Page 72 of From Ice to Grace
“Making it non-alcoholic was the best option,” I concede. “Besides, it’s better for my game to stay dry during the season.”
Lifting my gaze I find her looking at me with her eyes narrowed. The light catches the highlights in her hair, the soft pink shade of her lips distracting. Just a little bit.
“You’ve always had an edge, Declan. I think that’s what makes you such a good defenseman. You can read the ice like no-one else. You know what’s going to happen and you make controlled, precise decisions to cut off the offense.”
The compliment means a lot coming from her. I knew she watched me with the women I had, because she always had something to say. What I didn’t know was that she watched me play…that she knows what I’m like on the ice.
“But the guy who played against the Wild,” she says, her eyes filled with concern. “That wasn’t control. That’s not the player you really are.”
That night wasn’t my finest moment. I reacted in a way I would never have. I should’ve known better, but I lost control. Looking down at my hand around the stem of the glass I wonder if it’s because I’ve been drinking more. Or have I been drinking more because I’m losing control? Which came first?
“Is it hard for you to not drink?” she asks, her voice soft.
The question forces me to really think about it. I’m not sure that I would go home and drink more if I had one glass tonight. The urge to run to alcohol doesn’t hit me every day…but when it does, it hits hard.
“I thought we’re not sharing deep dark secrets with each other?” I ask.
She shrugs, the movement causing the strap of her dress to slip off her shoulder. I fight the urge to reach over and put it back where it belongs.
“What else are we going to talk about for the next two years? The weather?” she asks, her eyes sharp, challenging me.
“Or maybe why you’re really marrying me?” I add with a smile.
“Between the two of us there will be a lot to dig up, that’s for sure.”
I can’t help but smile. Leave it to Avah Johansson to get me to talk about something difficult and still have me smile while doing it.
“There are a lot of days I don’t even think about it,” I say truthfully, taking a sip of the bubbly grape juice. “It’s not that I can’t go without it.”
“It’s an escape,” she finishes my thought.
I nod, watching as she traces the rim of her glass with her finger. Her hand reaches for the strap of her dress, slowly sliding it back in place.
“Is that what this is for you?” I ask. “Are you escaping something back home? Or someone?”
She sighs, looking away from me and perusing the dining room for a second. “I don’t really like talking about this, Declan. To anyone.”
“What have you got to lose?” I have no ill intent toward her. I’m not someone who’d tell her secrets. I might not always be very graceful in the way I approach things, but I’d never share something that wasn’t mine to share.
I hold my hand out to her, the white linen cool beneath my skin. She looks at my outstretched hand like it’s a live wire.
“And that?” she asks and I can’t help but chuckle deeply.
“We’re supposed to act like we’re in love, remember? I figured with a table between us, the best option is hand holding.”
Her hesitation stretches, and then her fingers slip into mine. Her skin is cool, soft, her hand disappearing into my grip like it belongs there.
For a moment, I can’t help but stare at our hands. I’ve never been this deliberate in holding a woman’s hand. It’s both the least intimate thing I’ve ever done…and the most.
“Brady let me know that he dropped a few hints about our dinner date, so someone might already be watching,” I say, the feel of her hand in mine strangely comforting. I brush my thumb over her knuckles before I even realize I’m doing it.
She nods. “What else did you have in mind?” she asks. “I mean a dinner date only allows for so much hand holding…and longing stares,” she adds playfully.
“You want more?” I ask, letting my gaze linger just long enough to enjoy the blush creeping up her neck. “Did you read through the menu? After this I’ll definitely need real food, so maybe we can grab ice-cream…or a steak.”
She lets out a small laugh. “I did. Doesn’t sound like something that could fill a defenseman.”
“Definitely not. The fact that most of the food has a foam component, doesn’t bode well for me,” I add, watching as she relaxes slightly, even twining our fingers together.
