Page 11 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“That’s right,” Mack says. “No way would any decent woman in their right mind want to date Finn for real.” I give him two fingers this time and he laughs. He’s already dressed and walks by me on his way out the door, always the first to rush home to his lady. He says in a quiet voice, “Good luck with your hot date. Let me know if you need any tips.” He’s smiling, but it’s a genuine smile, like he means it. Like he’s ready to dish out advice like the man who’s been through hell and back that he is. I nod at him and resume my way to the showers.
I take a good long shower in spite of my claim that I need to get out of here. What I need is to gather my thoughts in preparation to deal with the Mother Teresa of college interns. I’m hoping little Vivvie is twenty-one because it would make it very awkward trying to take her out after the game to meet the guys if she isn’t even drinking age. Even if she is twenty-one, she’s still young. Dangerously so in every way that counts. In spite of her bold and shaky outburst of bravery to volunteer to save me from a trade.
We’re talking about a bookish type who wears glasses and baggy gray clothes like I haven’t seen since grade school. So, yeah, my bet is she’s dangerously young and naive. And I, Finn the degenerate, hide-your-daughters-because-here-he-comes guy that I am, will need to behave like a perfect gentleman. I feel like a wolf going on a date with a kitten, one strong howl and she’ll hide under a bed somewhere never to come out again.
Aiden’s still hanging around when I exit the shower.
“Tell me about this hot date—she the one you’re thinking of taking to the benefit next week? I want details.” He sits with me as I dress. I can’t give any details because I haven’t memorized the cheat sheet yet.
“Nothing to say.”
I finish dressing and walk with Aiden to the bar, where I leave him. It’s a relatively balmy night for early March.
“I better hear all about this date when I get home—or when you get home—even if it’s not until tomorrow. Especially if it’s not until tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Energy pours from the door of The Fours as he opens it to go inside and I think for a second about going in for one beer. It’s tempting. The fun is palpable and there’s a reason we go out as a team after games. But I made a deal and I’ve got flaws, but I do keep my end of a deal. It’s something my granddad left with me before he left the world. Not much else, but it was good enough for me to rely on over the years.A man is only as good as his word.
The walk to Mary’s condo on Beacon Hill takes longer than I’d like after a game, especially the uphill part. That alone should have been enough to give a guy trepidation. But the nerves are so foreign I laugh at myself as I ring the buzzer.
No way should I be intimidated by Mary, much less Vivian the mouse. She’ll be a piece of cake to handle. But then maybe that’s the rub—I’m not supposed to do any handling. I need to treat her with kid gloves. The impossible task of pretending to be crazy about her—never mind I haven’t been head over heels over a girl since I was thirteen—and at the same time, keep her at arm’s length. I’m well aware that the worst thing possible I could do is lead her on.Fuck. A conundrum.
A challenge.
Lucky for Mary, I love a good challenge. Keeps the boredom from setting in when I’m not on the ice or in bed with a woman. The buzzer sounds and I push through the door and head for the elevator in the old-fashioned tile foyer. Nice digs.
It figures Mary Delaney has a classy flat, spacious and fancy—too fancy for me to feel at home, but hell, I do my best to bring the oriental rugs and crystal chandeliers into perspective. Carpets and lights. We all have them. I walk past her through the entry into the living room and there’s some hot chick sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace and my dick lights up. Until she stands up and smiles at me.
It’s her. The mouse.
“WTF,” I mutter. “What did you do with little Vivvie Frost?” I say to her.
“Don’t get excited,” Mary says, coming up beside me. “Have a seat.” She points to the chair opposite the newly made-over Vivvie, now not so Frosty and not so young-looking.
At least her blush is the same. The smile of appreciation pops out on my face automatically, the one some might think of as wolfish. Maybe because it perfectly reflects my wolfish intent, the instinct that’s finely tuned and deeply ingrained. The intent I need to rein in. Big time. Starting now.
“Great game, Finn,” she says. No more glasses to push up her nose and I see she doesn’t know what to do with her hands as she stands there under my scrutiny. I look her up and down, though I’m aware of Mary’s disapproving glare.
“Let’s get on with this,” Mary says.
Not bothering to turn away, I watch Vivvie as she sits back down, her green eyes sexy, her golden brown hair falling in touchable waves around her face, her pouty mouth—why didn’t I notice how pouty her mouth was yesterday?—enticing me. And that body. How did I miss that killer body? The soft cream sweater clings to the curves of those bold breasts and I want to bury my face in them. The tall boots emphasize her long slim legs as she crosses one leg over the other, taunting me, though I swear she has no idea how sexy she looks as she tries to get comfortable. It’s an impossible task for her because I know my blatant stare makes her nervous. She averts her eyes. Maybe my stare makes her a little excited too.
Mary snaps her fingers at me. “Finn. Pay attention.” She shoves some papers at me. “Read this. I’ll go get us some refreshments. Ice water for you. Wine for Vivian and me.” Mary leaves the room, heading for a door to what looks like the kitchen, as I sit with the papers in my hand, but I’m not looking at them.
“So, a makeover,” I say.
She gives a nervous laugh. “Mary’s idea. She said I need to compete with,” she flails a hand, looks away and mutters, “your usual type of women.”
“No need to worry Vivvie. You don’t need to compete with anyone. You’re my fiancée as of—”
“Next week,” she says, turning pink. I get up and go sit next to her on the couch because this separation is ridiculous. I’m hardly going to get anywhere with her from across the room and we need to get some chemistry going. I smile at her as I sit close enough for my thigh to touch hers.
She jumps away from me like I’ve scalded her with a hot iron. But I haven’t even begun. Myhot ironis still in my pants, although it is getting hotter and harder by the second.
“What do you think of the story—about how we met?” she says, pointing at the papers. I glance over the page, skimming through the story, nodding.
“I like it. Plausible because it’s simple. And recent. You’re a smart one.” I mean it, but I want to compliment her just to see that blush. I may have to keep it up all night to see if she ever gets over it. I’m hoping she doesn’t. I’m hoping she blushes every time for the rest of . . . our engagement.
Mary comes back in the room with a tray that includes a pitcher of water and glass of ice for me and two glasses of red wine.
