Will grinned. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Linc.” He shook his head. “I mean, you’re a good guy and all, but…”
“She’s outta my league.”
Will’s brows pulled into a deep frown as he shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Johnny yelling that it was time to hit the ice.
***
“Your skates on fire tonight, Linc?”
He wasn’t sure which of the guys crowded around him had shouted, but Linc had just scored his second goal of the game and had two assists under his belt too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played so well.
But that wasn’t even the best part of his night. The game was made all the more interesting when one Miss Cleo Martinez jumped to her feet at his second goal, cheering as though she’d been a hockey fan her entire life. Her face broke into the most beautiful, contagious smile, and she threw her arms around Molly whose eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline with shock.
We could make a fan out of you yet.He almost convinced himself she probably had no idea who had scored. To newbies, hockey players all looked the same from the front. He pulled his helmet off, tucking it under his elbow while he wiped the sweat from his forehead and raised a questioning eyebrow at her once he’d caught her gaze.
Her face flushed as red as her sweater – which also happened to be the same color as the away team, giving him all manner of feels he wasn’t thrilled about. She pulled her plump lip between her teeth and offered a half-shrug before Molly followed her line of sight to the ice and jabbed her elbow into Cleo’s ribs. Cleo’s blush darkened as guilt swelled in his stomach.
There’d be no way in hell he could convince Elizabeth to even watch a game with him on the TV, let alone persuade her to come and watch him play. While she enjoyed literature and art, she’d made it clear she didn’t enjoy working out or watching sports.
He’d dated a fair number of girls throughout high school and in his first year of college but kept them all at arm’s reach. He couldn’t be with someone who might have enjoyed sport, but who couldn’t appreciate his love of the arts. Could the reverse be true? He might not want to play pro-hockey, but he’d never give it up. Could he freely and entirely love someone like Eliza? Someone who encouraged his artistic side but who’d never be part of his athletic life?
Chapter 14
Cleo
Cleo stepped into the Minneapolis Institute of Art at 10.05AM, precisely five minutes after it opened. Her car still wasn’t fixed, she’d left it back in the shop and taken a thirty minute bus ride from the university campus across town to enjoy the peaceful Sunday morning stillness. It was her favorite time to visit. At least once a month since she’d moved to Minnesota, she took a trip to the Institute of Art. Even if she’d seen an exhibit before, doing another pass brought with it a depth of understanding and added an extra dimension to her enjoyment.
“Hello there, Cleo, how are you?” Bright eyes peered at Cleo over the top of a pair of cat-eye shaped glasses.
“I’m okay thank you, Miss Lola. I see someone beat me to it; that’s one shiny bike sitting outside.”
Lola leaned forward and spoke behind the back of her hand as though she had a huge secret to tell. “He’s a handsome one, Cleo. If I were you, I might find myself staring at that young looker as much as the exhibits.”
Cleo giggled, shook her head, and threw a small wave at Lola before entering the exhibit hall. She’d arrived with every intention of viewing “Unexpected Turns: Women Artists and the Making of American Basket-Weaving Traditions” but her feet piloted her to “In the Presence of Our Ancestors: Southern Perspectives in African American Art”. She’d been to the exhibit three times before, but it called to her again. Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her pants.
Mr. Darcy: Good morning. Maybe one of these days we could do something fun on a Sunday morning? It’s my ‘me’ morning and I always find myself doing fun things by myself.
Mr. Darcy: Shit. Not *those* fun things. I just mean things around the city.
As she rounded the corner, nose buried in her phone replying to Mr. Darcy, footsteps to her left startled her. They moved into the next space. Had she found the mysterious biker so soon? She craned her neck to try to see if Lola was right about him, but he moved too quickly for her to get a good look.
Cleo: That sounds like fun. It’s my favorite time, too. I love exploring the city.
She tucked away her phone and studied the exhibit, taking in every detail as she moved from one picture to the next, getting sucked into her surroundings.
Over two hours later her stomach growled as she exited the building, pausing to collect some fliers on the way. She said goodbye to Lola, who gave her a homemade cupcake from behind the desk and told her she’d see her next time.
Cleo made her way to the bench facing the park and the spires of downtown Minneapolis and peeled off the cupcake wrapper. She split the cake part in half and put the bottom of the cake on top of the icing, turning it into a kind of sandwich.
“I thought that was you.” Lincoln Scott dropped onto the bench beside her. “I didn’t want to interrupt your art enjoyment, however I had no choice but to come over and see what the hell kinda crime against cupcakes you’re committing with that thing.”
Her brain scrambled to marry up Lincoln Scott the jock with Lincoln Scott the guy who was at the Institute of Art first thing on a Sunday morning. Had she entered the twilight zone?
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” How her voice sounded so calm when her stomach was tangled in knots, she had no idea. He wore blue jeans which hung like they were custom made and a plain black t-shirt hugged his torso. Looking that good should be illegal. She broke the cupcake in half and offered him one piece. “It’s better this way. A more even cake-to-frosting mouthful. It’s easier to eat, too, less messy.”
“Messy can be fun.” His lazy smile almost undid her. The mischievous twinkle in his eye as he leaned forward and took the entire half-cupcake in his mouth, right from between her finger and thumb, had her pressing her thighs together. It was as though he moved in slow motion, never breaking eye contact.
Was she dying right now? Were hearts designed to beat this fast? How was a fully dressed man eating a chocolate cupcake so Goddamn sensual?
