Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t ask a lot of ladies out on dates.”
Willa blinks several times. “You’re kidding,” she says with disbelief. “You have looked in the mirror, right? Flirting would bag you any woman you wanted.”
“So my teammates often tell me.” I shrug and then ask, “Would it surprise you to know I’m not overly experienced?”
Jaw dropping, she hushes her tone to a whisper. “Like… you’ve never dated? Are you a virgin, looking for an older woman to show you the way?”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Jesus… no. I’m definitely not a virgin. I just mean, I haven’t dated a lot. I had a long-term relationship that started when I was fifteen and it ended two years ago. Since then, I’ve been focused on my career and well, I just don’t casually date.”
Willa seems to consider something. “And why me?”
I don’t have to ponder the answer to that question. “Because you agreed to coach peewee hockey and didn’t know anything about it. Because I thought it was very attractive how you tried and you know how to treat the kids. When you stood up to Theo’s father… well, that made an impression.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, another pretty blush from the compliment.
“And you’re smoking hot… laugh lines and all. Plus, double bonus points for being a doctor because that means you’re smart, which also means you’re going to reason out that there’s no valid excuse for not accepting my invitation.”
Another appraising stare, lips quirked in amusement. It’s in the bag.
“You’re slick, I’ll give you that.” Okay, that doesn’t sound good. I don’t want to be thought of as a shit-talker. “But I also think you’re genuine.”
My heart skips a beat. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes,” she says simply. “One date. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Perfect. How about this Friday? We have a two-day break for Thanksgiving.”
“I could swing that,” she says with a smile. “Are you going home to visit your family for the holiday?”
“I wish,” I say, leaning to the side to pull my wallet from my rear pocket. “I’m leaving tomorrow for back-to-back away games so there’s not enough time.”
“What will you do?” she asks as we stand from the table.
“I think me and a few of the guys will get together. Probably order some pizza or something.”
Willa looks appalled. “You can’t do that for Thanksgiving.”
Grinning, I motion for her to precede me up to the counter. “In fairness, my mates are Canadian, so pizza for American Thanksgiving is okay with them.”
“How many of you are getting together?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at me as we weave through the tables.
“Just me, Rafferty Abrams and North Paquette.”
Willa turns to face me and I come to a dead stop, rendered speechless by the beauty of her face inches from mine. “You all should come to my house. Have Thanksgiving dinner with me, Brittany and Izzy.”
I frown at the sweet invitation. “We couldn’t impose. That’s only three days away. You can’t just add three more people to your table.”
Waving her hand, she scoffs at my perception. “Please… Brittany and I are making a mountain of food. There will be plenty.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “And this isn’t going to be considered our date, right? You’re not making this invitation and going to call it our date so you can weasel out of it?”
“I’m offended you’d suggest such a thing,” she retorts playfully.
“Okay, then,” I reply with a huge grin. “I’ll talk to the guys, but I’m sure they’d prefer a home-cooked meal over pizza. What can we bring?”
“Nothing,” she says breezily, and then surprises me by going to her tiptoes and placing a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. “We’ve got everything covered. This is my way of saying thank you for helping with the Ice Pups.”
Willa turns away and I have to restrain myself from not touching the burning place where she placed mouth.
I think I might be in a world of trouble.
CHAPTER 8
Willa
The kitchen is my favorite place in my house—makes sense since one of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking. It’s white on white from the cabinets to the tile floor to the granite counters. The large bay windows, unencumbered by blinds or curtains, fill it with light.
I open the third can of cranberry sauce that had been chilling in the fridge and layer slices of it on a platter to join the other two cans. I also have homemade cranberry sauce, but I’ve done enough hosting of Thanksgiving to know some people prefer the canned stuff.
The scent of turkey, sage and pumpkin fill the air and I try to relax into the enjoyment of one of my favorite holidays. Brittany is stirring the gravy on the stove, humming a Christmas tune, and Izzy is in the den watching Bluey. I glance at the oven clock for about the hundredth time, and my nerves ratchet up more when I see King and his friends will be here very soon.