliment.

"And you're smoking hot… laugh lines and all. Plus, double bonus points for being a doctor because that means you're smart, which also means you're going to reason out that there's no valid excuse for not accepting my invitation."

Another appraising stare, lips quirked in amusement. It's in the bag.

"You're slick, I'll give you that." Okay, that doesn't sound good. I don't want to be thought of as a shit-talker. "But I also think you're genuine."

My heart skips a beat. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes," she says simply. "One date. We'll see how it goes."

"Perfect. How about this Friday? We have a two-day break for Thanksgiving."

"I could swing that," she says with a smile. "Are you going home to visit your family for the holiday?"

"I wish," I say, leaning to the side to pull my wallet from my rear pocket. "I'm leaving tomorrow for back-to-back away games so there's not enough time."

"What will you do?" she asks as we stand from the table.

"I think me and a few of the guys will get together. Probably order some pizza or something."

Willa looks appalled. "You can't do that for Thanksgiving."

Grinning, I motion for her to precede me up to the counter. "In fairness, my mates are Canadian, so pizza for American Thanksgiving is okay with them."

"How many of you are getting together?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder at me as we weave through the tables.

"Just me, Rafferty Abrams and North Paquette."

Willa turns to face me and I come to a dead stop, rendered speechless by the beauty of her face inches from mine. "You all should come to my house. Have Thanksgiving dinner with me, Brittany and Izzy."

I frown at the sweet invitation. "We couldn't impose. That's only three days away. You can't just add three more people to your table."

Waving her hand, she scoffs at my perception. "Please… Brittany and I are making a mountain of food. There will be plenty."

I cock an eyebrow at her. "And this isn't going to be considered our date, right? You're not making this invitation and going to call it our date so you can weasel out of it?"

"I'm offended you'd suggest such a thing," she retorts playfully.

"Okay, then," I reply with a huge grin. "I'll talk to the guys, but I'm sure they'd prefer a home-cooked meal over pizza. What can we bring?"

"Nothing," she says breezily, and then surprises me by going to her tiptoes and placing a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. "We've got everything covered. This is my way of saying thank you for helping with the Ice Pups."

Willa turns away and I have to restrain myself from not touching the burning place where she placed mouth.

I think I might be in a world of trouble.