Page 3 of Feels Like the First Time
“You’ve had a dozen of your pieces in magazines. None of them inspired viridian green silk.”
“What kind of guy uses the wordviridian? Oh, wait, the same kind of guy who doesn’t think selling hard cider is a pussy job.”
“Cider is the next workingman’s beer. The dress?” He lifted a brow.
“It’sArchitectural Digest,” she said with a shyness Hawk wasn’t used to witnessing from her.
Information, as the co-owner of the local watering hole that doubled as gossip central, Hawk was already privy to, but it was nice to hear her say it. Watch the smile hiding beneath theplay it coolexpression she always wore.
He knew how much this would mean to her. She’d been talking about that magazine since high school. Except there was that slight waver in her tone, one that she hadn’t ever been able to hide from him. “And you were so elated, you decided to celebrate by wearing a dress at six in the morning?”
“There’s a dinner tonight and I was breaking it in. You know, like a new pair of work boots. Now give it back.” She jumped up to snatch it back, but if there was one thing that playing in the NHL for over a decade had taught Hawk, it was how to spot a deke. And Ali was using the magazine’s prestige to fake him out, distract him from the real issue.
“A dinner?” he prodded, sliding an arm around her to keep her from ramming his shins with her steeled toes, which only managed to press her body flush with his. Noticing her gaze dropped right to his mouth, he let loose a grin. “A dinner that requires a dress like this is a dinner I’d hate to miss. So tell me, sunshine, who’s the lucky guy?”
He didn’t mention that whoever the guy was, he didn’t deserve a woman like Ali. Or that his plan to mess with her had somehow backfired, because he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her lips.
“Are you offering to be my date, Hawk?”
“Depends. Will that dress be joining us?”
“You have to come to find out.” A totally cool, almost bored expression crossed her face as she casually rested a hand on his chest—her fingers gliding down his abs. “And Dad’s grilling. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She looked up at him through her long, thick lashes. “So would Bridget.”
It was as if a Washington winter snowstorm had blown through the shop—piercing his chest. “Bridget?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Ali said, snatching her phone back. “Bridget came home, just in time for my big night. You think she’ll want to hold your stick?”
