Glove Save (Carolina Comets)

“Wait, wait, wait. He said what?”

“You’re welcome for rescuing you.” I shake my head. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

I toss the dough I’ve been working for the last forty minutes onto the counter, annoyed it’s not doing what I want it to. I’m sure most of that is my fault. I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about last night or Greer’s parting words. They’ve been grating on me since I got into the Uber, and my poor driver had to listen to me complain the entire ride. I’m sure I’ll be seeing the karmic response to that at some point and get stuck with a driver who doesn’t stop talking.

But I was pissed.

I am pissed. Greer’s comment was just so…him.

“A jackass,” says Rosie, the head baker at my sister’s donut truck, Scout’s Sweets. “A complete and total moron, too. Why the hell would he say that?”

“Because he’s the worst. I hate him.”

“I hate him too.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. Solidarity!” Rosie says, lifting a fist in the air. “I’m here for you.”

I chuckle. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I peek over at my sister, who is standing at the back of the truck, a donut in hand. “Any solidarity from you?”

She takes another bite of her donut—a Strawyummy Cake, my favorite—then chews and swallows. “Sort of.”

I take a step back because I am genuinely surprised by Scout’s comment. “Sort of?”

“Greer is definitely a jackass…but he did step in when you needed help. I can’t fault him for that. You’re my sister, and I’ll love anyone who keeps you safe.”

She’s right. I know she is.

And while I’m super grateful for Greer pulling that douchebag off me, and I know I owe him for it, it doesn’t change the fact that he was just so…Greer about the whole thing. Cockiness radiated off him, and I wanted to wipe the smug smile right off his face with my palm.

I’m sure somewhere deep down, Greer is a nice guy—he did help me, after all—but sometimes, no matter how many good deeds someone does, it doesn’t erase their douchebaggery.

“I still don’t like him,” I mutter.

“I’m surprised. You’re normally Miss Sunshine who loves and gives everyone a chance. Why not Greer?”

“Have you met him?” I counter.

She has a point, though. Even with my checkered past with my ex, I still love and trust people. I’m friendly. I like to talk. But there’s just something about Greer… He does something to me that I can’t describe, probably because it’s nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

“He’s hot,” Rosie comments, working her hands through the dough in front of her like she didn’t just drop a bomb.

“What?!”

Rosie shrugs at my outburst. “He is. That jawline of his is…wow. It’s too bad it’s always covered by his goalie mask.”

Her words remind me of Bianca last night and how badly she wanted to lick Greer’s jaw. That’s two women obsessing over him. Is it even that good? I’ve never noticed before.

“Oh please. Yes you have.”

Crap. Did I say that out loud?

“There’s no way you could have missed it.” Scout backs Rosie up. “Pretty sure it’s sharper than his skates.”

“Don’t you already have a hot hockey player to drool over?”

A dreamy look crosses her face, and Scout sighs. “I do. My hot hockey player agrees with me, though.”

“That Greer is hot?”

“Yep.” She nods. “I had him rank all his teammates one night when we were bored.”

“And?” Rosie asks, setting her dough aside, fully invested in the conversation now.

“Greer was at the top. Then Rhodes because his scar makes him hotter. Fitz because of his missing tooth, Lowell because he’s a daddy—though now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure if he meant daddy or Daddy. Wright was at the bottom of the top five.” She shakes her head. “Wait, that’s not right. If I went with his real top five, he himself would come after Fitz. We argued for thirty minutes about whether or not he could be on his list. I won.”

She grins, clearly proud of herself.

“He put Greer before Fitz?” Rosie looks stunned. “Is he nuts?”

“I don’t think so. I’m also very honored. I’ll have to thank him for that.”

A chill runs up my spine.

I know that voice.

I turn on my heel with reluctance. I don’t want to see him. Not right now, or ever again.

“Oh god. He’s going to kill me for telling you that.” Scout gulps audibly.

“Please, Miller worships the ground you walk on,” Rosie tells her. “He’s so completely obsessed it almost makes me want to gag, and that’s saying something because I adore a good romance.”

Scout sighs, then says something to Rosie, but I don’t catch it. I’m too engrossed in the staring contest I’ve been roped into with Greer. He’s looking at me with green eyes that remind me of a summer day. He’s not smiling, nor is he frowning. He’s…watching.

I hate it.

Almost like he can read my thoughts, a small smile pulls at the corners of his lips, lifting them into a smug grin.

I hate that even more.

“Stevie.” His voice is deep, a low timbre that has no business sounding as good as it does.

“Greer.”

His stupid lips pull up higher, somehow making his already smug smirk even smugger.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting a donut.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since I always do. It’s Saturday.”

“Your point?”

“I come here every Saturday I can.”

Now both of my brows go up. Does he?

“You’re usually not here.”

That’s true, but how does he know that?

Saturday mornings are typically reserved for Macie, but since she stayed with Scout and Miller last night, I figured I’d help Rosie for a few hours. Scout’s donut truck business has picked up since word of her dating Miller got out. Customers are flocking here faster than ever before in hopes of getting a glimpse of one of the Comets players. I’m sure if Greer had arrived just an hour earlier when the line was to the parking lot, he would have been hounded incessantly for autographs like Miller was. He took Macie, and they’re hiding at McDonald’s across the street.

“I’m helping out.”

I don’t tell him I’ll probably be here more often from now on. The law firm I work at is merging with another firm, and they don’t need two receptionists. I’m aware it’s likely my head on the chopping block.

“So, are you going to help me out, then?”

“Excuse me?”

He points to the rack of donuts behind me. “Donuts. I want to order.”

“We’re closed.”

He barks out a laugh just as Scout lets out a squeal.

“Stevie!” she admonishes.

“What? I’m on the clock today, not you. We’re closed.”

“Stevie!” my sister says again, shoving me out of the way and pasting on her best customer service smile. “Ignore her, Greer. What can I get for you?”

“I got it,” Rosie says, already boxing something up.

“How do you know his order?”

She shrugs, setting the box on the counter, then moves toward the iced coffee. “He comes here a lot.”

“He does not!”

“I do too,” says the man in question.

“Well, you can’t. Not anymore.”

He lifts a perfectly arched brow, and I momentarily wonder if he gets them waxed and shaped to look like that.

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“My brows. I don’t get them waxed or shaped, whatever the hell that means.”

Shit. I have to stop saying what I’m thinking out loud, especially with Greer here. The last thing I need is to think something positive about him and accidentally say it. I don’t want him to get any ideas about me liking him.

I shudder at the thought. Liking Greer? Please. That will never happen.

“Here you go.” Rosie slides an iced coffee his way. The cup’s contents are pale, like it’s loaded down with milk and sweetener.

He sticks a straw in the drink and takes a healthy swig almost instantly. He exhales loudly, smacking his lips together in the most annoying manner. “It’s perfect, Rosie. Thank you.”

The way he says it…it’s so…nice. So unlike Greer.

“It’s on the house, too,” Scout tells him, hitching her thumb my way. “Because of her.”

Another smirk. “Well, thank you, Stevie. Wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”

I narrow my eyes. “You can leave now.”

My sister yells my name for the third time. “Stevie! You can’t work here if you’re going to be mean to customers.”

“I’m not. Just to Greer.”

Scout drops her head into her hands. “Good lord.”

“It’s okay, Scout,” he says magnanimously. “I don’t mind. I can take it.”

“Well, I mind. You were so nice to her last night, helping her out. She should maybe be a bit nicer,” Scout says through clenched teeth, eyes narrowed at me in warning.

“Talking about me, huh?”

God, I want to jump over this counter and wipe the arrogant look off his face.

“Go away, Greer.”

“Not until you say it.”

“Say what?”

“Thank you, Greer.”

I snort. “Not a chance.”

“Come on. Don’t be that way. I thought we had a connection last night.”

“The only connecting we’ll ever do is my palm with your face.”

“That’s okay. I like it rough.” He bounces his brows up and down, and I hate it so much.

The only thing I hate more is the pull I feel between my legs at the thought of anything rough and sexual with him.

“Is that something you like too?” he asks, leaning closer. I want to get away, want to do anything to put space between us, especially when his green eyes are boring into me the way they are—like he’s entirely too invested in my answer—but I can’t. That would give him the idea that he’s affecting me, and I’d rather him not know that.

So, I don’t move. I don’t answer him. The only thing I do is swallow the lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, not missing it.

“Leave.”

He lets out a low, sinister laugh. “Say it.”

“Not going to happen, Greer.”

“Why not? Scared you’ll have to acknowledge I helped you and you owe me?”

I curl my lips in disgust at the word. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Sure you do, and I intend to collect on it.”

“For the tenth time this morning, leave.”

“I’ll go, but only because I have somewhere to be.” He lifts his drink Rosie’s way. “Thank you,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “I’ll see you ladies later. Steve.”

“Jackass.”

He chuckles, then spins on his heel and treks back through the parking lot with entirely too much swagger in his walk. It’s obnoxious how confident it is. It’s almost as annoying as how well his long-sleeved shirt clings to his back, showing off the build he hides under his pads.

But I don’t care about that because I don’t care about Greer. I dip my hands back into the dough, kneading away, trying to channel all my frustration into shaping donuts. I beat the pile of dough over and over, shaping, then reshaping the same donut. I’m so annoyed I can’t even make a damn Long John.

“Ugh,” I groan, tossing the dough aside. “He is so…so…”

“Insanely hot?”

“Rosie!” I glare at her. “I thought you were on my team. What happened to solidarity?”

“Oh, right.” She straightens her back. “Ugh. He’s so gross. The worst.”

It’s the worst acting job I’ve ever witnessed. Not a single word that tumbles from her lips is believable.

“I can practically hear all the dirty thoughts running through your head right now.”

“Nah.” She waves her hand. “The only one I’m fantasizing about is Fitz.” She lets out a dreamy sigh, and it’s kind of funny how head over heels she is for him and how oblivious he is to it.

Scout points to her head baker. “I’m with her. Well, not the whole fantasizing-about-Fitz thing, but the Greer-being-hot part. Because he is.”

“He’s…fine looking.”

My little sister gives me a look that says I’m full of shit.

I ignore it.

Is Greer good-looking? Yeah, of course he is, but do I care? Not even a little bit. He’s an ass on a good day. He’s grumpy, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else. I don’t think that’s hot at all.

“Mom!”

Now that I do care about.

I turn toward the parking lot just in time to see an excited Macie running my way.

“Mom!” she calls again once she’s closer. “You won’t believe what happened!”

“What’s up?” I lean against the counter, watching as she skids to a stop before the truck, just barely tall enough to reach the counter.

“Uncle Grady”—my heart melts a little when she says that—“paid for everyone’s lunch, then we took some food to Eddie. After that, he took me to the store and let me pick out thirteen things. Anything I wanted.”

My brows go up at the last thing. “Thirteen?”

I slide my eyes Miller’s way, unsurprised to find him smiling unapologetically.

“What?” He lifts his broad shoulders. “It’s my lucky number.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, turning back to my daughter, who is practically bouncing on her heels with excitement. “What’d he let you get?”

“Well, I got candy. Like, a lot of candy, because he said if I got some of the same kind of stuff, it didn’t count as more than one thing.”

Of course he said that. “How much is a lot?”

“Less than Halloween.”

“That’s a terrible unit of measure,” Rosie mutters, and I agree.

“Plus, I got a Spiderman pajama set, two new books, a DVD about when the Comets won the Cup, a new goalie stick, and so much more.”

“That sounds like—”

“The best thing ever? I know!” She claps her hands together. “I’m so happy! He said it was a late Christmas gift.”

I want to point out that Miller already got her an incredible Christmas gift—tickets to several Comets games, including the one tomorrow—but I don’t, not when she’s as excited as she is. I should also tell Macie to maybe not get used to being spoiled like that, but I can’t bring myself to ruin her high right now.

“That was really nice of him. Did you tell him thank you?”

“Her mom can’t say it, so why should she?”

I glare at Rosie, who quickly turns her attention back to the dough she abandoned, whistling like she didn’t just say what she did.

“Duh, Mom. I even told him thirteen times.” She rolls her eyes, and before I can yell at her for it, she runs off, sprinting toward the picnic table where Miller set her bag of goodies.

Scout laughs, and I turn my glare her way.

She lifts her hands in the air. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it.”

“I’m just saying…you owe him.”

“I don’t owe him anything.”

That’s not true. I know it’s not true. I should thank him. What kind of example am I setting for my daughter if I can’t even tell someone thanks for doing something so huge for me? It’s just…it’s Greer. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Not to mention I’m embarrassed there’s even anything I have to thank him for. What happened last night…I thought I was done feeling that helpless, thought I was finished feeling like that. I don’t want Greer, of all people, to know I need to be rescued.

Scout’s hand lands on my shoulder. “It doesn’t make you weak to need help,” she says softly, like she knows exactly where my mind has gone.

With a sigh, I say, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Scout smiles proudly.

“Why do I feel like I missed something?” Miller asks, his eyes bouncing between his girlfriend and me.

Scout waves her hand. “It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing, though. I know that, and Scout knows it too. I promised myself eight years ago I’d never indebt myself to someone again.

It looks like it might be time to break that promise.