Page 4 of Ice Ice Maybe
I sighed. “Again … not helping.”
“Okay, let’s break this down like a power play,” Tyson said, slipping into his marketing strategist mode. “Pros and cons. Go.”
I sighed, lifting my head. “Pro: I get to keep my job. Con: I have to pretend to date the owner’s daughter, a woman I do not find even remotely interesting, and potentially incur the wrath of one of the NHL’s fiercest players. Not to mention I can kiss my social life goodbye since all my free time will be reserved for her.”
“You are sorely mistaken if you don’t think spending all your free time with Zena Dalton is a pro,” Tyson added with an exaggerated wink, then his eyes suddenly lit up. “Just imagine if you two actually ended up together. That would be amazing.”
I rolled my eyes. “No—thatwould be a huge mistake. Her father would fire me, kill me, or both. None of it will be real. Ever.”
Tyson shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe, maybe not, but make sure you commit one hundred percent to the fake dating, if you value your job. You don’t want to mess around with Mr. Dalton, or Zena, for that matter. From what I hear, she always gets what she wants, and for now, she wants you.”
“Sheneedsme—big difference,” I corrected. “And you don’t have to worry about me. Nobody will ever suspect we are nota couple. I will bring my A-game as soon as she gives me the word.”
“I expect nothing less from you,” Tyson said, clapping me on the back. “And life has a funny way of dealing us surprises, like a body check from behind. You never know what could come of this situation, so keep a positive, open mind.”
“I appreciate you trying to look on the bright side, but I can’t see anything good coming out of this,” I said.
“What about the free tacos at Lucha Libre?” he said with a laugh. “Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts. Because whether you like it or not, you’re living every man’s fantasy by going out with Zena.”
I glanced at my best friend, wondering if all those hockey pucks had hit him in the head before landing on his desk. Tyson might see this as some sort of fantasy, but I had a sinking feeling it was about to become a personal penalty box of doom and possibly my worst nightmare.
Chapter Two
Zena
As I waited inside Lucha Libre Taco Shop for Nolan to arrive, my eyes darted around the interior. I felt like I’d stepped through a portal into some kind of psychedelic wrestling dimension. The hot pink walls were plastered with gold-framed pictures of masked, professional Mexican wrestlers, posing and flexing, their muscles bulging and capes billowing. A life-sized cardboard cutout of a famousluchadorstood guard over a salsa bar. The wonderful smell of grilled meats, melted cheese, and warm tortillas made my stomach rumble appreciatively, but the decor was still doing a number on my brain. A part of me wanted to laugh, while another part couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer commitment to the theme.
The bell over the door chimed, and I looked up, half-expecting to see a masked wrestler burst in and body slam me to the floor. Instead, Nolan limped in, looking slightly bewildered as our eyes met. According to Dad’s research, this was one of his favorite places to eat, so his mystified state obviously had to do with the fake-dating plan, not the taqueria. To be honest, I thought our scheme was extreme, but I was confident it would work like a charm.
“Hey,” Nolan said.
He wore black jeans, solid charcoal Skechers, and a form-fitting V-neck T-shirt that showed off his muscular frame. I was impressed he felt comfortable enough in his own skin to dress casually on our pseudo first date. Yes, it was just a taqueria lunch, but most men tried to impress me with thousand-dollar suits, Rolex watches, and Ferraris when they knew who my father was, which was always their first big mistake.
“Hey there, sweetie.” I stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek, then fought to keep a straight face as I took in his shell-shocked expression. “You need to loosen up if we want this to work.”
“Oh, I, uh, didn’t realize we were already starting,” Nolan whispered into my ear.
“There’s no time like the present.” I grabbed him by the hand as we followed the masked hostess to the centerpiece of this quirky taqueria, “The Champion’s Booth.”
A sight to behold—the gaudy gold table surrounded by a wrap-around booth was fit for wrestling royalty, complete with red velvet ropes cordoning it off from the people dining nearby. Hanging on the wall above it, gleaming under spotlights, was a championship wrestling belt that looked like it had been bedazzled by a squad of overenthusiastic cheerleaders.
The hostess removed the “Reserved” sign from the table and said, “Your ringside seats await.” She unhooked the velvet rope with a wink, and then with a theatrical sweep of her arm, she waved us toward the table.
I slid into the booth, then glanced back at Nolan, who sat on the other side of the table from me.
“You’re in another zip code—sit closer,” I told him, patting the spot right next to me. “We need to always look convincing wherever we go. You never know who’s watching us. We are a fun and flirty couple. Starting now.”
“I can handle that.” Nolan scooted so close he was practically on my lap, his leg and arm brushing against mine. He leaned closer, his breath warm on my ear. “Is this close enough for you?”
I glanced up into his big brown eyes, fighting back a smile. “Look at you, going from zero to hero.”
“Just playing my part, darling.” Nolan slid his hand along the back of the booth, then ran his fingers through the hair behind my neck. “Fun and flirty, that’s us.”
I was impressed by his newfound boldness and how natural he was at pretending. “Not bad, Romeo. But remember, this is a family restaurant, not the back row of a movie theater.”
Nolan’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Noted. I’ll save the steamy stuff for our fake anniversary.”
He slowly removed his hand, and his fingers grazed the back of my neck. The physical contact sent an unexpected jolt down my spine, and I felt my cheeks flush. I hadn’t expected him to slip into character so convincingly.
