Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3) Page 6
Rich let out a low whistle and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wow. This is a nice car. Hockey must pay more than I thought.”
What hockey did or didn’t pay was none of his business. But she wasn’t about to admit that forming the team was costing her almost as much as she was making. If it weren’t for the inheritance money that her grandpa had left her, she probably wouldn’t have been able to play in the league at all. And she’d still be driving the old compact she’d had for years. The new sports car had been her first big splurge with the money.
Seeing the spray paint across the side made her sick to her stomach—because of the damage to the new car and the implied threat.
“We’re more concerned about the danger of the threat than the price of the car right now,” Jack said, irritation in his tone.
“Okay, I hear you.” Rich pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Murphy repeated most of the same details that she’d told Jack that morning. She told Rich the full names of the three men she suspected and gave him all the contact information that she knew.
He took notes on everything, then passed her his card and asked her to email him the case number and officer’s name in Chicago that had assisted her before. “I can reach out to him and see if they have any more information on the original case.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
After Rich left, they resumed their painting, but Jack seemed quiet and pensive for the next hour. He worked steadily on the trim and cutting in the edges, and she followed behind with the paint roller.
She finished rolling on the last bit of paint to the wall she’d been working on and turned to Jack, holding her roller up. “I’m done with this wall. You ready for me to start that one?”
He climbed down from the ladder where he’d been finishing the last bit of cutting in. “Sure. Once you paint this wall, we’ll have it all done.” He stepped back, his gaze running over the room. “It looks good.”
She offered him a grin and a nudge with her elbow, hoping to jostle him out of his brooding mood. “We make a pretty good team. Don’t ya think?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, we do. And I actually like minion yellow. It’s growing on me.”
She looked around the room at the mess of empty boxes and paint cans. “I wish we had some minions to clean all of this up.”
“I can work on that while you finish that last wall,” he offered.
“I’d rather have you order the pizza. I’m starving.”
He laughed. “I can do that. What do you want?”
What she wanted was for him to go back to his normal self—to laugh and joke around with her again. And if she were honest with herself, what she really wanted was for him to try to kiss her again. But he’d been a perfect gentleman all afternoon.
Their hands had brushed a few times as they’d worked earlier, each time sending a spark of heat rushing through her, but they hadn’t touched since Rich had left this afternoon.
She needed to change that.
Jack put the rest of the pizza in her refrigerator and stepped out of the kitchen. “What’s next? Do you want to try to knock out the kitchen tonight?”
They’d taken the gate down while they ate, and Winston padded into the living room and dropped a tennis ball at his feet.
Murphy laughed. “Apparently, it’s time to play ball.”
Jack tapped the ball with his foot, and it sailed across the room and rolled neatly into an empty box.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a whoop of laughter. “Score!” She grabbed the box and dumped out the ball, rolling it back toward him. “I’ll bet you couldn’t do that again if you tried.”
He grinned. “How much?”
“How much what?”
“How much do you want to bet?”
A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she tapped her bottom lip. “Welllll, if we’re really going to bet—we should make it interesting.”
His heart rate picked up a beat as he arched an eyebrow at her. “What kind of interesting did you have in mind?”
“I say if we make a bet, it has to be challenge-worthy.” She set the box back down on one end of the living room and set a similar sized box on the floor on the other side of the room. She grabbed the hockey stick that was lying across her bag. “I propose a shoot-out. Best of three wins.”
Wins what?
How interesting did she want to make this? His mind raced with the possibilities. A strip shoot out? A kiss for every goal?
The back of his neck warmed, and his lungs tightened at the thoughts racing through his head.
He tried to keep his voice casual. “So what are we playing for? What do you want if you win?”
She narrowed her eyes, her lips pressing together and pulling to one side as she appeared to contemplate her answer. “I think if I win, you have to come over again tomorrow and help me paint all day.”
Hmm. That wasn’t the kind of prize he was hoping she’d asked for. “Boring. I was planning to do that anyway. I thought you said you wanted to make this interesting.”
She chuckled, but her laughter held a bit of a naughty note to it, and his pulse quickened at the sound of it.
She leaned forward. “Okay. Let’s see what kind of interesting you can come up with. If you win, what do you want me to do for you?”
Oh lord. He felt dizzy at the flirty comment. Now he couldn’t seem to string two logical words together. What did he want her to do for him? The possibilities were endless.
But he had one chance here. One chance to come up with something clever and charming and to do a bit of flirting of his own.
Except he was terrible at flirting. Terrible at being clever and charming with women. It was ridiculous. He could hack into a computer program or write complicated strings of code, but somehow talking to a woman—especially this woman—had his tongue tied and his brain turning to mush.
Think. Quit making this so hard.
“Dinner.” The word popped out of his mouth before he had a chance to overthink it. “If I win, you have to buy me dinner.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Buy you dinner, huh?” Her gaze traveled across his face, and he wondered if she remembered their earlier conversation.
“Yep.”
“I seem to recall that you said you hadn’t had a woman buy you dinner for a while now,” she said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
She remembered.
“That’s right.” He scraped at a smear of dried paint on his forearm, avoiding her eyes. “So if I do win, and you end up buying me that dinner, we’ll have to make it something pretty special. Like you know, get dressed up, and pick a place with cloth napkins.”
“Dressed up and cloth napkins? How dressed up? Are high heels a requirement?”
The thought of seeing her in a short dress, with high heels and her long legs had his neck warming again. He tried to keep the grin from cracking across his face, but he couldn’t. “High heels are definitely a requirement.”
She grinned back, her smile playful. “Challenge accepted.”
He pointed at the hockey stick. “Although I think you’ve got a bit of an advantage on me if you get to use your own stick.”
“You’re right.” She passed him the hockey stick and grabbed the broom leaning against the hall closet. “You use the stick, and I’ll shoot with this broom. That ought to even things up a little.”
It would even things up a lot. How was she even going to shoot with that? It was almost like she wanted to lose.
That thought sparked another shot of heat swirling in his stomach.
She jumped in front of the cardboard box. “I get a chance to defend my goal though.”
He laughed and focused on the tennis ball, lining up his shot, determined to win the bet.
Taking three quick steps forward, he maneuvered the ball forward with the stick, then pivoted at the last minute, faking a shot to the right.
&n
bsp; He waited one beat for her to lean right then fired the tennis ball to her left. It sailed into the box with a thud, and he raised his arms in victory. “Yes. One point for high heels and cloth napkins.”
She chuckled, pushing playfully against him. “All right, Gretzky. That was one shot. Now it’s my turn.”
His body responded to the nearness of her, to the touch of her fingers on his arm as she held him back and tried to shoot around him.
He almost stumbled when she bent forward and pushed back against his groin. Losing his concentration, he failed to protect his makeshift net, and she scored a goal.
They both missed the next shot, but Jack made the third. And there was no way in hell that he was letting her get the next score.
He bent forward, planting his feet, determined to win this bet.
Murphy grinned at him as she lined up, faking one direction then shooting from the other.
Holding his stick in front of him, he blocked the ball, sending it sailing across the room and sealing his victory.
Yes. He’d won.
It shouldn’t have been that hard of a shot for her. Had she purposely let him win?
He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
“So it looks like you’re buying my dinner,” he teased. “And I love steak.”
“Me, too.” Her grin was easy and flirty. She certainly didn’t seem to upset by her embarrassing defeat. “How about tomorrow night? Are you free?”
Was he free? It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d had plans with the Pope himself, he would have cancelled everything to go out to dinner with her. Luckily, he didn’t have to take that drastic of a measure.
“It just so happens that I am available for tomorrow night.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Don’t forget the heels.”
She took a playful whack at his legs with the broom. “I won’t forget.”
They picked up the boxes and finished cleaning up the work area. Jack carried out all the trash while she swept the floor.
“We did it,” he said, coming back in from the garage and sprawling out on the freshly swept wood floor. “This really is a great room. Tell me about your plans for in here.”
“It is a great room.” She sat on the floor next to him and surveyed the space. “I’m going to keep a couple of the original pieces—like the oak desk and that cool square coffee table my grandpa had. I ordered a comfy blue sofa and a leather recliner. They delivered them last week. They’re still in the plastic and out in the garage. I’ll bring them in after the carpet is laid.” She gestured as to how she planned to lay out the furniture, then pointed to the wall above the fireplace. “And I want the new big screen television to go there.”
“That sounds good. It’s gonna look nice in here when you’re done.”
“Thanks. I think so too.”
“Well, I guess I should get going,” He pushed up off the floor, suddenly nervous. Should he try to kiss her tonight? Should he offer to stay?
“Thanks again for all of your hard work today. I can’t believe how much we got done. I’m wiped out.” She let out a yawn and stretched her arms over her head. “I can’t wait to crawl into bed and crash.”
I guess that answered his question. Unless she was trying to hint something by talking about her bed? Nah.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.” He made his way to the back door. Cutting through the backyard was the quickest way to his apartment.
“Yep. And I’ll be up early so just come over whenever you get up. Coffee’s on me tomorrow.”
He tried once more, knowing he should just walk out the door, but not wanting to go just yet. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right? I hate to leave you alone here. Especially tonight.” Actually he hated to leave her alone any night.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being by myself.” She gestured to the dog curled at her feet. “Plus I’ve got Winston to watch my back.”
He hesitated, still not wanting to leave, but not knowing how to convince her to let him stay. “Okay, well, I’m right across the driveway if you need me. Just yell, and I’ll come running. I mean it.”
“I know you do. And I promise I will yell if I need you.”
“Let me give my cell number. That way you can yell or you can call me. Any time. Really.”
“Okay.” She handed him her phone, and he input his number then sent himself a text. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket and held it up for her to see, suddenly embarrassed at his bold move. “Just so I have your number, too. In case you call. So I know it’s you.”
She smiled. “That’s good. I was going to give you my number anyway.”
“Oh, you were?”
“Yes, of course. How else was I was going to text you with our dinner reservations?”
She was teasing him. Maybe even flirting with him.
Yes, definitely flirting with him.
“You can text me whenever you want. About anything.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket, then stood awkwardly by the door.
He didn’t know what to do. Should he give her a hug? Or try to kiss her good night? Things had been going really well that evening—the way they’d teased and flirted, the way her hand had brushed across his several times.
The butterflies in his stomach must be exhausted the way they’d whipped and fluttered around all day. But they were still going, their energy renewed at the thought of kissing her.
It would be so easy. Just lean down and press his lips to hers. So easy. And yet so damn hard.
She looked up at him, her smile soft, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were a deep brown—the color of dark chocolate—the kind of eyes a man could get lost in.
Tiny speckles of yellow paint dotted her cheek, and he wanted to touch her face, to run his fingers across her chin, her lips.
He reached out, but she must have mistaken his motion as an offer for a hug, and she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his middle.
Damn. Not that a hug wasn’t good. In fact, the hug felt amazing. But it wasn’t a kiss.
He dropped his chin onto her shoulder, pulling her against him, and surrounding himself with the scent of her hair. He took a deep breath, just glad to be holding her, touching her at all. She felt so good pressed against him.
“Good night, Jack,” she said against his shoulder. “Thanks for everything today.”
“Any time.” He pulled away, feeling awkward again. Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He stuffed them in his pockets and stepped through the open door. “Lock up after I’m gone.”
“I will.”
“Sleep well, Murphy.” He backed up, not wanting to turn away. “And call if you need me. Any time.”
She laughed. “I will, Jack. No go home. You need to rest up. I plan to get as much work out of you as possible before our dinner date.”
“Okay.” He turned and crossed the yard, before she could see the huge grin cutting across his face. He couldn’t help it.
She’d just called their dinner plans a “date.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Jack sang along with the tune on the radio as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to dry off. The hot water had felt good on his sore muscles. He’d forgotten how stiff you could get from painting.
Even though his muscles hurt, he felt good. Good enough that he was singing along to a stupid song that had been around since he was in high school. And he didn’t care. He belted out the lyrics, laughing as his dog came running into the bathroom to see what was going on.
“Do you like that song, Maggie?” He ruffled the dog’s furry neck.
He shaved quickly and combed his hair, anxious to get dressed and over to Murphy’s. He couldn’t stop thinking about their dinner tonight and the possibilities of what that dinner could mean. Or what it could lead to.
The phone rang, and his heart raced at the number on the caller ID.
“Hey Murph,” he said, picking up the call.
“Hey, Jack. How close are you to coming over?”
“Close. Like ten minutes. I just need to get dressed.”
But I could skip getting dressed and just come over now if you want.
He shook his head, knowing that he would never be brave enough to actually say anything like that to her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just need a favor. And it’s a big one. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Okay, see you in ten.”
He knocked on her door seven and half minutes later.
She yanked the door opened, waving him in and speaking around the toothbrush in her mouth. “I’m almost done. Give me a second.” She brushed furiously as she raced into the kitchen, spit toothpaste into the sink and cupped some water in her hand.
He was surprised to see a carry-on suitcase sitting with her purse at the foot of the stairs. “Are you going somewhere?”
She hurried back through the living room to where he stood. “Okay, I know this is terrible timing and a HUGE favor to ask, and you can totally say no. Except I don’t know what I’ll do if you say no, so please don’t say no.”
“Okay, then. The answer is yes.”
“You don’t know even know what the favor is yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. It sounds like it’s important and that you need me. I told you I’m here for you. For whatever you need.”
She threw her arms around him. “Oh my gosh, you are the best—the nicest, most sweetest, amazing guy I’ve ever known.”
Her compliments sent heat rushing to his cheeks. “This must be a really huge favor. Please don’t say you need me to kill someone for you.” He chuckled, but knew in his heart that he would probably do that for her too.
He would do anything for her.
She laughed. “It’s not that big of a favor. But I got a call this morning, and the league is having a big meeting in Canada this afternoon to discuss the inclusion of our team and they want me to fly in to attend the meeting. I would only stay over one night and fly home tomorrow but I really need someone to watch Winston for me.”