Scoring Chance (Carolina Comets)

“I’m his date.”

What the fuck, Scout?! What are you doing?

Greer looks from me to Miller and back to me again. It’s clear he’s sizing us up, trying to decide if he’s going to believe us or not.

I hope he does because being embarrassed by two different hockey players in one month would be truly traumatizing.

After a few moments, a smile spreads across his face. “Well, smack my ass.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t expect that one, but I’m happy all the same. Smith will be too.”

“Smith?” I question.

“Yeah, he’s heading the fundraiser you’re my date for,” Miller says, widening his eyes at me, encouraging me to play along.

“Oh, yeah.” I nod. “That’s right. You told me that. Duh.” I smack my forehead. I force a grin Greer’s way. “Sorry, long day. Speaking of…can I get you anything?”

“An iced coffee would be great. Black, please.”

I scurry away to fulfill his request but keep my ears tuned in to the conversation they begin to mutedly have the moment my back is turned.

“When the hell did this happen?” Greer asks. “And how? I thought she hated you.”

“I’m charming,” Miller insists, and I can just picture him grinning like a fool.

“You’re an idiot, and we both know it. You’re not paying her, are you?”

I’m insulted by that accusation for myself and for Miller. Is he really insinuating that Miller would have to pay someone to date him? He’s a damn hockey player! There is no way women aren’t falling at his feet. Or skates. Whatever.

“No, asshole. This is completely consensual. Trust me, I was just as surprised by it as you are.”

I tuck my lips together, trying not to laugh because, for once, he’s not lying. I have no idea why I said I was his date. I don’t even know what I’m his date for. I also have no idea what issue he was referring to—though that part does have me curious—but I’m not going to let Miller be picked on by his teammate.

“You swear you’re not coercing her?”

“I swear to God, Greer, I will nail your nuts to the locker room benches if you insult me again. I’ll—”

“Here’s that coffee,” I say, spinning back around, cutting off whatever threat was going to tumble from Miller’s mouth next—not because I’m worried for Greer, but mostly because I find it insanely hot to see Miller get all worked up.

They break apart, and Greer shoots me a grin I suppose is meant to be charming but is nothing like the ones Miller throws my way. There’s nothing genuine about it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a sip, eying his teammate the whole time. They’re having a silent conversation now, much like the ones Stevie and I have. I’d kill to know what they’re saying. “So, what happened here today? How’d you rope Miller into getting behind the register?”

“I didn’t. He volunteered.”

Greer’s brows shoot up at that. “Interesting.”

“Not really,” Miller mumbles. “Is that all you stopped by for? Coffee?”

His teammate laughs at his obvious annoyance. “Yep.” He takes another sip, then smacks his lips. “Ahh. Refreshing.”

“Oh my god!”

A distant voice calls out, and we all turn our attention to find Stevie practically dragging my niece behind her as they hustle toward the truck.

When she approaches, she takes in the messy picnic tables and the trash cans that desperately need to be emptied and winces. “I am so sorry, Scout. I couldn’t bail on Macie, though. I—”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. “It’s fine. Macie comes first. I understand.”

I look over the edge of the truck and wave down at my niece, but she’s not paying me any attention.

Instead, she’s looking up at Greer, her brows slammed down tight, scowling up at him. I want to chastise her for being impolite, but then I notice what Greer’s doing…he’s scowling at her too.

“You’re tall,” she tells him.

“You’re short,” he shoots back with just as much sass as she’s throwing his way.

She curls her lips back at him, and he does the same. It’s comical watching a grown man sneering at a little girl.

Macie being Macie, she crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t back down. “Are you going to win us a Cup this year? Because if not, I’m sure Johnson can step in as goalie.”

Miller lets out a low laugh, and Macie turns her fiery gaze his way.

“Your shots on goal were down last season, you know. You have no room to be laughing at him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and I swear he stands up straighter as if afraid of the nine-year-old.

Not that I’d entirely blame him. Macie can be quite scary at times. She’s got fire, that’s for sure.

“Macie May, you’re being rude.”

She puffs her chest out. “I’m being tough, like Coach Heller. One day, when I’m an NHL coach, my team is going to win just like this team will. Just wait and see.”

I love that she’s already planning to infiltrate a male-dominated industry. Hell, I just might believe she could do it too.

“You’re going to be a coach?” Greer challenges. “How about you get all your teeth before you start bossing people around, huh?”

Her stare could make grown men crumble to their knees.

But not Greer.

He just laughs, which fires her up even more. I feel like she’s about two seconds away from hauling off and kicking the guy when Stevie steps up to him.

“How about you stop picking on a little kid and maybe stop a puck or two, goalie?”

Greer’s eyes darken at her words, and a muscle begins to throb in his jaw. “That so?”

“Yep,” Stevie says, not backing down. It’s where Macie gets her spark from. My sister is one of the strongest women I know. She’s been through a lot, and I know she makes sure her kid is strong because of it. “That’s so.”

“Hmph.” Greer makes a non-committal noise, then turns to Miller. “Don’t forget to let Smith know about your…date.”

Stevie’s head whips my way, and I do my best to ignore the stare she’s sending me. I already know we’re going to be discussing this later, even though I have no clue what to tell her other than I’ve clearly lost my mind.

“Bye, Twerp,” he says to Macie.

She bares her teeth at him, staring him down until he’s in the parking lot, then she hitches her thumb over her shoulder toward him and says, “What’s up his ass?”

“Macie!” Stevie admonishes.

“What? You said I could say ass sometimes!”

“I said you could say jackass.”

“Fine. Then what’s up his jackass?”

“Oh my god. I swear, kid…” Stevie hangs her head, trying not to laugh. “Come on,” she says, nudging Macie. “Let’s go clean these tables up for Auntie Scout.” Stevie gives me a pointed look that says We’ll talk about this later, then begins picking up the mess the customers left behind.

When she and Macie are out of earshot, Miller turns to me.

“You can bail, you know. You didn’t have to do that and save me in front of Greer.” He drags his hand over the back of his neck, something I’ve noticed him do before. I wonder if it’s a nervous thing. “You don’t even know what it’s for, and I know you probably don’t want to spend time with me, and that’s fine. I get it, so you’re good. We’re good. You don’t have to go.”

“Are you finished?” I ask when he’s done rambling on.

He tips his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Good. Now, hush and tell me the details. I’m going to need to wear a fancy dress, I assume.”

“You’re…” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “You’re going? Are you sure?”

I lift a shoulder. “Sure. Why not? You bailed me out big-time today. I figure I owe you one. I’ll be your date, Miller—but as friends, nothing else.”

A slow, satisfied smile stretches across his face, and I have to fight back my own grin.

“Friends, huh?” he asks.

“Friends.” He fist-pumps the air several times, and I point at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Me? Never.”

Then he winks.

And I swear my crush grows just a little stronger.

“Please tell me this isn’t a joke and you actually are meeting the Grady Miller for a date?”

I sigh, pulling a shirt off the hanger. “It’s not a date. We’re just going shopping.”

“Right. For your date.”

I slip the mustard yellow t-shirt over my head, hiding my eye roll. It’s been four days since the Donut Day from Hell, and I still can’t believe I, Scout Thomas, made plans with Miller to go shopping.

Apparently, this event I’m attending with him is for a fundraiser that’s helping raise money to get hockey equipment and practice space for underprivileged areas. It brings in a lot of cash for a good cause sponsored by professional athletes, which means there are going to be a buttload of photographers there. Those were Miller’s words, not mine.

So, we’re dress shopping.

I told him I could find something to wear on my own just fine, but he refused to take no for an answer, insisting he was paying for the dress. Who am I to pass up free clothes?

Stevie throws herself back on my bed with a dreamy sigh. “My sister, dating a hockey star…who would have thought?”

“For the billionth time, we aren’t dating. It is one date, and it’s for charity, which means it doesn’t even count.”

“Yeah, but it could be the start of something.”

I bark out a laugh. “Ha. Not happening.”

“Why not?” She rolls onto her stomach and kicks her feet back and forth, watching as I yank and pull my jeans over my wide hips. “He’s not—”

“I know he’s not,” I cut her off. “But it’s not going to happen, so just drop it.”

She lifts her brows at my stern words. “Can I just say one last thing?”

I groan, knowing she’s not going to let it go. She never does, so I motion for her to speak.

“He’s nice.” I open my mouth to argue, but she holds her hand up. “Aside from that one stupid thing he did, he seems like a really good guy. He helped you run your truck. He—an actual NHL player—helped you run your truck when I’m sure he has a million other things to do. That is nice.”

I try to speak again, but she beats me to it.

“On top of all that…you like him. Hell, you’ve been crushing on him for like two years now. And sure, I know it’s mostly innocent, but why does it have to be? If he’s interested in you, go for it. He makes you smile. He makes you laugh. And honestly…” She looks pointedly at the stacks of romance novels scattered throughout my room. “You need a little something in your life to shake things up. You can’t hide forever.”

I follow her gaze, trying to see what my room looks like through her eyes. Probably sad and lonely and boring, even though it’s not.

I’m not ashamed of my reading habits. Hell, I could have much worse hobbies. But I also know at some point, I have to stop hiding behind the pages of a book and actually live, which is what she’s getting at.

I want to. I really do.

But I’m also scared.

What if I get hurt? I’ve had my heart crushed enough in my short life. I don’t want it obliterated again.

Also, if I’m not out living life and trying new things, how am I ever going to really be able to write a book about an epic romance? I mean, sure, there’s my imagination and all that, but sometimes that real-life epic experience makes it all that much more believable. I follow all of my favorite romance authors on social media, and they’re always posting about how funny or hot or charming their husbands are, how they met in the sweetest ways, how they’re soulmates.

I want that and I want the career.

I love baking and making donuts, but I love love just a little more, especially after witnessing what my dads had together.

“I know,” I mutter. “I know. I’ll work on it.”

“And if by chance at the end of your date he asks you on another, you’ll say yes?” She bats her lashes at me.

I laugh. Like legit laugh out loud.

Miller being interested in me? Yeah right.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It could.”

“It won’t, Stevie. You’re nuts.”

“Am not! In fact, I’m so sure it will happen because I have eyes, and I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. I want you to pinky swear that if he asks you out, you’ll say yes.”

“Fine.” I cross the room, hooking my little finger with her outstretched one. “I pinky swear. But I’m only doing this because I know for a fact it’ll never happen.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiles smugly. “We’ll see about that.”

I refused to give Miller my address.

Not because I don’t trust him, but because I didn’t want him to see my apartment. He’s a multi-millionaire, for crying out loud. The last thing he needs to see is that I live with my sister and her daughter.

So, I made him meet me at the donut truck.

He’s already waiting for me when I pull my trusty old Toyota into the lot. It’s almost comical when I park it next to his very expensive, very luxurious car.

I do one last mirror check to make sure I didn’t sweat off all my makeup on the drive over, then shut off my car and hop out.

“Hi, friend,” he says, pushing off the back of his vehicle.

“Miller,” I respond coolly.

He chuckles. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

I’m shocked when he follows me to the passenger side and pulls my door open for me.

“What?” he asks when I peek up at him. “I’m a gentleman.”

“That is not a word I would use to describe you.”

“Which word would you use, then?”

“Annoying. Irritating. Obnoxious. An absolute pain in my ass.”

“That’s six words.”

“Huh?”

“An absolute pain in my ass—that’s six words.”

“Point proven,” I say, sliding past him and into the car.

The minute I settle in, I’m assaulted by the scent that’s all Miller. It’s woodsy with just a hint of something else I can’t quite place. It’s intoxicating.

“Are you sniffing my car?”

I startle, because I didn’t even realize he’d already gotten in.

“Uh…yes?”

His lips twitch, but he lets it go. “You okay with stopping and grabbing some coffee? I’m exhausted after practice.”

“Oh, I could run into the truck and get us some if you want.” I grab the handle, but he wraps his hand around my other wrist, stopping me. His touch is like a warm blanket on a cool autumn night, and I swear I feel it down to my toes.

“No,” he says. “Today is your day off. Enjoy it.”

“It’s just coffee…”

He shakes his head. “Nope. You need to get out of that truck. No working today, got it?”

I find myself nodding, agreeing to the demand he has no business making. “Okay.”

“Good.” He removes his hand, and I instantly feel cold.

Then he smiles, and that same heat is back.

No—it’s worse than before. I don’t feel it in my toes; I feel it between my legs.

I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and force a smile of my own. “So, where to?”

“Figured we’d stop by Cup of Joe’s and then hit up Julia’s?”

“That shop downtown?” He nods, and I laugh. “Yeah, no. They are not going to have my size there.”

His brows squeeze together. “Why not?”

I wave a hand over my body. “Because I’m not exactly small, Miller. I have big hips. I have an even bigger ass. I have stomach rolls that aren’t so keen on being squeezed into tight dresses. I’m not a walk-into-any-store-and-find-a-dress kind of girl, and we don’t have time to order something.”

“Yeah, but—”

I shake my head, cutting him off. “No. I know a place where we can go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” I clap my hands together. “Chop-chop. We don’t have all the time in the world. We have a deadline with this.”

He sends me one last long glance but puts the car into drive.

If I thought Miller’s driving was erratic as a bystander, it’s nothing compared to being a passenger in this thing. He whips around like a maniac, taking corners sharply and changing lanes without warning. He’s zinging and zipping around like he’s driving a damn go-kart, and by the time we grab coffees and make it to the dress shop, I’m about three seconds away from having a massive panic attack.

“Oh lord!” I cry out when he parallel parks like a pro. I’m pretty sure even after ten tries, I’d still be attempting to fit my tiny car into the spot. Despite his protests for me to wait, I exit the vehicle on shaky legs, needing to get out before I freak out.

“You could have waited, you know,” he says once he catches up to me. I don’t miss how he tugs his baseball cap down on his head, and I want to tell him it’s no use. He’s a six-foot-three giant with the build of a damn Greek statue. Famous athlete or not, he’s going to be noticed anywhere he goes.

“And you could have driven a lot less like you were Lewis Hamilton.”

“You know who Lewis Hamilton is?”

“Um, have you seen him? Of course I know who he is.”

Miller scoffs, then places his hand on my lower back and leads me toward the shop. I spend the entire thirty-second walk trying not to pass out from the feel of his fingers grazing my skin because I have no rational reactions when it comes to Miller.

We stop in front of the door, and he peers down at me, those barley colored eyes of his boring down into me. “You ready?”

To shop with Grady Miller? To have him witness the absolute monster I turn into whenever I’m trying on clothes because I get irritated and hot and dislike everything I put on my body?

Not a chance in hell.

As much as I want to, I don’t say that.

Instead, I mutter, “As I’ll ever be.”