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He laughs. “I’m sure people think it’s just a lot of waving a hockey stick around,” he says. “My Dad sure does.”
“I’m sure it’s a lot more than that.”
“The training and the back-to-back games can be grueling,” he says. “But you get used to it. I’m still pretty sore after the Stanley Cup.”
“The injuries must be horrific at times.”
“They are,” he agrees. “I think you have to be made of something else when you become a hockey player. It’s not easy on the body.”
“Thank God for downtime.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, why were you looking up ice hockey stuff?” He tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t know the answer, which, of course, he does.
I tap my fingers on my chin while I feign deep contemplation. “Hmm, let me think what could have sparked my newfound interest.”
His grin is sexy, and his eyes shine as he stares at me. If looks could tell a person anything, I would say he’s pretty taken with me and our entire exchange since we met. I’ve never had a guyreallyseem to see into the depths of me like he can.
It isn’t even the fact he’s been able to get me seeing stars quicker than anyone else—ever—it’s so much more than that.
It’s like when he said he craved a connection with a woman. I realize that I’m exactly the same. It’s the connection that I really want.
He seems to wear his heart on his sleeve, which is one thing I really dig about Ashton. There’s no guessing games with him.
I wonder if that’s all his mother’s influence. From what he’s said, it doesn’t seem like he’s had a strong male figure in his life, whereas he shines when he talks about his mom and sister.
“Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with me, could it?” He smiles.
I shrug, like I have no idea. “That could have something to do with it.”
“You’re cute,” he tells me. “So darned cute. I don’t think I’ve ever had this reaction to anyone before.”
This makes me smile widely. “And what reaction do you think you’re having?”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t think I’m having it. I know it—and it’s something like infatuation, baby.”
“Infatuation?” I ask, my heart hamming up in my chest.
“Yup.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“I hope not.”
We laugh.
“Could make things tricky if you’re going back home next week,” I point out.
“Yeah, we have pre-season training soon. That doesn’t mean I can’t fit in some travel time here and there. We play in Miami, too, you know.”
It gives me the idea that I could jump on a plane and see him, too, for an extended weekend. I’d love to go see him play live when the season starts. I can’t believe we’re even talking like this, but it feels right. It doesn’t feel strange at all.
“Stop giving me ideas,” I muse.
“I’m happy to give you all the ideas you want.”
“There’s some I didn’t know I wanted,” I joke.
“Such as?” He plays along.
