Page 60 of Secret Husband
I, on the other hand, would enjoy it very much. To be fair, she would, too.
But after … neither of us would enjoy that.
Seeming to sense my hesitation, she pulled away, with good instincts of self-preservation, no doubt well-honed because of her father’s behavior.
She returned to her tea, taking a careful sip. “I’m probably keeping you from something or someone important.”
“There is nothing or no one as important as you at this moment.”
I meant it. Lauren and I had become friendly over the last few months, if only because we were leaders of our respective teams—well, she was the captain of hers and while I was not the captain, I commanded influence over mine. The guys looked to Isner and me as the voices of reason and encouragement, probably because we were both older. Six months was a long time in college hockey.
But Lauren’s leadership skills did not come from age. They came from years pushing herself to be the best while at the same time distinguishing herself from her father’s misdeeds. I understood this. There was a lot to be said for bossing people around as therapy.
She raised a lone eyebrow. I had amused her.
“More important than the cute blonde fawning all over you in Brewski’s last week?”
“I do not remember her name.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have a Russian term of endearment you can whip out when you need it.”
“It comes in useful, for sure.”
“You need to come up with a naming convention. Like Red or Blondie?—”
“Or Silver Eyes?”
“They’re blue. Average, ordinary blue.”
Nothing average or ordinary about them. I stared at them now, noting the flecks of green, how they magnified when she was excited, something I usually noticed when we practiced together. I saw it now.
“You are not an average girl, Lauren. Neither are your eyes.”
“Trying a new move, Nazarov?”
Ah, deflection. I would play her game. I inched closer, under the pretext of role-playing my moves.
“I am always looking for ways to improve my chances with girls.”
“You were saying something about my eyes.” She managed to sound bored, but there was no missing that slight tremble in her voice.
“They are stunning. Deeper than the ocean, clearer than a stream. Stories are told with those eyes.”
“Oh, yeah?” She was aiming for skepticism, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “Once upon a time there was a smooth-talking Russian who lied his way into a girl’s good graces … nice story.”
“I’m not lying.”
Her breath hitched. “Good. I hate liars.”
Because of her father. But also, more. “Isner said your last boyfriend cheated on you.”
“I sure know how to pick ’em.”
Her tone was sarcastic, so I assumed it meant she did not know.
“Some guys are not worth the trouble.”
“Is this the point where you tell me you’re not one of those guys?”
