Page 45 of Hard Hitter
“Course I am.” He put a hand to his hip. “Didn’t even have to take a punch tonight, so I’m solid.”
Ari touched his face with one finger, at the side of his mouth. “This muscle looks unhappy, though.”
He put a hand to her back to get them moving down the sidewalk. “It’s a weird night, that’s all.”
“Are you pissed at Crikey for fighting?”
Women’s intuition wasn’t just a myth. “I was. But he seems pretty happy with the outcome. I used to be just like that.”
“Like what?”
“Sort of incredulous about the whole thing. I was young and stupid and they paid me a half million dollars a year to do something that used to get me thrown out of school. I thought I’d cracked the secret code of the universe, you know? People wanted my autograph, even though I was really just a thug trying to smash his demons for high pay.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “But it got old?”
“Fuck yeah. It’s hell on your body. And then it’s too late—you’re already that guy who fights. So you have to fight everybody for the rest of your career. I can’t just stop.”
“Why not?”
He was quiet for a moment, trying to explain it. “There’s no shame in being a player who doesn’t fight. A lot of guys just don’t know how, or they’re too valuable as snipers. If Bayer or Trevi fucked up his hand, it would be a scoring disaster. But if I start refusing to fight, I’m a guy who backs down. They’d say—look at that poor old fucker. He can’t take it. If people don’t see me like that I can still have another few years in the league.”
“Maybe Crikey wants to take some of the pressure off you. If there’re two enforcers, neither of you has to do it all.”
He chuckled. “Like a job share. If some hammerhead challenges me on the rink, I can just say,talk to Crikey. I don’t throw down on Thursdays.”
“It was just a thought.”
He put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze, a gesture he would never have made a month ago. “I know. I appreciate it. And Crikey has no idea what he’s getting into. Maybe it seemed like a big adventure tonight. But next month maybe he hurts somebody really bad. Or he loses a fight and people jeer and throw food at him. He doesn’t know all the shit that can happen. He doesn’t know to wonder if some asshole fan goes home drunk after the game and tries to imitate your signature left hook on his wife.”
“Jesus.”
“You asked.” It came out sounding really defensive, but this fucking topic got him all worked up. “Sorry.”
“No, I want to know what’s in your head.”
“Why?”
She gave him a furtive smile, but said nothing.
“I think you like me, Ariana. S’okay, though. You don’t have to admit it. It can be our little secret.”
“You passed your street,” she pointed out suddenly.
“No kidding. I’m walking the lady home. It’s late.”
Another furtive glance from Ari. “I appreciate it. But I’m going in alone.”
“Of course you are,” he assured her. Not that he wouldn’t like to come in, but he knew how to play the long game. He could be patient when he needed to be.
Hell, he liked her so much. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.
Her little building came into view. They crossed the brick street together, mounting Ari’s porch. He waited while she fished out her keys. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night.” She looked up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks for walking me home.”
She hesitated, and he didn’t miss it. Anyone who’d played pro hockey as long as he had could spot an opening like that. So he leaned in and gave her a kiss. It was meant to be only a tender one, because tender was how he felt toward Ari tonight.
But the moment his lips brushed hers, she made a soft sound of happiness. Her lips were even sweeter than he remembered. She tasted of white wine and sweetness. He cupped the back of her neck to perfect their connection, and her arms wrapped around his body.
