Page 6 of One Good Puck
He glances at the cocktail napkin next to my glass. “Did you draw that?”
I smile down at the detailed mountain scene I scribbled while Logan was droning on and on about himself. “Yeah.”
“You’re a really good artist.”
“Thanks. I did that to try and show how disinterested I was with Logan, but he didn’t pick up on it.”
“Do you draw a lot?”
“I did as a kid. I wanted to be an artist.”
A gentle smile pulls at his lips. “Oh yeah?”
I nod. “I was even planning on going to art school for a while.” I clear my throat. “But then life got in the way.”
“I know how that goes. It’s good that you still draw, though. You’re incredible at it.”
I grin wide, flattered at his compliment. “I like drawing, but oil pastels are my favorite. I haven’t worked with them in a while, though. They can get kind of expensive. Scribbling on napkins is about all I have time to do these days. Single mom life, you know? Having a seven-year-old keeps me plenty busy.” I chuckle.
“I don’t mean to keep you,” Gavin says. “I overheard you say that you had to pick up your daughter. Emma, right?”
I smile, heartened that he remembers her name even though I think I’ve only mentioned her once or twice when I was around him.
“Yeah. But actually, I don’t have to get her. She’s staying the night at her friend’s house. I just said that so I could leave.” I pause, feeling the tiniest bit ashamed. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? Using my kid as an excuse to get out of a bad date.”
“Not at all. I used to use Sophie as an excuse to get out of stuff all the time when she was little.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d get out of boring meetings at work all the time by saying I was busy with her.”
I laugh again. “Okay, I feel a lot better now.”
He smiles, bigger this time. “So do you come here a lot?”
I shake my head. “Logan suggested it because it’s down the street from his shop. How about you? This doesn’t seem like your scene. You’re the best-dressed guy in here by a mile.”
He lets out a low, rough chuckle that gives me goosebumps.Oh. I really like the sound of that.
He shakes his head. “I was meeting some of the guys from the team here for a drink.”
“You must be a cool coach, enjoying happy hour with your players,” I tease.
Again with that low, rough chuckle. It rumbles across my skin, making me hot all over.
“It was a rough day at the office, and they were just being polite, inviting me out,” he says.
“Oh shoot, sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all fine now.” His deep blue gaze focuses on me for a quiet moment. He clears his throat. “Would you maybe want to?—”
Just then, his phone rings, cutting him off. He digs it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen. He lets out a heavy sigh.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
“Hello?”
