Playing Defense (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance) Read online

  “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten me, though I’m disappointed you didn’t call me Batman,” JP says sexily, a smile lighting up his handsome face.

  Butterflies take off in my stomach. I called him Batman the first time we met.

  He remembers, I think with amazement. That was last winter.

  And oh, he’s even more gorgeous than I remember.

  Reminder, Reese, you are done with men, my brain interjects.

  I bet he hates cats, thinks a back rub always leads to sex, and gets irritated if the cap is off the toothpaste.

  There. Problem solved.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, shocked he’s in Dallas, at the exact same burger joint as me.

  “I got in from Zurich today,” JP explains, slowly rubbing his hand across the delicious dark-brown stubble shading his jawline. “The first thing I wanted when I landed in Dallas was their burgers and fries.”

  “Excuse me, miss?” the counter guy says. “Can you select your side?”

  I turn back around, now completely upended knowing that JP is here. He moves next to me at the counter, and oh, the scent lingering on his skin. It’s warm and spicy.

  Assertive in all the right ways.

  And sexy as hell.

  “Miss?”

  I blink. Good Lord, I’m totally losing my shit over JP and his sensual cologne.

  Sides, I will myself. Think of sides.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I blurt out, trying to make a decision. “I can’t decide. Truffle fries sound great, but I love onion rings.”

  “Get one and I’ll get the other,” JP suggests. “We can share.”

  Share?

  “What?” I ask, shifting my attention back to JP. “What do you mean, share?”

  “Share, as in I sit across from you at the table and pass you truffle fries in exchange for onion rings. If you squatted today, we can get cookies, too.”

  “Huh?” I ask, confused.

  JP points to my shirt.

  I glance down.

  Oh no.

  No.

  While my super power may be applying lipstick without a mirror, JP’s super power is to be so damn distracting that I forgot I haven’t showered, have a top knot on my head, and am wearing my ‘WILL SQUAT FOR COOKIES’ tank top.

  GAH!

  “Are you going to finish your order or what?” an exasperated man calls out from the back of the line, interrupting my thoughts.

  I glance over my shoulder and see a line of annoyed people waiting for me to pull the trigger on my dinner decision.

  I turn back to the counter guy. “Yes. Truffle fries. And an Oreo milkshake,” I add. “With extra Oreo crumbles on top, please.”

  “Okay, coming right up.”

  “This will be together,” JP says, reaching into his back pocket and retrieving his wallet.

  “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

  JP turns his gaze toward me, and once again I can’t get over his eyes. How utterly gorgeous the unique combination of green, brown, and amber is.

  I blink. Those incredible eyes are locked intently on me.

  “Oh, I know I don’t have to,” JP says firmly. “I want to.”

  He shifts his attention to the counter guy and places his order for a beef burger with no bun, topped with bacon and a fried egg; onion rings, and a pale ale.

  “Is that a hangover burger?” I tease.

  JP grins to himself as he slides his credit card through the reader.

  “It’s called my internal clock is screwed up and I don’t know if I want breakfast or dinner.”

  I take a moment to drink him in as he pays for dinner. How could I have forgotten how mesmerizing he is in person? From his height to his thick, dark-chocolate-colored hair, to his impeccable style. Even though it’s stupid hot out, JP is wearing stone-colored pants, a light khaki T-shirt, and a pale denim shirt thrown over the top, done in that perfect half-tucked, half-out fashion. Aviator sunglasses are clipped on the collar of his T-shirt, and a huge stainless-steel watch adorns his right wrist, one with a cool blue dial. I peer at it, and holy shit, it’s a Tiffany & Co. watch.

  This is a man who knows how to dress, down to the amazing watch and shirt-tuck. He pays attention to details. They matter to him.

  Which I find insanely attractive.

  “Let’s find a table,” JP says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I nod, trying to make sense of my thoughts. Why am I noticing all these things about JP?

  I slide into one side of a booth, and JP takes a seat across from me, placing the buzzer that will notify us when our order is ready and his glass of pale ale down in front of him.

  I can’t stop staring at him. Everything about him screams sophisticated and polished.

  I am reminded of what I look like right now.

  Which is a complete hot mess after working a sweaty photo shoot.

  One in which I could smell myself afterward.

  Crap.

  I hope all he can smell is my orange perfume.

  Because I would die if I stink.

  Surely he wouldn’t want to have dinner with me if I smelled disgusting, right?

  I need to address this.

  “For the record, I normally bathe before I go out,” I say.

  A sexy grin lights up JP’s face. “Now that’s an interesting conversation starter.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I was planning to get my order to go. I just came from a photo shoot for a gym. But then you come along and offer me truffle fries and onion rings, so I couldn’t say no. Normally, I wouldn’t subject you with my eau de gym scent.”

  JP studies me from across the table. “You’re a straight shooter, aren’t you?”

  “That’s a nice way of saying I overshare,” I tease.

  JP pauses and takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t mind oversharing. I’d rather hear the truth than a bunch of bullshit.” He sets his beer down and gazes at me. “You smell like oranges, by the way.”

  Oh!

  Butterflies begin fluttering.

  I will them to stop, but the tingling in my stomach continues.

  The butterflies must die. Die! I’m not interested. Men always disappoint me.

  I’m sure JP has some awful, hideous flaws underneath his GQ exterior.

  Besides, he’s being friendly. That’s it.

  Right?

  “Well, good,” I say, returning to the conversation with JP instead of the one-sided discussion in my head. “I’m not offensive.”

  “Not at all.” JP clears his throat. “So, you were shooting today?”

  “You know I was. You liked my post on Connectivity,” I challenge, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  JP laughs. “Oh. Yeah, I did.” Then he shakes his head. “I have no game when it comes to women.”

  My heart melts from his honest admission.

  Wait. First butterflies, now a melting heart? I need to pull it together. Now.

  The buzzer goes off on the table, signaling our order is ready.

  “Saved by the fries,” JP teases, picking up the buzzer from the table.

  “I’ll get it,” I offer.

  “No, I’ve got it. I’ll be right back.”

  I draw a deep breath of air as he walks away.

  Why does this man upend me like this? I don’t even know him, except for the few sentences we’ve shared at parties and after Demons games. I know Holly adores him and would love it if we went out on a date, but I don’t want that.

  Do I?

  No, absolutely not, what am I even thinking?

  I do not want to go out with anyone. Not even JP.

  JP i
s being nice to me because I’m an acquaintance.

  And I’m being nice to him for the same reason.

  JP returns to the table and all my thoughts about him evaporate as soon as I smell food. JP and I each lift our burgers off the tray, placing them in front of us. Then we arrange the fries and the onion rings in the middle, and lastly, I take my Oreo milkshake.

  I don’t waste a second. I grab a straw, unwrap it, and plunge it into the creamy vanilla shake flecked with the magic of Oreo cookie bits. I take a huge sip and sigh in total bliss.

  “Perfection,” I say, sinking happily into the booth. “I have been dreaming of this all day.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t disappoint,” JP says.

  I wonder if you wouldn’t disappoint me.

  Shit, am I losing my mind?

  I blink and take another big sip of Oreo shake, stopping before I give myself an ice cream headache.

  JP picks up his knife and fork and cuts into his burger. I watch as the egg yolk breaks and runs across the top of his patty.

  “This,” JP declares, “never disappoints.”

  I watch as he takes a bite. He flashes me a smile after he finishes chewing.

  “I’ve missed this all summer,” he admits. “My favorite burger is in Dallas. It’s good to be back.”

  “How was your summer?” I ask, popping a truffle fry into my mouth.

  “It was great. Lots of traveling.” JP lifts an eyebrow at me. “But you should know that. You liked all my pics on Instagram.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Touché. Tell me your favorite place you went to.”

  “That’s easy. Alaska.”

  “I remember seeing your photos,” I say. “Those ice glaciers seemed incredible. You were up close with humpback whales! That must have been an amazing experience.”

  “My pictures didn’t do the trip justice,” JP says. “Alaska is breathtaking. I signed up for a photography expedition and guides took us all over. By far, that was the best week of my summer break. I already want to do it again.”

  “You also traveled in Europe,” I say, snagging an onion ring and nibbling on it. Then I flash him a wicked grin. “Considering I’m a straight shooter, I’ll admit I stalked your Instagram. Now go on, tell me about your European adventures.”

  “Stalking me? That sounds serious. Do I need to get a restraining order?”

  “Nah,” I say, loving the way his eyes are shining at me. “Only if you have a good stash of limited-edition flavored Oreos. Then you need to get a security system and a restraining order to keep me out of your cabinets.”

  A quizzical expression passes over his handsome face. “You’re obsessed with Oreos, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “I have been in a committed relationship with Oreos since I was four.”

  “That’s a long-time commitment,” JP quips.

  “We’re forever,” I declare with all seriousness.

  “What about other commitments?” JP asks.

  The butterflies resume their flight, and once again, I wish them to go belly up and die. I don’t need this. I don’t need stupid crush feelings for anyone.

  Even JP Rochat.

  “Boy, you don’t play games, do you?”

  “I don’t. That’s what’s wrong with me.”

  “What?” I ask, intrigued by this comment. “What do you mean by that?”

  JP wipes his lips with his napkin and is silent for a moment. “I’m not a game player. I’m a nice guy. I say what I mean, I mean what I say. If I’m interested in a woman, I ask her out, which has resulted in me getting the F-card every single time.”

  “The F-card?”

  “Friend card,” JP explains, taking another sip of his beer. “I get screwed because I’m not challenging enough. I’m not the bad boy or the playboy. I don’t make women chase me, and apparently, that’s not what women want.”

  “That’s complete bullshit,” I say without thinking.

  JP’s eyebrows shoot up. “How so?”

  “Not every woman wants games. Or a bad boy, or a man that needs to be fixed, or a man that has to be chased. The right woman for you would say yes the second you asked.”

  JP doesn’t say anything, but his gaze remains locked on mine. My heart jumps, and for some bizarre reason, my breath catches in my throat.

  “So what would you say if I asked you out, Reese? Would you say no?” he asks slowly. “Or would you say yes?”

  Chapter 3

  I drop my cheeseburger back into the basket in shock.

  Did JP just ask me out?

  “Is this a hypothetical question?” I ask, praying that it is. “Or are you asking me out on a date?”

  “That depends. Do you want to give me a hypothetical answer or a real answer?” JP challenges.

  “Yes,” I blurt out.

  Oh shit. Shit! Why did I say yes? I didn’t mean to say yes!

  I don’t want to say yes.

  ‘Yes’ will lead to nothing but problems.

  So then why did I say yes?

  “Hypothetical yes or real yes?” he asks.

  Panic builds in my chest. I have to get out of this. If I go out with him, he’ll disappoint me. Bore me. Not live up to my expectations. Then I’ll have to give him the F-card and oh, how can I do that after what he confided in me? How?

  “You need to tell me if this is a hypothetical invitation or a real invitation,” I say, buying myself time.

  JP absently brushes his hand over his mouth, his fingers grazing across his full lower lip as he considers his answer.

  I swallow. Damn, he’s sensual even when he’s thinking. Heat flickers through me as I watch him consider my question.

  He puts his hand down. My heartbeat speeds up in response.

  “Truthfully? I didn’t plan to ask you out,” JP admits.

  Bam! My heart drops into my stomach the second the sentence escapes his lips.

  Wait? What? No, this is good. This is perfect. I should be relieved. Then why do I feel sick all of a sudden?

  “But I want to,” JP continues.

  My heart rises from the dead. My stomach is doing that stupid tingling crap, and I think my head is about to explode from excitement.

  No. No. No. I don’t want this. My body needs to listen to my head. My head is smart.

  My body is stupid. It needs to stop reacting to JP in all these strange, bizarre ways.

  Now.

  “Reese, let me be clear,” JP says. “I’m done with serious dating. I am. I’m tired of being the friend. I’m tired of chasing after something that eludes me. I don’t know why I asked you out, to be honest, because it’s bound not to end well for me.”

  “Jet lag clouding your judgment?” I offer helpfully.

  A slow, sexy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I guarantee you it’s not jet lag. It’s you.”

  Oh!

  I shove aside that stomach swirling, spine-tingling excited feeling, which is completely unnerving, and clear my throat.

  “Please clarify,” I say slowly. “You didn’t want to ask me out, but you asked me out, but you don’t want to date, yet you asked me out on a date?”

  JP winces in embarrassment, and I can’t help but smile.

  “No wonder I always get the F-card,” he says, a flush climbing up his neck.

  He’s super cute when he’s flustered. “I’m not handing out report cards,” I tease.

  “Shit. Start over,” JP says, exhaling to reset. “I’m not asking you on a date, but what would you think of hanging out? Whenever we want to. No expectations. No commitments.”

  I study him. I think JP’s formulating a game plan on the fly.

  “Casual?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow
.

  “Do you do casual?” JP asks.

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Touché, Catwoman.”

  “Answer, Batman.”

  JP grins at me.

  And those freakish butterflies in my stomach dance again the second he does.

  “I’ve always been all in from the time I’m interested,” JP says quietly, “but that doesn’t work. Forever is a mirage as far as I’m concerned. So yeah, why not? Casual. I’d like to get to know you. That’s the only thing I’m asking for. It would be nice to have someone in Dallas to do things with, too.”

  Casual.

  Can I do casual with a man like JP Rochat?

  Isn’t casual what I need? I’m an adult woman. This is what real women do, right? Gone are the days of group dating, like I did at SMU. I’m twenty-two, so no, I don’t need to get serious. I broke up with my last boyfriend because he was feeling all these things and I knew I was too young for that.

  It would be nice to have someone to grab dinner or see a movie with from time to time with no pressure about a relationship. If he turns out to be disappointing, we can easily slide back to being acquaintances, right? I wouldn’t have to drop the F-card on him because we aren’t going to be exclusive or anything like that. And if I do decide I don’t want to hang out with him anymore, it’s not like I’d see him that much anyway. Since he’s defining the terms, he should be cool with that.

  Relief fills me.

  I allow excitement to take over for good.

  I grab an onion ring. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” JP asks, a surprised expression passing over his face.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a bite of my onion ring. “You can casually ask me to hang out, and I’ll casually tell you yes. Damn, these are good. You need to get some before I take them all,” I say, popping the rest of it into my mouth.

  “So if I ask you to do something right now, you’ll say yes?” JP asks.

  I see disbelief in JP’s eyes, as if he suspects I’m lying and thinks if he texts me later and asks me out, I’ll tell him I’m busy.