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“I got razzed a lot for it, especially in high school. Teenagers aren’t always tolerant. The stereotypes were absurd.”
“And yet you choose to perpetuate a totally different one. I’m not seeing how that’s better.”
“I know.” His eyes are on the napkin he’s folding into some origami magic. I can tell this has caused him a lot of unnecessary frustration. While it pulls at my heartstrings, I don’t understand his motivation for the playboy angle.
“Within a matter of months I was drafted to the majors, and the press took notice of me. My years in figure skating came up. There were questions as to whether I could handle the demands. The tabloids got a hold of some footage and pictures of me in skating competitions. I had to work to prove myself on and off the ice. It wasn’t easy.” Alex looks up from the tiny bird he’s crafted out of his napkin. His eyes are soft, pleading for me to understand.
I try to imagine what it would’ve been like, but I’m not a hockey player or a figure skater, so I can’t relate.
“I started playing for the Flames . . . which led to more bad jokes.” He rolls his eyes. “So I did the one thing guaranteed to dispel any misconceptions, and it worked. I spent a lot of time at bars during the after parties surrounded by women. The media ate it up, and my agent even encouraged it. It got me a lot of coverage. At the time it was beneficial, even if it made me look like a player.”
He’s not lying; I’ve seen the pictures.
“The reputation followed me even after I was traded to Chicago. For a long time, I didn’t care. The rumors were easier to manage than some of the other crap. Until now, I haven’t had a reason to want to challenge the reputation.” Alex runs his fingers through his shaggy, unkempt hair. “It’s not an excuse, but can you understand where I’m coming from?”
I can. Judging from his torn expression and the way he can’t stop fidgeting, there’s more to this story, I’m sure. He’s made himself vulnerable by pouring his heart out in the middle of a crowded café. What’s more, I believe him. Teenage boys can be cruel, and men can be ruthless with each other. I’ve seen Buck in action with his friends. I can imagine the ribbing Alex would’ve taken as a rookie. It might have been all in fun where his teammates were concerned, but at eighteen it would be hard to take, especially with the media throwing it at him, too.
“It makes sense.” I poke at my cake with my fork, wary. “It doesn’t explain what you said to Buck about regulars.”
“‘Regulars’?”
“Yeah. When you were at my place and Buck forgot his wallet.”
Alex’s eyes go wide, and the color drains from his face. “Oh God. This explains what happened at the bar after the game last week.” He expels a long breath. “I wasn’t sure what Buck knew, if anything at all, and we hadn’t had the chance to really talk. So we’re clear . . .” He leans in closer until his knee is touching mine. “There are no regulars. There never have been. I don’t care if Butterson knows what happened between us. I’ll gladly take a shit kicking from him if you’ll go out on a date with me.”
“Oh.”
He touches my cheek with warm fingers. This immediately disconnects my brain from my body. All I want to do is lean forward and feel his lips on mine.
“Is ‘oh’ code for yes?”
“Um . . .” He seems genuine. It was easier to shrug off his advances when I believed he was a player. If he turns out to be a liar, I’ll be devastated.
“If you’re going to say no, I could ask your boobs. You’ve already said I can take them on a date, and I did get them a Victoria’s Secret gift certificate. They’d probably be happy to go out with me.” His smile is impish.
It’s hard not to return it. His sense of humor is as whacked out and as inappropriate as mine.
“They probably would.” My nipples tighten at their mention. Stupid boobs.
“Please say yes,” Alex whispers.
“My boobs are willing; the rest of me will come along. I’m not one hundred percent sold on you like they seem to be.”
I can’t believe I’m acting like my boobs have a say in the matter.
“That’s fair.” Alex’s eyes dip down. “I’m glad your boobs are sold on me. I’m a fan.”
I roll my eyes. “I guess the feeling’s mutual.”
“Are you busy tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow?”
“I leave Wednesday for almost two weeks. I’d like to see you before I go if you’re available. We could have dinner? I understand if it’s too short notice.”
“I can check my calendar.” I have no plans for tomorrow night. Even if I did, I’d cancel them. Alex sips his hot chocolate while I pretend to check my schedule. “It looks like I’m free.”
