Page 35 of XOXO, Summer
The tension I was spinning in starts to unravel, and soon, it’s gone altogether. “You make it hard to be mad at you.”
Chuckling, he says, “That’s not something I’ve heard before.” He rubs the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as if he’s doing some studying of his own as he looks at me. “I’m glad it is with you.”
I walk over to him. Hooking my finger around one of the belt loops of his shorts, I look up at him and smile. “Hockey, huh?”
“Yep.” His hand rubs my hip like he does it all the time, so natural and familiar on a deeper level, and sends my heart rate spiking. But it’s the way he fought for me to stay that has me realizing that if love can be found at first sight, it can be found on an empty country road, with a plumber kept waiting.
It should scare me, but somehow, it doesn’t. It’s not sleeping with him that worries me anymore. It’s too late for me. It’s how I keep my heart intact when he inevitably leaves to return to his own life.
But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves while he’s here. Right?
We start walking to the cottage together, because yeah, broken pipes still need to be fixed, especially if I want him to stay here for the summer to keep my bonus. But now I’m wondering if that bonus could also include a summer in his arms.
When we see the small house and the spot where his car was parked, I say, “Your license plate makes a lot more sense. I saw hat trick and just thought you were really into magic.”
Under a roar of laughter, he wraps his arm around me and kisses the side of my head. Protective and sweet.Like I’m his.
CHAPTER 11
DANIEL
“Daniel ‘The Maverick of Hockey’ Sutton. Shit damn, I can’t believe I’m meeting you.” Shaking my hand like he’s trying to test my strength, which happens often, the plumber jerks it up and down.
“It’s good to meet you, too . . .” I glance at the embroidery on his stained work shirt. “Bryan.”
“With a y. When you sign that autograph, make sure to spell Brian with a y.”
I look around, but there’s nothing for me to sign. “You got a pad or something to write on?”
“Yeah. Hold on.” While Bryan digs through his van, I look at Summer standing at the back of the van, looking around awkwardly. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want her to be awkward—well, more awkward than she is—because of my fame. This lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart. I have no choice. She does. And turning her off is the last thing I want to do. “Here you go.” He hands me a Buc-ee’s receipt and a marker that’s seen better days and is missing the cap.
Moving to the hood of the vehicle, he sets it down tosign, and adds, “Don’t forget the y and sign it from Maverick. Then it’s like we’re buddies. How about writing how I saved you?—”
I glare at him. “Do you want to sign it?”
“No, go ahead, Mav.”
Bryan,thanks for saving the day.
Maverick Sutton
I handit back to him and keep walking, more interested in checking on Summer than fulfilling the next demand he comes up with. My good deed for the day is done, so it’s time to move on. “Let’s go look at the pipes.”
“Right behind you, bud.” While he tucks his autograph into the van, I find Summer waiting in an Adirondack chair. Her body is at ease as she leans back, her eyes on me since she came into view.
When I walk to her, I see how she looks me over and bites that bottom lip of hers. The attraction between us remains as clear as it was thirty minutes earlier, leaving me to breathe easier. Summer’s different from the women I meet, and I don’t want to lose this opportunity to learn more about her because I’m famous. Her not knowing who I am was only a perk. A perk that snowballed into a situation.
We need to talk when we have more privacy. I want to check the temperature of how she feels with the information that was dumped on her seemingly out of nowhere. I also want to know what really makes her tick when it comes to this property. It appears to be her sole focus. A goal of sorts.
She manages this place like it’s her own business, butmade it clear it’s not. Her care and attention are put into every detail, and she gets flustered if things aren’t under her complete control. The owner said jump, and she plunged off the cliff to get here. Other than a paycheck, what’s in it for her?
Her gaze deviates beside me, and she says, “It’s open. The bathroom is in the hall on the right.”
When she looks back at me, she holds her phone up with a photo of me taken during a game. Eighty-eight, my jersey number, is on display as I slam into that punk kid who thinks he owns the ice out of Boston. That photo made all the sports channel rounds three years ago. I’d recognize it anywhere. “I looked you up.”
I come to stand before her and offer a hand. “And?”
“You’refamousfamous.” When she reaches up, she folds her fingers with mine.
