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Whatever the effects were of his career-ending injury, he seemed to have no problem holding a curvy woman of medium height in his arms. He was all hard muscle and restrained power.
“I’m fine! Really.”
Looking as if he still had misgivings, Cole lowered his arm. When her feet hit the ground, he stepped back.
Her humiliation was complete. So total, she couldn’t bear to face it right now.
“Just like old times,” Cole remarked, his tone tinged with irony.
As if she needed the reminder. She’d fainted during one of their study sessions in high school. It was how she’d first wound up in his arms...
“How long was I out?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.
“Less than a minute.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine. I haven’t been to an emergency room since I was a kid.”
“You still have a tendency to faint.”
She shook her head, looking anywhere but at him. Talk about being overwhelmed by seeing him again. Anticipating and yet dreading this meeting, she’d been too nervous to eat. “No, I haven’t fainted in years. The medical term is vasovagal syncope, but my episodes are very infrequent.”
Except she had a terrible habit of fainting around him. It was their first meeting in fifteen years, and she’d already managed a replay of high school. She didn’t even want to consider what he was thinking right now. Probably that she was a consummate schemer with great acting skills.
He suddenly looked bland and aloof. “You couldn’t have planned a better Hail Mary pass.”
She cringed inwardly. He was suggesting that fainting had allowed her to buy time and get his sympathy. She was too embarrassed to get angry, however. “You play hockey, not football. Hail Mary is football. And why would I want to make a desperate last move with little chance of success?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Confuse the other side.”
“And did I?”
He looked as if he wished he were wearing all the protective gear of a hockey uniform. She was throwing him off balance. She was dizzy with momentary power, though her arms and legs still felt rubbery.
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
She lowered her shoulders and stepped toward her car.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asked, hands still shoved into his pockets.
“Yes. I feel fine now.” Tired, defeated and mortified, but fine.
“Goodbye, Marisa.”
He’d closed the door on her years ago, and now he was doing it again, with a note of finality in his voice.
She pushed aside the unexpectedly forceful emotional pain. As she stepped into her car, she was aware of Cole’s brooding gaze on her. And when she pulled away, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that he was still watching her from the curb.
She should never have come. And yet, she had to get him to say yes. She hadn’t come this far to accept defeat like this.
* * *
“You look like a man in need of a punching bag,” Jordan Serenghetti remarked, hitting his boxing gloves together. “I’ll spring for this round.”
“Lucky bastard,” Cole responded, moving his head from side to side, loosening up. “You get to work out the kinks by slamming someone on the ice rink.”
Jordan still had a high-velocity NHL career with the New England Razors, whereas Cole’s own had finished with a career-ending injury.
Still, whenever Jordan was in town, the two of them had a standing appointment in the boxing ring. For Cole, it beat the monotony of working out at the gym. Even as a construction executive, it paid to lead by example and stay in shape.
