Page 59 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
He’s babbling.
Daltyn Guyer does not babble. He’s the stoic, always in control goalie who never loses his cool.
At least, not until now.
He shuts his door and rounds the vehicle to my side. The door opens, and he lifts me out, making sure I’m steady before he removes his hands.
“But, why now?”
“We’re going to be at the rink. It’s going to be cold there.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
He eyes me critically. “No gloves. No hat. And it would be a good idea for you to have a coat in case you get cold.”
I snort, but he takes my hand, and rational thought flees. We head toward the door, my small hand wrapped around his much larger one.
Once inside, Daltyn guides me to a clothing section that has my eyes bugging out of my head.
“I’m not climbing a mountain. Why in the world would I need these gloves?”
“They’re warm.”
“They look like part of a mountain search and rescue team.” I drag a hand through my hair, trying to make him see reason. My eyes land on a cute pair of gloves. “These are cute.”
Daltyn wraps a hand around one, scowling. “Snow and cold will go right through these things.”
“I don’t intend to build snowmen with them. These are perfect for going from your truck to the coffee shop.”
He grumbles but throws them in the basket. He also throws the heavy pair in there.
“I thought this was just a temporary arrangement. Why do I need to try on clothing that would keep an Eskimo warm?”
He stares at me, his scowl deepening. “It’s called preparation, Peyton.” He leads me over to a coat that looks like it weighs more than I do.
“No.” I point at it, shifting my weight onto my good ankle. “Absolutely not.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Look at it. It’s huge.”
He looks at the sizes and then pulls one from the rack. “Come on. Just try it on.” He takes it off the hanger and holds itout.
“Are you crazy?”
“Come on, Peyton. Please?”
I huff, hating that pouty look on his face. His bottom lip juts out slightly.
“Fine.”
A wide smile is on his face as he puts the jacket on me. I start sweating, feeling like I’ve gained five pounds.
“This thing is hot,” I complain. “And heavy.”
Daltyn is all smiles as he tugs the zipper up. “Good length.”
“Good length? It covers my butt!”
