Page 67 of Tough Call

I shrugged. “They’re cool, but they’re all kind of the same after a while. This one, though?” I gestured around us. “It’s just different enough to be interesting.”

He was nodding as I spoke. “Yeah, it’s pretty different. You said it was a mosque before?”

“Mmhmm. A lot of the churches and cathedrals in Spain used to be. And you can see it.” I gestured at one of the doorways, which had the distinctive horseshoe arch at the top. “There’s actually one in Córdoba that they left mostly intact except for the cathedral in the very center. And they turned the minaret into a belltower like they did with this one.”

An odd little smile curled his lips. “How did I never know you were this into architecture?”

I laughed as some heat bloomed in my cheeks. “I’m not. Just… the history is interesting.”

“Mmhmm.” He elbowed me playfully. “Who knew there was a history nerd under all that hockey gear?”

I gave him a shove. “Hey! Hockey players aren’t stupid.” I paused. “I mean, some of them are, at least when it comes to anything that isn’t hockey.”

He snorted. “You said it, not me.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“No, you’re not wrong.” We started walking again, and he added, “And I always knew you were smart. Just didn’t think history was your thing.”

“When I was in school, it wasn’t.” I made a disgusted sound. “How did my teachers manage to make it so fucking boring?”

A couple of heads snapped toward me, and I realized I’d spoken slightly louder than I’d intended. And apparently there were some people around us who understood English. Oops.

I ducked my head and we made a quick escape from the offended group.

Voice low, Connor said, “I had one teacher who made it really interesting. Enough that my career backup plan was to go to college and study history. But some of them…” He made a face.

“Was it just our school? Or were they all like that?”

“I think it was just our school. My ex went to school in the same district, and his experience was completely different.” He tsked. “Lucky jerk.”

I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Connor, too, smothered his amusement. At least we were stepping out into the Patio de los Naranjos—the courtyard of orange trees. Out here, without cool stone walls around us, it was oppressively hot, though the orange trees did provide some shade. And there was a bit more space between us and polite company, which was probably a good thing.

Connor dug a couple of water bottles from the backpack I was wearing, and each of us took a few gulps.

“This heat is no joke,” he said. “Fuck.” Then he clapped his hand over his mouth again and looked around with wide eyes as he muffled a “Shit. Whoops.”

I snickered. “Can’t take hockey players anywhere.”

“Hey.” He tapped my shoe with his. “I’m not a hockey player.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re hockey-player-adjacent. Close enough.”

“I beg your finest pardon?” He puffed out his chest with mock indignance. “I’m the guy who keeps the hockey players in line.” He brought his water bottle back up to his lips. “Hockey-player-adjacent. Pfft.”

“So, what?” I fought a grin. “You’re our on-ice daddy?”

Just as I’d hoped, he choked on his water, and I managed to sidestep the spit take instead of wearing it. I cackled, well aware that a few heads had turned.

“Oh my God.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We are not appropriate for polite company, are we?”

“You sound surprised.”

He quirked his lips. Then he shrugged. “Eh. Can’t argue with that.” As he capped his water bottle, he said, “So what should we go check out next? Since we’re probably going to get booted out of this place if we stay much longer.”

I laughed. After the water bottles were tucked back into the backpack, we wandered toward the exit. “It’s getting close to siesta. We could grab a coffee and a pastry somewhere, then go back to the villa and hide from the heat.”

“You had me at a coffee and a pastry. Let’s go.”