IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (20 page)

“She’s with me,” I confirmed. I hoped I didn’t sound too pleased with myself.

“Oh thank God,” Candace breathed, once I handed her the steaming dog. “Please don’t watch me while I eat this.”

“Why not?”

She paused, then flushed and bit her lip.

“
Ahem
.” I turned and pretended to study the menu on the side of the cart, even though every muscle in my body was straining to turn back and watch this gorgeous woman close her mouth around that…

I pinched myself hard in the thigh and ignored her little moans of pleasure by running offensive maneuvers in my head and picturing Coach Randall’s craggy red face turning purple as he shouted at us from the sidelines.

It was surprisingly effective.

I heard her smack her lips and turned to smile as she licked the last bit of mustard from her fingers. “Good, huh?”

“I need a cigarette and a cold shower,” she exhaled, then pinkened. “Oh God, I sound like Olivia.”

“Friend of yours?”

“My best friend. She has a very dirty mind.”

“She sounds like fun,” I found myself saying before I could stop myself.

“She is,” Candace agreed as we strolled away from Jimmy’s truck. “She keeps me from taking myself too seriously. Do you have someone who does that for you?”

I thought for a second. “Bradley, my best friend. But he’s less of a fun sidekick and more of a cautionary tale.”

She laughed. It was a bright, sunshiney sound that was completely at odds with the darkness of the evening. The wind was starting to pick up, and I noticed she had quickened her pace. I usually love winter, but right now, I was resenting the hell out of it for cutting my time with Candace short.

“I always wondered what the heck this big place was,” she pointed out.

Startled, I stumbled a little and did this odd little two-step to keep from losing my footing.

We were passing
Johnny’s Icehouse
.

She really has no idea?

“It’s a rink,” I told her, cautiously watching her face for any signs of realization.

But she just nodded. “Oh, cool.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. Not being recognized was doing strange things to my composure. For so long now, I barely needed to say a thing to a woman. My face, my name—they did the talking for me.

“I’ve always wanted to skate,” Candace said dreamily, cutting in to my confusion. “Ever since I was a little girl watching the Winter Olympics. In my mind, the figure skaters were just like princesses.”

You’re just like a princess
, I didn’t say. Instead, I tried to hide my amused smile. “Well, if we ever run into each other again, I’d be happy to teach you.”

She looked at me, completely wide-eyed. “You know how to skate?”

She was serious. She really had no idea who I was.

Once more, I flashed back to that moment in the bar. The one where she
saw
me.

With her, I could be
anyone
.

Even…
myself
.

“A little,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

Her hands fluttered in front of her. “You’re like, seven feet tall,” she pointed out.

“Six four,” I corrected gently.

She waved her hands some more. “Whatever. You’re huge. How the heck do you know how to skate?”

I was seriously trying not to laugh, for fear she’d get offended and run away. She was just too charming, though. “You think big guys can’t be graceful?” I laughed. We were rounding the park square, and I jumped up the three-foot wall that edged the bare bed where the tulips would be in three months. She gave a little gasp, then an even bigger one when I leaped back down to the other side of her. “You think big guys are all clumsy?”

“I did,” she said demurely. “But I’m starting to rethink my stance.”

I was starting to rethink a few things myself. About women, and the types of women I had been with before. The type of woman I let myself get tangled up in.

“This is my building, Ian. Thanks for walking me home,” she said, impulsively grabbing my hand and pumping it enthusiastically up and down. “And thanks again for saving me from Dennis.” She swallowed, and the shadow across her throat moved. I had the strangest urge to taste it. She looked up at me like she knew what I was thinking, and her voice dropped lower so that I had to lean in to hear.

“You’re a really nice guy, Ian.”

I froze.

Ice water poured into my chest.

Of all the things she could say...

You're wrong, about me, Candace. I'm the complete opposite of a Nice Guy. I'm the worst guy, the kind of guy your mom warns you about. I will hurt you, break you and why? Because when everything was over, when the screaming and shouting was done with and I sat in Brad’s apartment, doing shot after shot with him, I made him a promise. Made myself a promise.

No more Mr. Nice Guy
, I told him. Told myself.
Cause Nice Guys fucking finish last
.

Didn’t they?

I'm not a Nice Guy and yet here I was, taking her hand just like a nice guy would. “Candace," I heard myself say, as sweet and nice as can be. "May I have your number?”

Chapter Three

Candace

Olivia plopped the box of cookies right in my lap. “I’m switching Romeo’s vet today,” she informed me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I smiled. “Yeah, he was an ass, but it wasn’t a total loss, Liv!” I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

She plopped herself in her chair and wheeled across the aisle to my desk. Then she took the box of cookies, opened it, and helped herself to one, cramming the entire thing in her mouth. “You’re smiling like a girl who just got laid. Spill it,” she ordered though a mouthful of cookie crumbs.

“I didn’t get laid,” I protested. “But—I did meet someone.”

“Yeah?”

“He was, “ I thought for a second. “Really nice,” I finally concluded.

Nice
seemed like such an insufficient word. Ian had flat out rescued me, then bought me dinner, and then walked me home like some kind of modern Victorian gentleman.
Nice didn’t even begin to describe him
.

“A nice guy,
hmm
? That sounds both promising and ominous at the same time,” Olivia declared through a second mouthful of crumbs.

“He walked me home,” I said, unable to keep the dreaminess out of my voice. “He bought me dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, a hot dog.”

Olivia snorted.

“A
good
hot dog! Best one I’ve ever had, actually.”

“
Mm-hmm
,” Olivia raised a sculpted eyebrow. “You’re leaving out like every detail I’m interested in hearing about.” She reached out and snagged another cookie.

“What do you want to hear about?”

Olivia smacked her forehead and raised her eyes to the heavens, mouthing something silent and most likely profane, before taking a deep, patient breath. “Let’s start with the very basics, okay, Candy darling? Romantic hot dog dinners are all well and good, but you need to paint a better picture here.”

“You want to know what he looked like?”

“Bingo.”

Once more, I felt my lips curling into a smile. “He was—really hot, Liv.”

“Yeah?” She clapped her hands and rubbed them together excitedly. “Keep talking.”

“He was tall. Really tall, like - I only came up to his shoulder - tall. I felt like an elf walking next to him.”

“Tall guys,” she gestured meaningfully to her crotch and wiggled her eyebrows. “You know what they say.”

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, keep talking.”

“He had a beard, too. I don’t usually like beards either, but his really suited him. It was dark and straight and really like, nicely shaped or something.” I shrugged. “Beard maintenance is difficult for some guys.”

“
Ooh
.” Olivia nodded appreciatively. “Shows he cares about shit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And get this, he knows how to ice skate.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Uh, like a figure skater?”

I laughed at the image of giant Ian in one of those skintight leotards. “I can’t imagine him as a figure skater, no. But he said he’d take me skating, show me how.”

“You made plans with him?”

“I gave him my number, yeah.”

“A bearded skater. Sounds like a hockey player to me.”

“Could be? I have no idea. You know how I am.”

“Yes I do," she nodded emphatically. "Hopeless. You’re hopeless. What color were his eyes?”

I was smiling like an idiot again. “It was dark in the bar and dark on the walk home, but his eyes were even darker, if that makes sense.”

“Oh, Christ, now she’s talking like a romance novel.”

“He was nice!” I protested.

Something flickered across Olivia’s face. Without an explanation, she turned in her chair. Her fingers tapped across her phone’s keypad, and I heard her draw in her breath. “Okay, wait. Hold the phone.” She held up her hands, and I dutifully snapped my mouth shut.

She looked down at her phone and nodded, then ticked off one of her fingers. “You’re telling me that he has a beard.”

I was confused. “Yup.”

She looked at her phone again and ticked off another finger. “And he has dark eyes, almost black?”

“Yup.”

Third finger. “And he’s a big guy, right?”

“Yup.”

She sighed heavily. “And you’re telling me he knows how to skate?”

“That’s what he said. Yup.”

Olivia smacked her forehead with her now open palm. “I swear to God, Candy, if I didn’t watch you graduate
summa cum laude
from Northwestern, I would swear you were completely clueless.”

“Clueless about what?”

“That was Ian Carter!” she exploded. She held out her phone. There, on the screen, was a headshot, and it could be no one else. I stared, astonished, and secretly happy to be able to see his face in broad daylight.

“Who is Ian Carter?”

“Hockey? Blackhawks? The enforcer? Big tough fighter guy? Been in the news constantly?” Olivia shook her head. “Seriously? Nothing, Candace? How do we live on the same planet?”

“I don’t follow sports, you know that!”

“Ian Carter’s been in more than just the sports pages, Candy-girl.” Then Olivia burst out into astonished laughter. “Oh my God, I cannot believe that Ian Carter picked you up at a bar, walked you home, asked you for another date, and all the while you had no idea who he was.” She stood up and walked over to my desk, then reached out and patted my head. “You are absolutely adorable.” Then she paused for a second, cocking her head, then shook it vigorously. “Nope. No way.”

“What? Why ‘nope?’ What are you talking about?”

“You know, you almost had me,” Olivia said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Had you about what?” I demanded. “He was a nice guy!”

“Right up until you said that, I almost believe that you actually had met Ian Carter last night.”

“And what makes you think I didn’t?” I asked, feeling irritated, though I couldn’t quite say why.

Olivia leaned forward in her chair. “Well, I mean, you’ve got the dark hair, the beard, the freaking ginormous height—yes, all those signs point to him being Ian.”

“And the skating,” I added.

Olivia nodded slowly. “Okay, yes, the skating thing is a definite factor.” She held up her finger and pointed at me triumphantly. “But then you go and say he was a
nice guy
? Nope. Not Ian Carter. Couldn’t possibly be him.”

“He was very nice,” I protested.

Olivia shook her head. “My poor, sweet, Candace. Ian Carter is a lot of things, but
nice
is not one of them.” She started laughing.

I was definitely feeling protective about my knight in shining armor. “Well, you’re the one who told me he was Ian Carter in the first place,” I said irritably

Olivia only laughed harder. “Nice guy,” she repeated, looking back at her screen. Then she swirled around in her chair. “Do you have any idea how many girls say they’ve slept with Ian Carter in the past year alone?”

“No,” I pointed out. “Because I have no idea who Ian Carter is.”

“A lot.” Olivia said firmly “I’m sure I could get some numbers, all official-like, and get back to you. Ian Carter is a playboy douche bag—hot as hell, I will admit, but definitely not a ‘nice guy.’”

“Well, I thought he was nice,” I said firmly. “Whoever he was.”

Olivia was just looking at me, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” I blustered. “Just because I’m not cynical like you, doesn’t make me an idiot.”

“I never said you were an idiot, Candy,” she said, her tone softer now .

“No,” I hedged. “You didn’t. But you definitely implied it.”

Olivia shook her head. “Not an idiot for not being cynical, no. Maybe lucky?”

Emboldened, I continued. “And just because I haven’t completely lost faith in men as a whole—”

Olivia stabbed a dark violet fingernail directly at me. “Okay—
that’s
where you’re an idiot.”

I was just about to protest even further when my phone rang. “Saved by the bell,” Olivia muttered in relief, mock-wiping her brow.

I fish my phone out from beneath the detritus at the bottom of my purse and look at the screen. The number was not one I recognized. My heart began to thud loudly. “Holy shit,” I muttered.

Olivia dropped her pencil and scurried over. “Is that him?” she asked excitedly. She may be a cynical pain in the ass, but she
was
my best friend, after all. She clapped delightedly, then stared daggers at me as I gaped at the screen, completely frozen. “Answer it!” Olivia demanded. When I still didn’t move, she snatched the phone from my hand, stabbed the green button with her index finger and shoved it against my ear.

“Ah—hello?” I gasped. I reluctantly took the phone and scowled at Olivia.

She stuck out her tongue and made no move to get out of earshot. “Tell him you may not be a farmer, but you know how to raise a cock!” she hissed, laughing.

“Oh Jesus Christ, shut up!”

“Hello?”

Fuck
. “Sorry! That wasn’t directed at you!” I waved Olivia away and turned my back to her, cheeks flaming. “Ah, shit, let me try that again. Hello, this is Candace Hunter speaking.” There were several moments of silence on the other end. “Hello?”

“Ah, hi there, Candace.” There was no way I could mistake that smooth baritone…or the stifled laughter behind it. “This is Ian. From last night?”

“Hi! Hi, hi, hi…” I was babbling like an idiot, and seemed unable to compose myself. I took a deep breath. “It’s nice to hear from you—my rude greeting notwithstanding.”

“I hope whoever needed to shut up listened to you.”

“She will if she knows what’s good for her,” I said, glaring at Olivia. She hid her smirk behind her hand and inched even closer to my desk, not even bothering to hide the fact that she was blatantly eavesdropping.

“Listen,” his voice was apologetic, “I know you told me you wanted me to wait a couple of days, but, well,” he chuckled ruefully, “I’m not known for my impulse control. And I have been thinking about last night,” he paused, considered. “Probably more than I should.” He chuckled again. “Honestly, thinking about seeing you again got so distracting that I have been shitty at work all day long.”

“At work—with the Blackhawks?” I blurted.

There was a pause. “Yeah,” he said, sounding somewhat reluctant.

I couldn’t help myself. I shot a look over my shoulder to see that Olivia had not moved from that spot. Her eyes were the size of saucers.

“You’re Ian Carter, from the Blackhawks, right?”

“I am.” He paused. “Does that change anything about getting to see you?”

I shook my head and laughed. “Honestly? No. Because I have to tell you, I still have no idea who Ian Carter from the Blackhawks actually is.” I swallowed and licked my lips. “But I like you. I like the nice Ian guy I met last night.”

“The nice Ian guy you met last night wants to see you again, Candace,” he said, his voice somehow lower and softer.

I was nodding even before I realized it. “Okay, nice Ian guy I met last night. You remember where I live, right?”

“I’ll be there at eight.”

I hung up the phone with a delirious smile on my face. And it got even wider when I looked over and saw Olivia’s mouth hanging open.

“You—”

“What?”

“You bitch!” she squealed, cackling like a madwoman. “My sweet little romantic princess is going out with Ian fucking Carter!” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re Candace? Did you get abducted by aliens last night? What happened on October 31st, 2007?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “You dressed up like Alice in Wonderland and convinced me that screwdrivers were tasty and not the bile of Satan.” I glared at her. “My mother is still pissed about her macramé hanging.”

Olivia huffed. “Hey! I tried to get you to the bathroom. You learned a valuable lesson about how to aim your puke that night.” She shook her head. “Okay, so you really are Candace. Now I need to figure out if we’re trapped in some kind of unreal-life simulation.”

“Ladies! Meeting! Conference room! Now!” Our boss, Kyle, the twenty-eight year old wunderkind, stood at the top of our aisle with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pleated khakis. “Sorry to break up the gossip session, but we have work to do!”

“Okay, yes, this is my real life,” Olivia sighed. “If this was a dream world, Kyle fucking Jarrett wouldn’t exist.”

“I heard that!” Kyle called from down the hall.

“Shit,” Olivia muttered as I tried to stifle my laughter. “What do you think this is about?”

“I hope the launch is coming soon!” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.

For the past six months,
Cupid’s Arrow
had been hard at work shedding its musty old dating service reputation and rebooting itself with a hot new app that would match clients based on a complex series of algorithms that even I, with my three years of web development experience, couldn’t even begin to understand. Olivia and I were in charge of the new website design, while the hotshots like Kyle and the rest of his pleated-pants-posse worked out the thousands of lines of code required to get the app off the ground.