“Yeah, the boys like their school, and I wouldn’t want to take them away from their hockey family.”
“Your hockey family too.” I shrug and he eyes me for a second, then glances into the kit. “Okay, let’s see what we have in here.” He pulls out an ointment, reads it and sets it on the table. Next he pulls out gauze, tape and scissors, lining them up in a neat row. I grin, loving how meticulous he is.
“Something funny?”
“No, just noticing how you like to organize everything. Is that what makes you good at…ah, being a leader. Team leader?”
“Probably.” He shrugs it off, and takes my hand again, laying it on his rock-hard thigh.
Oh boy.
He carefully opens the ointment and squeezes from the bottom until a cool blob lands on the tip of his finger. “This might hurt.”
Something is hurting all right.
With a slow, gentle touch, he lightly rubs the soothing ointment onto my palm and while I don’t make a sound, he winces.
“Does that hurt you?” I ask.
He chuckles. “No, I was just worried it was going to sting when it touched your palm. It was a sympathy wince.”
My heart should not be tripping over his thoughtfulness. “I’m okay.”
He winks. “Tough, huh?”
“Probably,” I joke. When he grins, I ask, “You learned these skills when you played doctor?”
The corners of his mouth twitch and it does crazy things to my insides. “Not really. I was a boy scout.”
“Little Canadian boy scout. I think I can see that.” I don’t know a whole lot about Tuck. Other than he’s the team captain, and grew up in Nova Scotia, and well…he’s good with his hands in so many ways.
“Really, what do you see, Maria?”
God, something in the way he just said my name makes it hard to keep a focused thought.
“I don’t know,” I manage to get out. “I guess I see a tough little boy. Determined. Focused. Kind…” His eyes lift at that last word, and linger on mine for a second before reaching for the tape. “Getting badges for being organized and a great leader.” I continue. “Maybe even a first aid badge. Tuck Delray always taking care of others.”
His smile falls, a strange kind of hurt in his eyes before he quickly blinks it away. Whoa, I clearly triggered something. He cuts the tape, and when he wraps it around my hand, his rough calluses scrape my skin.
He finishes taping and I reach for his hand, spreading his palm open. “Did you get these from…?” I begin, as I lightly trace the calluses. My head lifts and I watch the intense way he’s following the movement of my finger over his palm. “Hockey?” I finally manage to push out.
“No…” His breathing changes, and I feel the hot puffs on my face. “Handling…uh…wood.”
“Handling...wood?”
His head lifts to find me biting my bottom lip, and I can tell from the gleam in his eyes the second he realizes how sexual that sounded. He chuckles and I’m happy that brief moment of hurt has passed, although I am curious. Not that I’d ask, it’s not my business.
“Not like that.”
“Not like what?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Wait, what do you think I mean?”
“Maria,” he breathes out, his head dipping, his eyes now on my lips. “I’m not talking about handling…” He wets his bottom lip, and a little noise escapes my throat as I find myself inching closer. “…my wood.”
“You have wood? What on earth do you mean?”
“Jesus,” he curses. “I was at Noah and Brighton’s cottage. Noah and I were cutting wood for his fireplace.”
“That was nice of you.”
