Scoring Chance (Carolina Comets)

I’m beginning to think something might be seriously wrong with me.

That’s the only reason I can conceive of for saying yes to so many things involving Miller. First his apology, then accepting his help with my truck, then the fundraiser.

And now? I said yes to a date.

A date! Me and Miller. Alone. Together. Doing date things.

I can’t believe it.

Just like I still can’t believe I kissed him.

I freaking kissed Miller!

My face heats and my lips get all tingly just thinking about it and the way he pressed me against the door and kissed me somehow harder and softer than anyone ever has before.

It’s all that has been consuming my thoughts for the last week while he’s been tied up in the preseason. They played two road games, came home and hit the ice hard with practice, then had two more away games. I haven’t seen him since the night of the fundraiser, and as much as I hate to admit it, I miss him. Miller being gone is just as strange as I thought it would be. It’s like my whole routine is thrown off, which is ridiculous because he’s just a customer.

A customer I kissed and am going on a date with, but still. I’m not going to get ahead of myself and think anything of it. I can’t let my mind wander there.

“Where do we keep the apple pie spice?”

I look over at the newest employee of Scout’s Sweets, Rosie, then point toward the counter she’s standing right in front of.

“Second shelf, right there next to the nutmeg.” I can’t help but think of Miller when I say it, which has a smile curving my lips.

“You got it, boss.”

She bends and starts shoving spices around, moving the older containers to the front and putting the new ones in the back.

Rosie started last week, and things have been great so far. There were a few learning curves with the equipment, but she’s getting the hang of it fast, and it’s truly been a relief to have help. I have a feeling she’s going to stick around, which means I’m finally going to have some free time to write, something I’ve been itching to do every free second I get.

After Miller kissed the hell out of me, I wrote five hundred words. Five hundred! That’s more than I’ve done in years. I mean, when I read them all back, I decided they were trash and deleted them, but it’s still progress.

“What has you smiling?” Stevie asks, appearing out of nowhere. She sets her purse on the hook by the back door and then leans against one of the counters.

“She’s been doing that all day,” Rosie says, ratting me out as she organizes the spices.

“Is it because a certain hockey player is taking you out on a date tonight?” My sister bounces her brows up and down, and I glower at her.

I wasn’t planning on telling her about my date with Miller, but I didn’t have a choice. After I finally regained my senses after kissing Miller and went inside, I about had a heart attack because Stevie was sitting in the dark living room, waiting up for me.

She heard everything. Every word. Every moan. All of it.

And she couldn’t stop grinning. Wouldn’t stop asking questions until I finally told her everything.

Sometimes I think she’s more excited about the date than I am.

We’ve been texting off and on while he’s not been around and finally settled on going on our date tomorrow. I have no idea where we’re going. All he said was to wear a dress and heels, and for some reason that makes me ten times more nervous about it.

“I still can’t believe the Comets come here all the time,” Rosie says. “I’m a huge hockey fan. I have no idea how I’m going to contain myself—especially if Fitzgerald, that new trade from Vancouver, stops by.” She fans herself, then looks sheepish. “Sorry. I get a bit excited about hockey.”

Stevie lifts her hands. “No judgments from me. There are a lot of hot guys on the ice, that’s for sure.”

“And who do you think is hot?” I lift a brow, curious.

“Uno reverse!” she calls out, avoiding the question.

I groan. “Not fair.”

“Is too!”

“What’s Uno reverse?” Rosie asks.

“It means she’s putting the question back on me.”

“And Scout here doesn’t want that because she’ll have to say she thinks Miller is hot, and she doesn’t like to admit her little crush.” Stevie grins triumphantly, clearly feeling really proud of herself right now.

I scowl at her, but she doesn’t care.

“Okay, but Miller is hot,” Rosie says. “So, no shame in that.”

I’ve never really been a jealous person before. It’s not in my nature.

But when Rosie says Miller is hot, I swear a streak of it runs straight through me because I can picture Miller sending her flirty smiles and using cheesy pick-up lines on her, and I hate it.

I hate it so much my teeth grind against each other.

“But Fitzgerald is more my style,” Rosie says, and just as quickly as the streak appeared, it’s gone. “I assume Miller is the one you’re going on a date with?”

“Miller is the one she also shamelessly made out with against our front door last week.”

“Stevie!”

“Wow. I didn’t know I’d be getting all this juicy gossip this early on.” Rosie rubs her hands together. “Tell me more. What was it like? Is he a good kisser? I follow some hockey gossip sites and have seen him with some other women before, but nothing long term.”

I frown because as much as I don’t like admitting it, I’ve seen it too.

After I let the evening of the fundraiser settle, I jumped right to the last place I needed to be—Google. I couldn’t find any information on his dating history aside from a few photos of him at various fancy-schmancy restaurants around the city with women who looked like they could be on runways. None of them looked particularly serious, but there was one thing I could say for certain about them—all the women were my exact opposite.

Which makes me wonder, of all the women available to him, why did Miller ask me out? Why did he kiss me?

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Liar!” Stevie interjects. “You said—and I quote—‘Kissing Miller was better than soaking in the tub with a slice of cake and a glass of wine after a long day.’ Said it was ‘better than sex with Jacob Karlsson, the guy from college who had the nine-inch cock and could eat pussy like a pro.’”

“Stevie!” I hiss at her, my face flaming red, I’m sure.

“Oh my god.” Rosie doubles over in laughter, probably at the pure shock that’s etched across my face. “I was not expecting that from you at all.”

“Because I didn’t say that!”

Okay, fine. I totally did say that.

And I meant it too. Kissing Miller was better than sex with Jacob. Sure, he had a big dick, but it didn’t mean he knew how to use it. He truly was incredible at oral, though.

But if Miller does anything half as well as he kisses, Jacob doesn’t stand a chance against him. Just having his hands wrapped around my waist…feeling him against me…having his lips pressed tight against mine… It was all so much better than anything I’ve ever had before, and that scares me.

He was worth an A+ and more.

“I still can’t believe you said yes to a date with him,” Stevie says. “I mean, kissing him is one thing, but dating? That’s a whole different beast.”

“Sigh. Beast.” Rosie fans herself, thinking of Rhodes. “Why are all the hockey players so damn hot?”

I don’t know, but it’s very distracting.

“It’s just one date,” I mumble, but I know it’s more than that.

It’s going to be my first date in three years after losing my dad and my long-term boyfriend all in one month. It’s a huge step. I know it, and Stevie does too.

“Besides, who knows if this is even going to become a thing? He could take me out and realize he’s way out of my league.”

“Or he could take you out and realize you’re the love of his life.”

I snort out a laugh. “Right. Sure. We’ll both keep dreaming about that one.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Scout,” Stevie says with the big-sister authority in her voice that I’ve come to know over the years. “Not just to Miller, but to yourself too. You’re a freaking catch, and any guy would be lucky to have you.”

I give her a weak smile. “Thanks, but you have to say that.”

“Well, I don’t.” Rosie waves her hand, then points to Stevie. “And I happen to agree with her. Who knows what could happen with Miller, but you can’t write it off before you even try. I’ve done that before and totally shot myself in the foot. Now the guy I was in love with is madly in love with someone else. I blew my chance. Don’t blow yours.”

I’m surprised by her statements and also so curious to know what happened. I figure if she wanted to talk about it, she’d elaborate more, so I let it go.

“Okay,” I say with a nod. “I’ll give it a chance.”

“And if nothing else, you’ll have some great inspiration for your book.” Stevie shrugs.

Hmm. She does have a good point there. I was feeling very inspired after Miller’s kiss.

Maybe this could be good for my writing.

And…maybe for me too.

But I’m not going to get my hopes up. After all, this is Miller we’re talking about—no way he’s about to fall in love with little old me.

When Miller told me to wear a dress and heels, I figured we’d be going out to dinner.

What I didn’t plan for was him taking me to the same place he’s taken all the other dates he’s been photographed with.

It’s safe to say the reason my stomach feels like it’s doing flips is not that I’m nervous—it’s that I’m mad. I’m mad because there was a tiny part of me that hoped Stevie was right, hoped things with Miller were different, hoped maybe I was different.

But I’m just like all the rest…temporary.

I guess I know where I stand now.

“This place is nice, huh?” Miller says, reaching into the basket of bread and holding a piece my way. I shake my head, and he shrugs, not picking up on how clearly uncomfortable I am. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Oh, I’m aware.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I tell him, “It’s nice.”

He scarfs down a piece of bread, then reaches for another.

I’ve yet to touch any or the glass of wine that’s sitting in front of me, which really says something because I love wine.

Silence falls over us, and it’s not that comfortable, soothing kind.

It’s awkward as hell. I know it, and Miller finally sees it too.

“Is, uh, something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Except even I hear in my voice that something is definitely wrong.

He sets his bread down, swallows what’s in his mouth, then chugs half his water. He reaches up and squeezes the back of his neck, massaging it for several seconds.

I remember that move. It’s his tell.

He’s nervous.

Now that I think about it, he was nervous on the way over here too, bouncing his leg as he drove entirely too fast. Hell, just sitting here now, he’s buttoned and unbuttoned his suit jacket three times.

Why is he so nervous?

After another heavy minute of silence, he finally blows out a breath, then says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Oh?”

He sighs. “I won’t lie, I’ve been on a lot of dates since I joined the Comets. It’s kind of a thing I’m known for, being a serial dater.”

You don’t say.

“But there’s a reason for it. I’ve never told anyone this before. Well, besides Greer, and I’m not so sure he really counts. I mean, he’s Greer. He’s like the biggest asshole on the planet, but not really. That’s just a front. I think he got his heart broken once upon a time, and now he’s working on his villain origin story or something. He’s…”

Miller’s rambling. He’s rambling because he’s nervous. Why is he so nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been out together before. Sure, this is a little different because it’s an actual, definite date, but it’s still just me and him.

This is a stall, and I’m tired of waiting.

“…he became our number one goalie last year and—”

“No offense, Miller, but I really don’t care about Greer.”

He gives me a tight, shaky smile. “Right. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Look, the truth is I—”

“Is there anything else I can get you while you wait for your dinner?” the waiter asks, choosing that exact moment to appear beside the table. He gazes down at us with a saccharine smile. “Perhaps some more water, sir?”

Miller sets his now empty glass down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “More water would be great. Or something stronger. Vodka? A big glass. On the rocks. No, wait—no rocks, just vodka. Lots of vodka. Two, please.”

“Sure thing. Would you like some more bread? Maybe some of our delicious butter and oils to dip it in? We have truffle oil, sweet garlic butter, and extra virgin olive oil that’s—”

“Virgin!”

I’m not the only person who whips my head Miller’s way at his outburst. No less than three tables in our vicinity turn, tuning in to our conversation.

“Uh, sir?” our waiter asks, now looking deeply concerned.

And I don’t blame him because What the fuck?

I’m trying to catch Miller’s gaze, but he’s refusing to look at me. All he’s doing is staring down at his plate, not looking at anyone.

“The olive oil, please,” he mutters.

“Right away, sir.” The waiter gives me a tight smile before walking away, looking over his shoulder a few times and shaking his head.

Miller continues staring at his plate, and eventually, the onlookers get tired of waiting for something else to happen and go back to their dinners.

“Miller?” I say quietly when he doesn’t move for at least thirty seconds.

He sucks in a breath, then finally drags his eyes to mine. I’ve never seen his cheeks so red before, which is saying something because he’s done and said plenty of embarrassing things in my presence.

But this is something else.

“Are you okay?” I ask gently.

“Virgin,” he says again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’m a virgin, Scout.”