Gauging the Player: A One-Night-Stand Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romance Book 3)

“Unlike the impression you left on me.”
Her pulse shot into overdrive, making it hard to pull in a breath, while her cheeks fired up a shade or two on the embarrassment scale.
A waitress appeared with a carafe of coffee. “Ready to order?”
“Give us a few minutes?” Gage asked with a smile as he twiddled the corner of the menu. Once she was gone, he filled their cups. “Steering back to hockey, I’m also the points leader on our team, but that’s because I have great linemates. Without them, my numbers would look a whole lot different.”
“Sounds like you’re being too modest.”
“Nope. Quinn’s got a wicked wrist shot, and T.J.’s been tearing it up all season. He makes a lot of room for me on the ice, plus he’s got soft hands.”
She frowned. “T.J., the bridegroom? He has soft hands?”
He chuckled. “Yes, that T.J. And the expression ‘soft hands’ refers to his great puck-handling skills, not smooth skin.” He sipped his coffee. “For the record, I have no idea what his skin feels like, nor do I want to know. But we have great chemistry. I set ’em up, and he and Quinn bang ’em in.”
A smile tugged a corner of her mouth. “So you’re a playmaker.”
“You really do follow hockey.”
Busted. She sipped her own brew. “Like I said, I pay attention.” Especially when I watch NHL Network and hang on the hockey pundits’ every word about a certain hockey player I met last summer.
No lie, her stomach did a weird flutterbug dance move anytime Gage’s smiling mug shot was plastered on TV, or—her favorite—whenever they featured a clip of him doing something jaw-dropping. She’d seen lots of those. One video showcased him skating with the puck while wearing an opposing player like a cape draped on his back. Somehow he’d managed to keep the puck on his stick and pass it through a forest of legs, placing it perfectly on the blade of his teammate’s stick. All the teammate had to do was shovel it into the net. And afterward? A ridiculous celly—yep, she was learning all the lingo—where he threw himself against the glass with a Tarzan yell. So hot!
God, was she nursing a sex hangover after all these months? Pathetic.
IHOP was packed, which meant getting seated quickly was either a massive stroke of luck or divine intervention. Either way, Gage took it as a sign. Of exactly what, he had no idea because he still wasn’t clear why he was sitting here. Well, if he were honest, he did know why: He wanted answers, damn it! The fact that she was fucking gorgeous had nothing to do with it.
He glanced over his menu at Lily, who was busy studying her now-right-side-up menu. Her curls floated around her head, spilling onto her shoulders like an abundant halo. He tried not to think of wrapping the silk coils around his fingers, instead scanning the crowded restaurant. “Do you ever wonder what people do for a living? I mean, look around. Are they all leaving bars, or are they getting off work and enjoying breakfast before they head home? Or maybe they’re vampires and this is the middle of their day. They’re out for lunch.”
Her lips tipped up. “Vampires must get tired of the all-blood diet. They probably enjoy a healthy stack of pancakes and bacon from time to time.” She ducked her head back to the menu. “Some of the patrons could be hockey players who’ve worked up appetites. They don’t feed you at gentlemen’s clubs, do they, Professor?”
Weary of metaphorically returning to the Sapphire Club, he released an exasperated breath. “Gee, with the way you keep bringing that up, a guy might think you’re envious.” He decided to indulge an urge to needle her. “Ever been inside a strip club?”
Sparkling blue eyes rose to his. A bright, blotchy pink was working its way up her neck to her otherwise blank face.
“If you’re curious,” he continued, “I could take you sometime, even though I generally avoid them.” Needling’s one thing, but why the hell am I inviting this girl to a strip club? Out of my ever-lovin’ mind.
Eyes back on the menu, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips. “That’s okay, Professor. I don’t need to satisfy my curiosity. I’ve performed in one before.”
Did not see that one coming. “You’re a …” What’s the PC term? “An exotic dancer?”
A spew of coffee, followed by a cough she covered with her fingers. “No! I meant I performed music in one once.”
Relief flooded him. “Ah. I knew that.”
“No, you didn’t,” she laughed.
The waitress appeared, pen poised over her pad, saving him from sticking his foot further down his throat.
“Ladies first,” Gage deflected.
Lily arched an eyebrow at him. “I have no idea. I thought we were just having coffee?”
“Guess I worked up an appetite after all.” He sent her a wink and turned to the waitress to order chicken and bacon cheddar waffles and a large orange juice. “And this,” he circled his finger over the table, “is on me.”
“You did work up an appetite,” Lily mumbled. With a sweet smile, she ordered Swedish crepes, a side of bacon, and a strawberry milkshake. When the waitress was gone, she turned the smile on Gage. “Thank you. For breakfast, I mean.”
“Of course. My pleasure. In fact, I wanted to buy you breakfast that morning, but you left before I got the chance to offer.” Might as well just get it out there. “Why did you leave?” Taking a sip of his coffee, he watched her with curiosity over the rim of his cup. Would he finally get his explanation?
She tugged out the gold chain he’d forgotten about and slid the ring up and down.
“Was I snoring?” he persisted. “Did I do the crocodile roll one too many times and steal the covers?” Though I recall very little of covers … or sleeping, for that matter. He hesitated a tic before asking the next question. “Was I that bad?” He lifted the