28. Emma

Anna and I are up and about with the sun shining brightly on this glorious Sunday morning when someone knocks at the door. We both freeze, not expecting anyone and then I cross over to open it suspiciously.

"Oh, hey," I say when I see Keir standing on the doorstep with his arms full of books and folders.

"Hey. Sorry to drop in unannounced, but I figured you could use this stuff to help you figure out the game of ice hockey."

I blink at the stacks in his arms. "Okay, sure. Come in."

I let him pass, and he comes in, ducking under the low cottage doorway, which makes my heart do a little flutter.

Keir's presence fills the room immediately, and I'm filled with gratitude and sheer panic as he places the mountain of material on the coffee table.

Anna pipes up with a bright smile. "Look at you, Keir Drummond! Our knight in shining armour, or should I say pads and helmet?"

He grins at her, but his eyes flicker to me, that same awkward charm washing over his features. "Just want to make sure Emma's got all she needs. I made some basic guides of plays with drawings, so you get the idea."

"Oh, that's so sweet," Anna says in lieu of me saying anything.

I nod, still processing the fact that this literal giant of a man thought to bring me homework on a Sunday morning. "Thanks," I manage when she glares at me to quit being a silent idiot and to actually say something.

He shrugs as if it's nothing, but his cheeks are tinged pink. "No bother. I've left you my number so you can ring if you need to ask anything."

"Ohh," Anna murmurs, giving me a lewd wink behind his back.

I shoot her a death stare, so she zips her lips before excusing herself to make some tea.

"So," Keir starts hesitantly, thumbing through one of the books as if looking for a lifeline. "Do you think this will be enough? I can do more…"

I consider his question for a moment before answering. "Yeah. It's a place to start anyway." Part of me wants to blurt out that I'm seeing Taran Fraser later for a drink, but part of me realises it would be a stupid move to make him jealous, and that's really not what I want to do. The fact of the matter is, I'm wildly attracted to him and Lachlan, but it can never be anything other than a professional relationship.

I watch as Keir nods, seemingly relieved that he's been able to help. There's something about the way he looks at me, though, a glint of something more in his eyes that makes my stomach do somersaults.

"We'll start with these then," I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel. I gesture towards the pile of books and folders. "But I really appreciate you taking the time to do this for me."

Keir scratches the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that I find endearing. "It's no bother, really. I just want to see the Warriors succeed, you know?"

I nod because I do know. It's what we all want.

The silence stretches between us for a moment too long before Anna reappears with a tray of steaming mugs and breaks the tension.

"There we go," she chirps, placing a cup in front of Keir and me. "Now you two can have a proper sit down and chat about all things hockey."

Keir takes his cup, shooting her a grateful look. "Thanks, Anna."

As Anna retreats to her safety zone on the couch, flicking through her phone, no doubt planning more antics for my birthday, Keir and I huddle over the coffee table.

"So," he starts again after taking a cautious sip from his mug, "where do you want to start?"

I pick up one of his hand-drawn playbooks and flip it open. The plays are neatly sketched out with arrows indicating player movements and annotations scribbled on the sides.

"Let's just go through the basics first," I suggest, pointing to a diagram that looks less complicated than the others. "Explain to me what's happening here."

Keir leans in, and I catch a whiff of his aftershave, something woodsy and intoxicating. He points at the diagram, and I focus on his big, manly hands, remembering them around my waist yesterday. "That's the breakout play. It's all about getting the puck out of our defensive zone and moving it up the ice."

I nod, pretending I understand, but Keir must see through my facade because he chuckles softly. "You look a bit lost,"

"Let's move on," I suggest, pointing to a play that looks less like an organised strategy and more like a secret code. "I can't figure out what the hell you've drawn here."

Keir chuckles, that awkward charm turning into full-blown laughter. "Right, so that's supposed to be an offensive zone breakout. These arrows," he says, pointing at the sketch, "show the wings breaking out to the boards."

I squint at the drawings, trying to match his explanation to the lines on the paper. "Honestly, it looks like you've drawn spaghetti with legs."

He laughs again, and this time I join in. There's something about his laugh that's infectious.

We spend the next hour going through each play, Keir patiently explaining while I ask question after question. His knowledge of the game is impressive, and his ability to simplify complex strategies for a newbie like me is nothing short of miraculous.

Eventually, we get up from the table for a break, stretching our legs. The late morning sun streams into the room, casting warm patterns on the floor.

"Thanks for this, Keir," I say sincerely. "I'm starting to feel like I might not make a complete arse of myself now."

He grins at me, those green eyes twinkling. "You're catching on quickly. You'll be talking power plays and penalty kills like a pro in no time."

I smile back, realising how easy it is to be around Keir—how he makes me forget about my worries for just a moment. "Well, maybe not a pro, but not a complete fool either."

We share an intense look that I suddenly rear back from. Don't do this, Ems. I clear my throat and scoot over a bit. "So, thanks. I'll keep studying."

His face falls and I feel terrible, but this is the way it has to be.

"Sure," he murmurs. "Ring me if you need any help."

"I will, thanks."

He gets up to leave, so I follow and let him out of the cottage. When I close the door, I lean against it with a groan.

"He is soooo sweet," Anna says, voicing the thoughts I shouldn't have.

"I know, but I can't go there."

She sighs. "I know. I get it, but he is totally in love with you."

"Don't be daft," I mutter, but I feel the words hit me in the chest like a rocket. "I'm going to take all this to my room and get stuck into it. I can't let my dad down, and mooning over guys I can't have is not productive."

"True," she says and helps me gather up all the papers.

I heft the pile of hockey strategy into my arms, my mind still churning with Keir's parting look and head to my bedroom. It's the kind of look that could start a forest fire in the dead of a Scottish winter—warm and lingering.

Once I'm safely tucked away in my room, I spread the playbooks across the bed, determined to get my head around every feint, check, and power play. I'm not just doing this for Dad or for me; I'm doing it for Keir's earnest green eyes and Lachlan's brooding blue ones, too. If I'm going to lead this team, I have to understand every inch of the ice as well as they do.

Several hours pass like this, just me and the ghostly sound of imagined pucks hitting imagined sticks until I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere. Stretching, I tidy up the piles into things I know, things I sort of know and things that are way above my paygrade. Which is terrible seeing as my paygrade is the highest one there is. I should be demoted. Docked my pay and sent packing.

Still, the ‘things I know' pile isn't as dismal as I thought it would be. It actually has some heft to it. Smiling with pride, I check the clock. It's time to grab something to eat and start getting ready for my drinks thing with Taran.

I shuffle through the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards aimlessly. Food is the last thing on my mind as I think about the upcoming meet-up. What was I thinking, agreeing to have drinks with him? After wolfing down a quick sandwich as Anna potters about sorting herself out for the night, I pause. "Sorry, I'm leaving you."

She snorts. "Fuck off. I'm not incapable of being alone."

"I know, but?—"

"No buts. You want this drinks thing. Go and have fun. Not too much fun, though," she adds with a snicker.

Grinning, I nod and head to my room to get dressed.

An hour later, after calling my taxi, I carefully make my way down the hallway, my insides churning with nerves.

"Wow," Anna says as she looks up at me from where she is channel surfing. "You sure this isn't a date?"

Horrified, I look down at myself and cringe. I'm wearing a black dress that skims my ample curves, shows off my titties with a bit too much enthusiasm and has a dramatic flare when I turn. "Too much?"

"Just right if you're planning to date this guy." She laughs.

"Well, okay, maybe this is a choice outfit."

"You're definitely making a choice," she laughs.

Smiling at her jokes, I grab my tiny bag from the side table near the door and slip my small purse, phone and keys in as the taxi honks outside.

Waving goodbye to Anna, who yells, "I won't wait up!" I take a deep breath and fling open the door, stepping out into a warm Scottish evening.

Slipping into the taxi, I tell him to take me to Metros in town and he nods and sets off.

The taxi ride makes me nervous as we head into town, even more so when the taxi pulls up outside a bar on the main street, I'm glad I opted for this dress and not jeans and a hoodie.

Paying for the ride, I climb out of the car and flick my hair back over my shoulders as I enter the bar, discovering it to be busy but not heaving, everyone just chilling with a few drinks before getting back to work tomorrow. My eyes scan the crowd, and I spot Taran leaning on a high table, flicking through his phone, doing a bang-up job of ignoring the women trying to get his attention. He looks up as if sensing my gaze on him, and he smiles. He pockets his phone and comes over to me, where I appear to be rooted to the spot in my flat sandals. Immediately regretting my footwear choice as Taran towers over me, I hide the pang of nerves behind a big grin.

"Fraser, you scrub up good," I say as he chuckles and takes my hand, brushing his lips over my knuckles before lowering them, but keeping his hold on me.

"And you are a goddess, Thornton."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I retort, my cheeks heating up a bit.

He leans in, reaching out with his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from my face.

I blink as a flash goes off and I turn my head with a frown.

"Don't worry about it," Taran says, gripping my chin and turning my face back to him. "Unless you're worried about being seen with me."

"Not at all," I murmur, staring into those eyes that would give Ian Somerhalder a run for his money. This man is all kinds of gorgeous and I suddenly feel a bit uncomfortable with the limelight I've just been thrust into.

Being with Keir and Lachlan at The Lamb was different. That was a backwater local. This is a fancy bar in town where everyone knows who he is, and probably wants to know who I am as well.

"Come," he says, turning and pulling me gently away from the door, past the table he was standing at earlier and towards the back of the bar, into a darkened corner. We sit on some high stools as I fiddle with a beer mat. "What do you want to drink?"

"White wine," I murmur.

He nods and disappears, returning moments later with wine for me and beer for him, along with a cheeky grin that tells me he knows exactly what kind of effect he's having on me.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking the glass and having a sip. It's crisp and cool, sluicing down my throat and spreading a warmth in my stomach that might have more to do with the man opposite me than the alcohol. Where is the playful banter I had going with him yesterday? It seems to have abandoned me in my time of need. Remembering our messages, my rogue eyes drop to his crotch, and he lets out a loud laugh.

"Oh, so you thought about my cock more than you thought you would, hmm, Red?"

"Fuck you," I clap back. "You wish."

"Told you, it's better in person."

"Well, I won't be finding out anytime soon."

His eyes narrow as he rakes his gaze over me, lingering on my cleavage for far longer than necessary with a small smile that speaks volumes. "We'll see about that," he murmurs, raising his beer to his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a smile of my own. "Can I kiss you?"

"Hmm, what?" I ask, slightly taken aback.

Taran moves in closer, his proximity sending my nymphatic libido a bit rabid. He cups my face, his fingers resting on the back of my neck. "Can I kiss you? I've wanted to do that for a while now."

"A while? We only met online yesterday."

He smiles secretly. "I've been following you for some time, Emma Thornton. You have caught my attention and not just because of who you are."

"What does that mean?" I practically pant, even though he has just admitted to stalking me.

His chuckle is low and tantalising, vibrating through the small space that separates us. But he doesn't reply. He leans forward, and his lips meet mine with an urgency that catches me off guard.

Our kiss deepens quickly, driven by the pent-up curiosity and attraction that seems mutual.

Breaking away for air, I find myself panting, flushed, my hair is surely a wild mess – not that I give a damn right now. "Do you think that will be all over the online news feeds?" I murmur.

He laughs quietly. "Yep."

"Great," I mutter. "Guess everyone knows about our date now."

His eyebrows go up. "So it is a date then?"

I flush when I realise my Freudian slip. He waits for an answer I have no idea how to give him.