Page 12 of Playing it Safe

"Funny," I say. "She has opinions about everything, which is great for her part-time job at a book store. She's reading a historical romance right now, and she'll tell you at length about the hero's bad choices.”

More food arrives, and for a few minutes we just eat, which is another thing I didn't expect. We moan and groan. No conversation. Just two people eating good food in comfortable quiet. He shares one of his spicy balls with me in exchange for one of my balsamic. I notice he doesn’t get a speck of sauce in his facial hair.

Finally, Cameron sets his fork down and wipes his mouth with his napkin. I can’t stop staring at him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “So,” he says, folding his hands on the table. “You have a shitty ex?”

“Ick. Yes.” I set my fork down. "We were together a long time. I thought it was going somewhere." I am careful here, choosing my words to mute the depth of my hatred for Christopher. “He decided Pittsburgh wasn’t for him and … he didn’t really understand my career. Or my sister.” I shrug. “He left.”

Cameron’s jaw works side to side, and his expression tightens. He doesn’t like this overview. He can probably tell I’m leaving out key details, like that my ex stopped finding me attractive and gave up trying to give me an orgasm. “Anyway, I’ve been focused on Deen and hockey, and on getting my teammates to shut the hell up about me getting laid.” I flush, not wanting to start a conversation about sex with a man who looks like he’s amazing at it.

"Did he make you feel like it was your fault?" he asks finally.

I pick my fork back up. "He was very good at that, yes."

Another silence. Another frown. I miss winking Mayhem, but we came here to talk shop, so I settle in to hear about his baggage.

"I had a girlfriend back home. Nice Catholic girl. Got good grades and a scholarship to the same university as mine. We never wanted to leave Boston, not ever.” I like how his R’s disappear at the end of his words as he talks about home. He licks his teeth. “When I got drafted, I was gonna ask her to marry me.”

I gasp. I wasn’t expecting him to reveal something like that. Do I admit I wanted Christopher to marry me? That I was ready for that, too? Before I can decide, Cameron barrels ahead. “She dumped me before I had the chance to propose. Said she didn’t want to be weighed down by a ‘dumb hockey player.’”

“Shut up. What a canker blossom!” I’m boiling mad at hearing that someone—especially someone who should have cared—would call one of my colleagues dumb. I’m so busy being angry that I don’t quite notice that Cameron is laughing.

“Did you say canker blossom? Like from⁠—”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream. Yes, yes.” I stab the last meatball with my fork. “Deen always gets upset about curse words. I try to be smarter with my insults.”

When my eyes return to Cameron, he is smiling. The look is dazzling and vibrant. I think I feel my ovaries pulsing. “It’s a good word,” he sighs. “My ex got in my head, that’s for sure.”

“Your head is very smart, for the record. You wouldn’t be playing at this level otherwise.” I cross my arms, unsure why I’m letting myself get so worked up over his confession. It’s not like mine was tame.

“Likewise, Briar. And hey, you got a gold medal. You’re a freaking catch.”

I work hard not to press my palms to my cheeks, which I’m sure have flushed a deep red. Guys never seem to appreciate my gold medal. Not for hockey. I saw how the figure skaters were treated differently at the airport. Dainty and bubbly, they were the ones everyone wanted to hear from.

A 200-pound woman, almost six feet tall? I don’t have any fingerprints on my medal except my own.

I think my date can tell I’m flustered because he changes the subject to his cat, and we spend twenty minutes watching the webcam as his scraggly orange pet waves at the wildlife outside Cameron’s house.

At some point, I’m aware we’re sitting next to each other, bent over his phone screen with our foreheads touching. Our shoulders rub together. It’s … nice. This whole meal has been really nice. And I don’t feel stressed about it at all.

"I should get back," he says eventually. "We have DC tonight. I need to rest up." He doesn't move.

"Right." I sit back. The table feels wider than before. "What's the plan for bringing the gangs together? Assuming Gianna hasn’t already texted your friends a pic of us.”

He purses his lips, thinking. “We didn’t do a good job discussing parameters.” I can’t help but say the word back in his accent. The corner of his mouth lifts. “Why don’t our teams hang out more? You’re a good time, Briar.”

My entire body flushes at this compliment. “All I did was bitch about my ex and laugh at your accent.”

He’s quiet for a few beats, then downs what’s left of his water. “All right then, BB. Am I kissing you goodbye, or are we just doing a hug, or what’s our story? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

He flags down Gianna for the check while I digest his question. I hadn’t considered that we’d have to show physical affection. But that makes a lot of sense. Obviously, if we’re in a relationship serious enough to bring to the franchise owners, people are going to expect us to be up in each other’s grill. “Maybe a peck at the door,” I decide, suddenly recalling all of Christopher’s critiques about my cold-fish behavior when it came to the physical stuff. I don’t want to scare Cameron away.

He nods, and we both stand. He rests a palm on the small of my back as we walk toward the door, and his touch grounds me. Here, finally, is a man who is larger than me, steering me through the lunch crowd with a gentle arm that’s capable of physical brutality. I’ve seen that side of him. I understand that.

“Bye, Briar,” he whispers, and presses the lightest kiss to my lips. It’s barely a breath of a touch, but my body lights up like a goal indicator, and I’m so overcome I forget to wish him good luck in his game.

Chapter 7

Cameron