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Raine frowned as Jake smiled down at her. “Unless you want to play?” he asked silkily.
“No,” she answered hastily. The last place she wanted to be was out there on the ice, under the scrutiny of all those eyes. Everyone would be wondering how the young widow was doing, and they’d be commenting on her weight or how pale she was, or maybe—she touched the jagged ends of her hair—the state of her last haircut.
“Don’t worry,” Jake said, “I’ll play this one game and then we’re outta here.”
Chapter 13
Except that one game turned into four, because they kept winning, and by the time they were well into the championship round, it was nearly midnight. Raine was running on fumes. She was tired and cold and tense and pissed off.
She couldn’t relax if her life depended on it, and Jake? Well, Mr. Jake Edwards was half in the bag and tossing his turkey as if he were playing in some life-or-death tournament. A permasmile had taken up residence on his face, and he was the life of the party.
What. The. Hell.
He was supposed to be as dark and twisty as she was.
Her fingers clutched a large hot chocolate and she slowly sipped, avoiding eye contact with anyone who crossed her perimeter, because she wasn’t feeling social at all. She watched Jake line up his shot, his muscles well defined by the plain, long-sleeve henley shirt he wore.
She watched him pause as several women shouted encouragement from the sidelines, including Melinda from the Coach House and Lori from A Cut Above—even though her new squeeze, Brad Kitchen, stood by her side. Melinda, however, had poured her assets into skintight jeans, a cute black top that hugged her considerable curves, and shoes that were totally inappropriate for an ice rink. She tossed her hair back—okay, what was with all the hair tossing?—and inched her way closer to Jake.
“Win this one and I’ll buy you another drink!” she shouted.
Over my dead body.
If Raine was surprised at her possessive thoughts, she paid them no mind. Jake had had too much to drink, and even though he seemed happy, jovial even, she knew it wasn’t real.
He was as dark and twisty as she was, dammit.
Jake flashed a smile at Melinda, though his dark eyes settled on Raine briefly before he accepted a fifteen-pound frozen turkey from Luke, took aim, and whipped it down the ice. He obliterated the row of soda bottles, scored a strike, and Raine tossed her hot chocolate into the bin beside her.
She strode forward, inching through the crowd that surrounded him, and honestly, it was as if he’d just scored a touchdown in the freaking Super Bowl. She glared at Melinda. The woman hung off Jake like a bad rash, her arms on his shoulders as she laughed up at him. If she pressed her boobs into him any harder, he’d end up with two very large and very round imprints across his chest.
It’s a turkey bowl, you idiot. He’s not saving the world.
“Jake, it’s time to go.”
Jake whipped his head around, and though he still smiled widely, she saw the shadows that clung to the corners. The ones that filled in the lines around his eyes.
“Raine, you were our good-luck charm!” Matt Backhouse slid alongside her, his face flushed from the effects of one too many beers. Or three or four.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head and smiled politely, jostled forward by a raucous bunch of teens. “You guys won that all on your own.”
Matt slid his arm around her shoulders, his weight heavy as he leaned into her, and she wrinkled her nose. He smelled like beer and sweat, and she wished he would take his hands off her.
“I think you and I should maybe do something sometime.”
“Something?” Raine tried to push away from Matt, but he was more than a little drunk and his fingers now clutched at her, tight along her elbow.
“Yeah.” He nodded, a sloppy grin claiming his mouth. “Maybe a movie or something.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, Matt. But thanks for asking.”
She was hit from behind again and stumbled forward, with both of Matt’s hands on her now as he helped to steady her. She was inches from his face, helpless to stop him as he leaned forward, his intention obvious.
“Matt, what are you doing?” she said carefully, trying to push away. His audacity took her by surprise, but she supposed when you were a lightweight and downed as many beers as he had, anything was possible. But Matt Backhouse was harmless.
He was, as Jake said, a skirt. She could handle him.
“I think I wanna kiss my good-luck charm.”
