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“Let’s see. Be a good cook, obviously.”
I lift another fork full of carrots, pie crust, and creamy gravy. “Check.”
“Let her choose the shows.”
I look at the Ranger’s game on the screen, which is interesting enough to watch but not so immersive I can’t focus on my homework or the man beside me.
“Check,” I repeat.
“Always listen,” he informs me.
I roll my eyes but nod. “Double check. You’re good at that one.”
He laughs and squeezes my foot on the couch, gasping as my icy toes steal the heat from his fingers. “And never let a girl’s feet get cold. Shit, Kate. You’re freezing. Come here.”
With a quick tug, he grabs my toes and shoves them under his thigh, pinning my feet between him and the couch. I nearly moan at the contact.
“How are you so warm?” I ask.
“It’s covered in the advanced course.” He winks. “But all the boys you’re used to hanging out with haven’t reached the elite level yet.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter. He’s right. None of the guys I’ve ever dated gave a rat’s ass about my wants or needs. They were looking for a good time, and I gave it to them until things got serious. When they found out about my condition, they bailed on me.
But not Mack.
He’s still here.
And I can’t figure out why.
If the man wanted to sneak his way past my defenses, he’s definitely doing a bang-up job. The ambiance. The food. The banter. This man is a freaking catch, and I still can’t figure out why he hasn’t been scooped up again.
We finish eating, chatting back and forth until my belly is full, my toes are warm, and my heart is lighter than it’s been in weeks. Months, even.
A little while later, I’m catching up on aspartic acid and phenylalanine with my textbook in my lap when Mack groans and throws his head back. The Rangers missed a goal and are already down two to one, the seconds ticking by as the game winds to an end.
“Did you play?” I ask.
He looks at me, confused. “What, hockey?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. When I was a kid.”
“Not in college or anything?”
“Nah. I didn’t go to college. Having a baby at sixteen will do that to you.”
“Good point,” I concede. “Do you miss it? Playing?”
He pauses, considering my question. “Yes and no. I miss the camaraderie. The team. Cheering on friends. Feeling the adrenaline rush during a close game. But playing? Actually being on the ice? It was fun, but I didn’t have the talent to go pro. Not like Theo.” His smile softens, and he lifts my feet, placing them in his lap as he slowly starts massaging my arches. “It’s funny. I haven’t watched a game on TV in forever.”
“Why not?” I’m distracted by his magic fingers and how good they feel.
“Summer hated sports. She didn’t like having games on in the house, so I guess I kind of fell out of the habit of watching them on TV. The only time I ever watch is when it’s for work.”
“Work?”
“There’s always someone on the premises during the college games in case someone is hurt.”
