Vital Blindside (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 3)

Adam’s car smells like leather, expensive cologne, and the evergreen air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. It’s very similar to how he smells on a daily basis, minus the air freshener. His scent screams, “I’m a well-put-together man,” and despite that I know I shouldn’t, I keep taking it in in lungfuls.

He smells like a man because that’s exactly what he is. A grown man. It’s impossible not to notice the differences between him and the majority of guys I know. Not only does Adam carry himself with a maturity that comes only from age and life experience, but there’s a kindness to him that shouldn’t be such a rarity but is. I’m finding that it’s beginning to grow harder to deny the surprising effect he has on me as the days go on.

It will be a cold day in hell before I do anything about it, though. For now, I’ll continue to keep him stuffed behind the Do Not Think About door and pretend he isn’t one of the best-looking and genuinely kind people I have ever met. Getting caught up in a mess of sexual fascination for my boss is not something I need or want in my life right now.

“Are you a big comic book fan?” I ask as a way of forcing myself to think about something else. “Or do you just like collecting them and keeping them in your back seat?”

He glances over his shoulder and laughs at the box of superhero comic books on the seat behind me. “Right. Those are my son’s.”

I nod. “Does he have a favourite?”

His eyes beat into the side of my head. His next words are sure, confident. “Leo told you about Cooper.”

“He did,” I confirm and chew on the inside of my lip. We turn onto a paved road and pass the new housing district starting to be built on the outskirts of town. “But if he hadn’t told me, I would have heard it from someone else long before starting at WIT. Hockey players are worse than teenage girls when it comes to gossip.”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and his jaw twitches. “Good point. Cooper isn’t a secret by any means; he just hasn’t come up before now.”

“I didn’t think he was. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

His lips part on a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you. And he does have a favourite. It’s Thor.”

I smile at that before replying with a nod, unable to think of anything to say. Instead, I prop my elbow on the base of the window and press my palm to my cheek. The mood has shifted to something a bit awkward, but neither of us seems to be eager to bring it back to what it was.

Instead, we sit quietly for the next couple of minutes. The steady purr of the engine and low murmurs flowing from the speaker break the silence. We’re in a part of Vancouver that I’m very familiar with, having gone to school only a few blocks away from the cathedral and newly renovated playground we just passed.

I clear my throat, and Adam pulls his sickeningly expensive car—if the elaborate seat stitching and the letters AMG on the steering wheel mean anything—into a busy parking lot, stopping a car length in front of what looks like the only free space. He throws the car into reverse and grabs the corner of my seat in a tight grip, the tips of his fingers brushing my shoulder, making me shiver. He doesn’t pretend to miss my body’s not-so-subtle reaction to his touch because a second later, he’s glancing at me, and whether it was his plan to look away quickly or not, our eyes lock and hold of their own accord.

It’s impossible to ignore the tightening of the air around us as I focus in on the deep green flecks around his irises and the slight downward shift and dilation of his pupils when I lick my suddenly dry lips.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I slowly, and almost greedily, slide my eyes over his face. I make note of the old, pale scar on the jut of his bottom lip and the perfect line of his nose that shows he’s one of the few hockey players who never wound up breaking theirs. Smile lines are sunk deep beside his eyes, beneath the ends of two thick, fluffy eyebrows.

We’re torn out of the moment when a car horn blares from behind us. We break apart, my heart thumping in both surprise and embarrassment.

“Shit,” Adam mumbles, sounding a bit breathless.

Yeah, shit. I don’t say anything as I scoot as close to the door as I can, and he drops his hand to the centre console, quickly reversing into the parking stall. The tension from moments earlier has been replaced with an awkwardness that has me pushing open my door and rushing out of the car to get away from it.

I place a hand on my chest and suck in a few deep breaths. My heart thumps frantically against my palm, and I scowl at the traitorous bitch. Adam is not someone I should be reacting to this way. There might as well be do not touch written on his forehead in bright red ink. A warning my body seems to not give a flying shit about.

My nipples are stones inside my sports bra, and I grit my teeth at the buzz of pleasure that comes to life each time my chest rises. It’s too easy for him to turn me on. That much I know for sure. For God’s sake, he only brushed my shoulder. Something he’s done multiple times during therapy. Yet now is the first time it’s had this effect on me.

Fuck.

“Ready to go in?” Adam asks, his voice hinting that he’s closer than I was expecting. I didn’t even hear him get out of the car.

“Yep.” I steel my expression and turn around.

He’s waiting at the front of his car, his arms crossed as he looks ahead of him. If he was even half as affected by what just happened between us as I am, he doesn’t show it. I meet him by the hood of his gleaming two-door Mercedes, and we make our way to the shop.

“I hope you’re not a vegan. This place has the best cheesesteak subs in the city,” he says while pulling open the door and holding it for me. A bell rings from above it, announcing our entrance as we both walk inside.

“I’m not. But I didn’t know there was a competition over who had the best cheesesteak.”

He places a hand on my lower back and steers me through the small gap between tables leading to the front counter. I risk a glance up at him to find his eyes already on me. He winks. “There can be competition in anything, Scary Spice.”

I scoff at the ridiculous nickname that he refuses to let die as we come to a stop in front of a waist-high counter. Adam doesn’t remove his hand from my back even as we wait to be served, but I pretend that doesn’t matter.

“Yes, but this one seems a bit unwarranted. Are there even that many places that sell cheesesteak subs?”

A gasp comes from in front of us. An older man who looks to be maybe in his early fifties has frozen in front of one of the back doors and stares at me with pure horror in his eyes. Adam coughs to cover his laugh while my cheeks burn a bright pink.

“Are there not stars in the sky?” the man guffaws, his voice thick with an accent I can’t pinpoint. “Or fish in the sea?”

Okay, I think we’ve gotten a little off base here. I open my mouth to say something in my defense—like maybe not all of us are sandwich connoisseurs—but end up smashing my lips together when Adam moves his hand from its previous place on my lower back to my side, or more specifically, my waist. I go rigid when his arm wraps around me, and our bodies drift closer, as if pulled together by something completely out of our control.

An awful squawking noise rushes out of me, and my body jolts in surprise when Adam quickly pinches my side. I slap my hand over his and squeeze hard, the sheer size difference between them making my mind wander to a very inappropriate place. What the hell is he doing?

With a soft chuckle, he bends down close enough I can feel his breath on my cheek and smell the bubble gum he was chewing in the car and whispers, “It’s better not to argue with Bernard. Who knows if he’ll tell the cook to put anchovies in your sub.”

And then, as if unaffected by touching me, he removes his hand from my side, setting it on the counter instead, before grinning at this Bernard. “Don’t mind the pretty lady, Bernie. Scarlett here is very uncultured in the world of sub sandwiches, but she’s a quick learner.” He glances at me for a second, and I nearly swoon at the smile lighting up his face.

I look at the older man and nod while pretending I didn’t catch Adam’s sly attempt at a compliment or the flapping sensation in my belly that followed it. “He’s right. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Bernard assesses me for a hard second before tipping his chin and clicking away on the order screen in front of him. “Fine. Now, go sit and wait. I will make you two cheesesteak subs.”

I narrow my eyes when Adam pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slips out his bank card, prepared to pay for them both. Snapping my hand out, I snatch the card from his fingers and shove it down my shirt, into my bra. I look down my shirt, and my eyes go wide.

“I . . . uh . . . I said I was paying for my own,” I stammer. Hello, God, if you’re listening, now would be a great time to snatch me up. Without looking at Adam, I slip my own bank card from the pouch on the back of my phone and, without looking at the price, pay for both our subs.

Adam chuckles softly. He leans in close, the short hairs on his jaw scratching my cheek. “Can I have my card back now? Or do you intend to keep it?”

I inhale a shuttered breath. “I’ll give it to you when you back up.”

That laugh again. “Right.” He leans back, and I watch as he takes a step away. “I guess I should be thanking you for lunch.”

“Yes, you should,” I say while dipping my hand inside my shirt and pulling his card out from the top of my bra. “I told you I would pay.”

He holds my stare and, with two fingers, slowly pulls the card from my hand. He shoves it into his pocket while saying, “Consider this the first and only time, Scarlett. I’m a gentleman, after all, and a gentleman never lets a lady pay.”

I subtly press my thighs together as the dirty undertone of his words settle like a heavy weight between my legs. It’s clearly been too long since I’ve had any sort of release that wasn’t stoked by my vibrator, and having a man that looks like Adam does speak to me with such confidence and suave is turning out to be a bigger problem than I initially thought.

I find myself wondering if he’s always a gentleman or if he drops that act at the bedroom door.

“Here you go,” Bernard drawls. I clear my throat and turn to see him walking around the counter, a bulging plastic bag in his hand. He squints at me while handing over the bag. “You come back and tell me how good it was. Yes?”

“Sure,” I agree.

He shifts his attention to Adam. “I know you will come back. You can’t get enough of my subs.”

Adam sighs. “Too true, Bernie. You’re the reason I’ve had to put in more time at the gym.” He pats his stomach. The stomach that I have no doubt is rock fucking hard. “I’m getting a bit saggy.”

I snort before I can stop myself, and Adam swings his head to stare at me. “What?” he asks, a sly smile pulling at his mouth.

As if I would tell him I don’t believe there’s any part of him that’s saggy. I lift the bag of food in the air between us. “Our food is going to get cold.”

He quirks a brow, his eyes so focused on me I can’t help but fidget beneath the weight of them. “And we can’t have that,” he teases. Turning to Bernard, he tips his chin. “Thank you. Have a good rest of your day, okay?”

“You as well. See you both,” he replies and waves at both of us before drifting behind the counter and getting back to work.

I’m not nearly as surprised this time when Adam places a hand on my back and uses it to lead me around the cluttered sub shop again. Still, it’s my first instinct to tell him I’m perfectly capable of getting myself out of here in one piece. I can’t get myself to snap at him, though, and that frustrates me more than looking as if I can’t take care of myself.

The bell above the door rings again when we step outside, and I take a step away from Adam, forcing his hand to leave my back. Only then can I breathe easy again.

The beating summer sun has only gotten hotter in the time it took to get lunch, and I suddenly hate our work uniform and the way it produces excess heat. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as my sneakers slap the sidewalk.

“It’s a lot hotter than I was expecting,” Adam says a second later, looking toward the sky. He places his hand over his squinted eyes and groans. The sleeve of his shirt stretches around his biceps, and I nearly let out a sound of my own.

I swallow instead. “We’re dressed for the rink. I don’t think that helps.”

“No, it probably doesn’t,” he agrees, dropping his arm and pulling his car keys from his pocket. “Speaking of rinks. There’s a Vancouver Warriors playoff game tomorrow night, and because WIT has a box at Rogers, myself and a few of the staff are going. There’s a spot for you if you want to join us.”

The toe of my sneaker catches on a crack in the sidewalk, and I stumble. I spin to gape at him. “You go to enough games you can justify the cost of a box?”

I’ve been lucky enough to sit in a box for a couple of games while I played for my previous team in Alberta, and it’s an entire luxury experience in and of itself.

He looks at me incredulously.

“Right. Stupid question,” I mutter. Why wouldn’t the biggest hockey training facility in the country have a permanent seat in the place most professional players will stumble into sometime during the hockey season? It’s the perfect marketing strategy.

“I’m best friends with two of their best players,” Adam says a moment later.

My brows furrow at the unexpected information. “Two?”

We enter the parking lot, and Adam unlocks his car. The headlights flash as he says, “I played college hockey with both Oakley Hutton and Tyler Bateman. We’re like family.”

I stop in front of Adam’s car. “Holy shit. Are you kidding? Tyler Bateman won the Norris Trophy last season.” He’s one of the best defensemen in the league right now, and he wasn’t even drafted.

Adam walks past me on his way to the passenger side, our arms brushing. His eyes crinkle in the corner when he smiles and pulls my door open for me.

“Damn right he did. And I’m offering you the chance to see him play game five of the second round of the playoffs from one of the most comfortable seats in the arena.” His eyes shine with mischief.

I know he’s trying to manipulate me into agreeing, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t working. It’s been a long time since I’ve watched a game, let alone one in person, but it’s long overdue. Leo has reminded me of that hundreds of times since I moved back home.

Maybe this will be the push I need to get over my remaining hurdles. Or maybe it will only make them worse. Either way, I won’t know unless I try.

I catch his hopeful eyes and nod. “What time should I be ready?”