Chapter 7

Jack had barely steppedonto the street when Clara grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "I"m not going to dinner with you and Delia!"

"It"s not ‘going to dinner.' I just want to talk for a minute to see if this is even?—"

"Yeah, still not coming." Clara dropped his arm, then looked both ways and darted across the street.

"Clara!"

"I"ll be in the pub!" She pointed at a sign with a Union Jack and flashed a grin before turning her back on him and heading down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

"Where"s she going?" Mary stopped next to him and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

Jack blew out a breath, sending a cloud into the air between them. "She didn"t want dinner."

Mary laughed. Delia, Tony, and his assistant appeared in the parking lot behind the venue. Delia looked around. "Where"s Clara?"

"She went for a pint." Mary linked arms with Delia and followed Tony"s assistant to the corner, leaving Jack to walk with the big man himself. Tony was large. Surprisingly so, considering Jack spent most of his time with professional athletes.

"Did you used to play?" Jack asked.

"Hockey?" Tony shook his head. "No, I"ve got zero coordination. My PE teacher in high school begged me to try out and within ten minutes of seeing me on the ice, he asked if I was actually Canadian."

"Ouch."

"I"m not. I was born in Boston."

Jack laughed. "Don"t usually hear of people from Mass coming this direction. Usually the other way around."

"Parents were both from Ontario. My dad was finishing his doctorate at Berklee."

"Isn"t that in California?"

"No, the Berklee College of Music."

Jack nodded. "So you came by this line of work honestly."

"Never thought I"d be on the promotional side of things. I always thought I"d be the pop star."

"Still time, bud."

Tony grabbed the door from Kels and held it while Jack walked into the airlock. "You seem like a nice guy Jack."

"Thanks."

"I've met plenty of assholes that seem like nice guys."

Jack paused with his hand on the next door. "Probably something you should've asked about then. Before the contract was drawn up."

Tony"s jaw flexed. "I have a job to do, and I"m damn good at it. I"m not her father or anything?—"

"But you"re now realizing that this could go south if I"m a dick?"

"Exactly."

Jack pulled the door open. "It"s a good thing I"m not, then." He strode into the restaurant to heads already turning their direction.

"Isn"t that what a dick would say?"

"Probably." Jack followed the waiter to a back room. Mary and Kels took a table in the far corner as the waiter motioned Delia to a two-seater next to the window. His step faltered. He hadn"t meant he needed to talk to Delia solo, but now didn"t see a way out of it. Jack strode forward and shrugged off his coat then hung it over the back of his chair. Delia did the same but didn't sit.

Jack stood next to the table. "I didn"t mean to make this even more awkward."

She breathed a laugh. "And yet somehow you succeeded." Delia looked up, her eyes wide. "I"m sorry. I didn"t mean to say that." She looked genuinely repentant.

"I think you did mean to say that."

She glanced down at the menu on the table in front of her, and her eyes shifted to the tablet Kels left in Jack's spot. "It was a thought that wasn't supposed to make it into the real world. Normally, I'm crashing on a couch by now. After a show."

Jack nodded. He understood that. In his early twenties, all he wanted to do after a game was party. Even before his increased popularity, staying out late had been a harder sell.

"Do you mind if I—" Delia held up her phone. Jack shook his head and glanced out the window next to the table. He and Delia, though protected from the rest of the diners, were in prime viewing position from the sidewalk. A small group had already stopped to take pictures.

Delia set her phone down. "Sorry. Just needed to text my mom."

Jack felt like a dick for momentarily judging her phone habits. He rapped his knuckles on the back of the chair. "Tony's a genius."

"Why? Because he found a way for us to make headlines without you even signing the contract?" Delia sat, and Jack suddenly wondered what had happened to the outfit she'd worn onstage. All his senses were playing catch up. He'd been so amped up in that dressing room, all he'd seen was her face. Her expressions. He hadn't even noticed what she was wearing.

"Jack, can you sit down? You"re making this awkward," Tony called from the back of the room.

Delia pursed her lips. Jack pulled out his seat and did as he was told.

"I apologize for Tony. He"s not exactly sensitive." Delia pulled the menu closer, and Jack noticed her nails were cut short. Her fingers long and slender.

Jack gripped his chair and scooted in. "Has he always been your publicist?"

"Only since I started with IndieLake last summer." She kept her head bowed, scanning each line of the menu like she was going to be tested on it. Based on her flushed skin and panicked breathing back in the room, she didn't enjoy making eye contact, but Jack was dying for her to look up.

"You"ve only been signed with a label since the summer?" He asked.

Delia nodded and finally lifted her chin, crossing her arms on the table in front of her. "Is that off-putting, Mr. ‘I only got signed three weeks ago'?"

Jack grinned as shock flitted over her expression a second time. "Another inside thought?" he asked. She was about to apologize again, but Jack held up a hand. "Just a second."

He inspected her eyes in the softer lighting of the restaurant. In the dressing room, the garish fluorescent bulbs had created strange shadows, and he hadn't gotten a good look at them. Not for lack of trying. They'd captured his interest the second he'd turned from the door and she'd marched up to him brandishing that tablet.

Her irises had a ring of almost fiery red around her pupil that faded into a thin stripe of gold, then bled into pale blue, finally edged by a ring of navy. It was like someone had pressed pause on a kaleidoscope. On top of that, her left eye had two black freckles at ten o'clock. Like drops of midnight ink.

"They"re weird. My eyes," Delia's throat was flushing again.

Jack cleared his throat and looked away. "Not weird. They"re unique."

Delia scoffed. "That"s what my mom used to always tell me. About my eyes, my hair. Everything. Even when I came home from school wearing bright pink tights with snake skin boots and an olive T-shirt—not the color, an actual olive on the front—with my dad"s tie to round out the ensemble."

Jack chuckled. "I"m sure it suited you."

A smile played at the corner of Delia"s mouth. "It was disgusting. I have pictures to prove it."

"Well. Your eyes aren"t disgusting."

Jack had chosen the word "unique" because he didn"t think telling Delia that her eyes were stunning or breathtaking was the right play. Though, was it ever a bad idea to give a woman a compliment? It had been so long, he didn't remember the rules.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "I don't do this often."

"What, gigoloing?"

Jack laughed out loud. "I don't think that's a verb." Delia looked pleased with herself, and his smile slipped. "I meant sitting down at a restaurant with someone. The dating thing in general." The last time he'd eaten out was at One Place, the bar across from the Snowball's practice arena, and within an hour, it'd been swarmed by people looking to get his autograph. He'd left just so the other guys could get appetizers in peace.

Delia raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know. I"m funny, charming as hell—Oh wait. You know nothing about me."

Delia shrugged, her shoulders pushing up on her soft waves, compressing them like an accordian. "I meant it was hard to believe because of the whole famous-hockey-player thing." She looked back at her menu, though based on her eye line, he was pretty sure she was staring directly at the kids" meals.

"I"ve only been famous for three weeks, so I have yet to reap any of the benefits." Jack looked down at the list of entreés, and his attention snagged on the Birria tacos. Then he remembered Clara was waiting for him at the pub down the street.

He slid the tablet over, flipped open the cover, and started to read. He'd told her he needed a minute to look over the contract, so that's what he'd take. Jack skimmed the sections. Number of public appearances. Types of appearances. Documentation of appearances. "You have social media accounts?" he asked.

"I have all the social media accounts."

Jack glanced up. "Do I have to get them?"

Delia shook her head. "Not as long as you don't mind me posting pics on mine."

"What kind of pictures?"

Delia pulled out her phone and spun in her seat, then snapped a selfie shot of them at the table. She turned the screen for him to see. "Like that. Not a big deal."

"I look pissed."

Delia deleted the photo. "Then try not looking pissed."

"Perfect. I'll work on that." Jack lowered his voice as their server arrived with an overly broad smile and droplets of sweat forming near his temples. One of the most puzzling things to come out of his newfound celebrity was how hard people had to try to act normal around him. It had to be ten times worse for Delia.

The server put down two glasses of water, both with lemon slices floating amidst the ice cubes.

"Thank you." Delia reached for the glass. "I'm ready to order, if that's okay?"

The server nodded. "Of course. What can I get—get for you?"

Delia didn't even blink as the poor kid"s eyes bugged out of his head. "I'd like the Birria tacos, please." Jack gave her a look, and Delia slid her hand up her arm. "What?"

"That's what I was going to order." Never mind that he'd planned not to order and get the contract review over with. What were the chances that from a menu with a hundred different items on it, they'd choose the same thing?

Her lips quirked. "Then I guess we'll get two." She handed the server the menu.

Delia waited for him to walk away. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Jack frowned. "What?"

"You made it seem like we were having a moment."

He leaned back in his chair. "A moment? Ordering tacos?"

Delia dropped her phone in her bag. "You know that's all that waiter is going to be talking about, right? He's going to tell all his server friends some version of how we both accidentally ordered the same thing, and it's going to show up all over the internet."

Jack exhaled. "And that's why I don't go out."

Delia considered him a moment. "This is nice. Better than I thought it would be."

Jack squirmed in his seat. Nice? Was he somehow giving her the wrong impression, because?—

"I don't even have to pretend around you since this is just business, but not even real business, you know?" Delia smiled up at him. He blinked. "You don't have anything to do with my music, so I don't have to impress you there, and this isn't going anywhere past April, so I don't have to worry about you wanting to keep me around."

"April?"

Delia motioned to the tablet. "Keep reading. There's a breakup clause."

Jack scrolled. Sure enough. Staged Breakup. He scanned the next few paragraphs taking in the details. The breakup would occur after the NHL playoffs, exact date determined by whenever the Blizzard either got knocked out or won the Stanley Cup. Not likely, but he wouldn't write it off just yet. The breakup would be attributed to the pressures of their careers and difficulty of maintaining a relationship in the public eye. They would only talk positively about each other and avoid negative connotations or blame. Their last appearance as a couple would be at a playoff game or one of Delia's shows, whichever they agreed on at the time.

"I don"t do the dating thing either. Just so you know." Delia took a drink of her water.

Jack swiped up to read the paragraphs he'd skipped. "I find that hard to believe."

"Hilarious."

He lifted his head. "Now I"m just disappointed. A few minutes ago you made it sound like I had something to look forward to, but if you"ve been signed since the summer and dating isn't looking up . . ."

"I think it"s a little different for women versus men."

"You mean easier?"

"Hell no, I don"t mean easier! Normal, well-adjusted men were difficult to find when I wasn"t . . . well-known."

"You mean a celebrity?"

"I"m not—I don"t like using that word."

"Why not?"

"Because it"s pretentious." She sat back in her chair and folded her arms in front of her. Her shirt sleeves came past her wrists, and she gripped the hem against her palms. It was cute.

Jack closed the tablet cover and slid the device to the side. "Isn't it factual?"

"Do you think you"re a celebrity?"

"I think I"m probably a fifteen minute-er."

"That's a long time depending on the circumstance." Delia muttered, then froze as she reached for her water cup. "I'm sorry, I?—"

Jack didn't hear the rest of her stammered apology through his laughter. How did she keep doing that? Taking him completely off guard and making him forget why he was there or why he should be walking away and collecting Clara from the pub.

"I don't know what's gotten into me." Delia pushed her hair out of her face. "Maybe we just shouldn't talk anymore."

"Because it's after a show and you should be introverting?"

Delia nodded. "Exactly. Right now I have no filter."

Jack took a drink of his water. Lemony. "So normally you won't be joking around?" Even as he said it, something told him there was no "normal" with Delia Melise.

She nodded stoically. "Right. All business. I won't talk much. I won't annoy you, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not." He held her gaze a moment and saw that flush creep up her skin.

"What is your tattoo? On your arm?" she asked. He'd noticed her eyeing his ink back in the dressing room and glancing at his arm when she thought he wasn't watching.

"I thought we weren't talking?"

She exhaled. "You don't have to tell me, I just?—"

Jack pulled up his sleeve and pointed at his forearm. "This was my first one."

"Pinecones?" Delia frowned.

"They're serotinous cones. From the Lodgepole pine. They only open after a wildfire melts the resin so they can open."

Delia's finger twitched, and for a moment he thought she was going to reach out and trace the lines on his skin. Instead, she balled her hand into a fist. "What was next?"

"Then I decided I wanted this to be a full sleeve, so I had an artist work in the Rockies, hockey?—"

"What's the owl?" Delia's hand got closer, but she didn't touch him.

"Head on a swivel." Jack waited a beat to see if she understood. When she obviously didn't, he explained. "We have to see everything on the ice. One of my coaches had this pre-game thing he did about barn owls."

Delia's lip twitched. "And . . . is that a praying mantis?"

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah." He rolled down his sleeve, careful to keep the fabric off his bandage. Jack hoped when he covered up his arm, she'd get the hint and let it go. She didn't.

"What does it symbolize?"

"That one's personal."

Delia's lips parted, then she pulled her hand back and nodded. "Sure. Thanks for showing me." She searched for something to stare at, but since their menus were gone, all they had were condiments. "Did you hurt yourself?" Jack frowned as Delia grabbed the ketchup bottle and started reading the ingredients list. "You had a bandage on your arm."

"Oh, yeah. No, that was a tattoo I got this morning." He didn't think she'd noticed it since his sleeve had barely come up that far.

Delia's eyes snapped up. "You got one this morning? What is it?"

Just then, the waiter arrived with their tacos. The scent of slow roasted meat along with chilies and onion made his mouth water, and Jack wasted no time before digging in. He took a bite, barely avoiding juice dripping under the sleeve of his shirt with a quick lift of his elbow.

Delia stared at her plate.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, still holding his taco.

Delia worried her bottom lip. "I don't usually eat while I"m out. I think I impulse ordered."

Jack looked between her and his partially eaten taco. "But you're hungry." She nodded. "So you should eat." She didn't make a move, so Jack took another bite. When he finished the taco, he used a napkin to wipe his fingers.

Movement outside the window caught their attention. When Jack's eyes focused beyond the glass, he saw a girl and her boyfriend recording them from the sidewalk. Delia smiled and gave a small wave. "I"ll just ask for a box?—"

Jack stood and jerked the table away from the wall, and Delia gasped. He sandwiched his chair between the window and the end of the table, moving as close to the corner as he could to block the view of any onlookers. "There." He picked up his second taco and took the messiest bite he could muster. "I'll eat like this so no matter what pics they're able to get, nobody will be looking at you."

Delia clapped a hand over her mouth, but it couldn't hide the smile stretching from ear to ear. "What?"

"You can't understand me?" Jack shoved the food into his right cheek until it bulged. "I said?—"

Delia snorted and grabbed her napkin. "No, stop, I get it." Her eyes squinched, and she grabbed onto herself like she didn't know what would happen if she let her laughter out in full force.

Jack wished he could see what that looked like. "The tacos are really good." He licked his lips.

"I can see that."

"You should try them."

Her eyes flicked to his. "I'm working up to it."

"Just—"

"Fine!" Delia picked up her taco like she was trying to remove a plastic femur without hitting the buzzer in the game Operation.

"Shove it on in." Jack spread his elbows on the table and hovered to make sure nobody could get a glimpse of her leaning over her plate. Delia took the most dainty bite known to humankind, but her eyes lit up. "See? Better fresh than to-go."

"Yeah." She nodded and took another mouse bite.

Mary appeared at the end of the table, her eyes wide. "What the hell is happening here?"

Jack felt like a kid caught with his hand in the bag of chocolate his mom hid behind the cereal. "We"re eating?"

"Yeah, I can see that." She shot Delia a look. "You"ll eat for him? The stranger you met ten minutes ago? Really?"

Delia chewed and swallowed. "No, it"s late, so I know I"m going right back to the hotel room and won"t have to deal with fuzzy teeth."

Fuzzy teeth? Was that what this whole thing had been about?

Delia pointed to the glass. "Plus he blocked the?—"

"That"s all I had to do to get you to eat a proper meal? Put my ass between you and the cameras?" Mary put her hands on her hips.

"Only if it"s a nice ass," Jack quipped as he picked up his last taco.

Delia stifled a smile, and Jack"s stomach flipped. And that was the exact moment he knew he couldn"t, in fact, sign the contract.