Penalty Play Page 3

  He wet his lips and leaned in. “Now that we got that settled, how about you show me those guitars?”

  How about she do that? After all, that was her job. What she really wanted to do was climb his powerful body and show him exactly what he could do with the cockiness that’d crept into his tone. For some strange reason, it both excited and annoyed her. And that was a sure sign it was time for a tactful retreat.

  “I’d love to.” She plastered on a sweet smile and made a show of looking at her wrist where a watch should be but wasn’t. “But it’s time for my break. I’m so sorry.” She stepped back, smile holding. “My associate Max here is more than capable of answering any questions you may have.”

  Or maybe not so tactful. Hell. His ego would deal and if she screwed the sale, she’d make up the loss on another one. No one would know anyway. Well, Max was shooting her a big-eyed shocked expression, but he wouldn’t say anything to the owner—hopefully.

  She made a sharp turn and retreated around the corner before Henrik could respond. She was done playing his game, whatever it was. There was a latte calling her name and a twenty-minute break that would allow her enough time to gobble down her tuna sandwich if the line wasn’t too long at the coffee shop.

  Mr. Gruff-and-Complex could take his innuendo and mixed signals and feed them to another girl. She had better things to do.

  Even if she wouldn’t mind doing him.

  Chapter Three

  “Dude,” the kid said behind Henrik, sarcasm coming through in the drawn-out word. “You pretty much screwed the pooch on that one.”

  Henrik ducked his head, chuckling. “I’m kind of used to that.”

  The bells on the door jingled in the distance, and he moved down the aisle to see Jacqui striding down the sidewalk, a navy backpack slung over her shoulder, long brown hair swaying with each step, before she disappeared from sight.

  The kid—Max was it?—came up beside him to stare at the empty sidewalk with Henrik. “She’s a hard one to catch.”

  “Yeah?” Henrik had already figured that out. The enigmatic woman had spun around Henrik’s moves with the grace of a figure skater and the hard edge of a fighter.

  “I’ve been trying for a year, and it all flies over her head.”

  He stared down at the kid. Was the guy joking or serious? By the moony look on his face, he was serious. Max had a major crush on his coworker.

  “You sure about that?” Henrik didn’t believe for one second that Jacqui hadn’t noticed Max’s advances. She was too sharp to miss something that obvious.

  Max shrugged. “She hasn’t even acknowledged any of the passes I’ve made at her. It’s like she’s completely clueless to the whole mating game.”

  “Mating game?” Henrik had to work to hold back his snort of laughter.

  There was nothing but pure innocence in Max’s expression when he glanced at Henrik. “You know, that back-and-forth dance that happens before you get a chick in bed. The mating game.” He cocked a grin and lifted his chin, pride tumbling out. “My buddies and I came up with that term.”

  And this kid was what? Twenty-one if he was lucky. The fresh face still held hints of boyhood that went with his lanky build. Must be nice to be so sure of himself. Henrik couldn’t remember if he’d ever been that sure of his prowess.

  He shook his head and coughed to cover his chuckle. “Dude. You have no clue.” Max froze, the cockiness dropping from his face. “If any woman caught you saying that, you’d have zero chance of ever bagging her. Let alone dating her.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say it to a girl.”

  “But you’re thinking it, and that’s bad enough.”

  Max screwed up his face, his disagreement clear. “I don’t get it.”

  Henrik turned back to the rack of guitar strings and quickly pulled some off. “Maybe your luck will change when you do.”

  “Well, you struck out with Jacqui too. It’s not like you’re Mr. Suave.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? Henrik’s laugh was sharp and harsh. “I never said I was.” He’d had way too many people tell him exactly how uncouth he was. Patricia being the latest in a long, long line. He held up the packets of guitar strings. “I’ll take these.”

  “Right.” Max shuffled past, heading toward the counter. “I’ll ring you up over here. Hey!” He spun back around, face bright. “Didn’t you want to look at guitars?” He made a move toward the back wall, but Henrik stopped him.

  “Not today.” He set the strings down on the counter and tugged out his wallet. “I have something else I need to do.”

  “Oh. Okay. Maybe another time.” Max rang up the purchase. “We’re open seven days a week. I’m here on the weekends and some weeknights. I know a lot about guitars and can answer most questions.”

  “You play?”

  He held up his left hand, the hard calluses on his fingertips clearly displayed. “Music major. Guitar.” He grinned, ticking his head to swing his long bangs out of his eyes. “Jacqui is too. Keyboard though. She’s the one who gave me the heads up on this job.”

  Henrik took that in. The wisp of longing that wrapped around his heart was so faint and old he barely recognized it. It’d been years since he’d thought about the music possibilities he’d abandoned. “That makes sense,” he mumbled to Max. “She was damn good on the piano.”

  “You heard her?” His surprise was clear.

  “When I came in. She was playing.”

  The kid grinned again. “Her baby, right?”

  Henrik raised a confused brow.

  “That Steinway over there.” Max pointed to the piano Jacqui had been playing. “She loves that thing.” He shrugged. “But her forte is the keyboard. She’s killer on one of those.”

  Similar yet different instruments. “Does she mix music too?”

  “One of the best at our school.” Again, the pride glowed from Max. His chest puffed out as he stuffed the strings into a bag. “We’re all going to miss her when she graduates next semester.”

  “Where do you go?”

  “McNeil Stone College of Music.”

  Henrik frowned. “Isn’t that over by the Xcel Center in St. Paul?”

  “Yeah,” Max exclaimed. “It’s just a few blocks away. That school is awesome.”

  Henrik studied the joy radiating from the youth. Had he ever felt that? So excited about what he did that he couldn’t wait to do it or even talk about it?

  If he had, he couldn’t remember it now. Not even for hockey.

  “Cool.” He took his items. “I’ll be sure to hunt you down when I decide to look at guitars.”

  “Great.” Max followed him to the door. “This is the best music store in the area. Are you from around here? I don’t remember seeing you before. Not that you haven’t been here before. I’ve only been working here for six months. I love—”

  “I will,” Henrik cut him off so he could get away. “Thanks for the help.” He lifted the bag to indicate his purchase. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Right.” Max glanced back at the empty store. “Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Henrik ducked out the door before the kid started talking again. The sun was still pretty high in the sky as the last of the long days dwindled away to the encroaching winter. The chilly early evening air was nice on his heated skin when he strolled down the sidewalk in front of the strip mall, cars whizzing by on the busy street beyond.

  He’d been to this music store a few times, but he usually shopped at the one closer to his home. Maybe his need for a longer drive would pay off in more than a few guitar strings.

  He spotted Jacqui sitting by the window in the coffee shop at the end of the strip mall. She was bent over a book, a sandwich held aloft in her hand. Her hair was tucked behind her ear, soft curls tumbling down over her shoulder. A ray of sun tugged out the subtle blond highlights that wove through the strands, a detailed he’d missed in the store.

  Her cheeks were slightly flushed and matched the ro
sy shade of her lips. Her features were an interesting mix of large and delicate, a pert nose offset by a wide mouth and large, deep-set eyes.

  She took a bite of her sandwich then swiped a napkin over her lips, completely absorbed in her book. There was nothing fancy about her at all. Her black sweater was nice but not designer or cashmere. The same went for her jeans. His mother had driven her fashion sense into her children at a young age. Grenicks didn’t know how to discount shop.

  Jacqui was about as opposite from the women he dated as he could get. Her makeup was hardly noticeable. Her lips natural instead of covered in waxy-tasting color. His tongue snaked out to wet his own lips. What would hers taste like?

  What was he doing here? He didn’t have a chance in hell of dating her. It’d be better if he just forgot about her. That Glaciers’ party was only a few days away. He’d get a new girl there. One who fit his lifestyle. His interest in Jacqui was a fluke of timing, that was all. A combination of Patricia leaving and hearing Jacqui playing “The Tempest” had jerked him back to a time before…

  Jacqui whipped her head up then, eyes nailing his through the glass. Damn. He’d been caught staring—again. He cringed then forced a smile. His stomach clenched around the nerves that balled within it, and he got his feet moving. What had he expected to accomplish by following her? She obviously wasn’t interested in him. She’d made that perfectly clear.

  Yet her touch had lingered on his arm and no matter how she’d tried to cover it, she had run away. Something had spooked her, and it wasn’t anything he’d done. Said maybe, with his stupid pickup line. The cheesy come-on probably would’ve worked on the women he was used to dating.

  And wasn’t it another point in her favor that it hadn’t worked on her?

  Instead of heading to his car, he found himself opening the door to the coffee shop. The rich scent of ground coffee and baked goods hit his nose and had him inhaling to savor the aroma. He stood just inside the doorway, debating what to do, when Jacqui turned around in her chair and waved him over.

  Was that relief that loosened the knot in his stomach? He weaved through the tight tables and slid past a display of coffee mugs to reach her. Why did they always put things so close together in these stores? He inevitably felt like a lumbering ox trying to get through without knocking anything over. Or anyone.

  It didn’t help that Jacqui watched him the whole way. Any finesse he had on the ice was lost when he was flat-footed.

  “Hey,” he said when he finally reached her table. The rest of his conversation skills abandoned him after that.

  She sat back to look up at him, lips quirking. “Did you follow me?”

  Truth or lie? “Maybe.” Or something in between.

  She shook her head then motioned to the empty chair across from her. “Have a seat.”

  Another wave of relief rushed through him while a new round of nerves set in. The chair scraped over the tile floor and groaned out a warning when he sat down. He hoped it held. He doubted he could recover if the chair broke and he ended up sprawled on his ass. Because, yeah, that was where his mind went.

  “Did you want a coffee?” She nodded toward the counter, and he belatedly realized that was supposed to be why he’d come in here.

  “Would you like another?” He couldn’t tell if her to-go cup was empty or not.

  She shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  A textbook was opened in front of her. School work. How old was she then? He knew better than to ask…unless she looked underage, and she definitely had a maturity that said she was legal. Plus Max had said she was in her last year of college.

  “So…” She folded her hands over the book and leaned forward. “What can I do for you, Henrik?”

  He liked the sound of his name on her lips. Heavy on the first syllable with the second one drawn out and soft. “Honestly,” he said, the truth tumbling out, “I’m not sure.”

  Her laugh was light and airy. “All right.” She sat back. “I see you got your guitar strings.” She motioned to the plastic bag that dangled at his side.

  “Yeah.” He set the bag on the floor and tried to relax a bit. “Max helped.”

  “I bet he talked your ear off too, once he found out you were interested in guitars.”

  He chuckled. “That he did.” And what would she say if she knew Max had babbled about her more than guitars? “He said you were in music school.”

  Her scowl came and went so fast he almost missed it. “I am. Hence the attempt to study.” She tapped the book.

  He leaned in to look at the text. “What class?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Music Business Economics.”

  “Hard class.” He sat back, scratched his jaw. “Or I’m assuming it is.” It’d been years since he’d graduated, but he’d never been a fan of economics. Or finance, much to his father’s annoyance.

  “It is.” Her emphatic agreement had him smiling. “So what do you do?”

  The knot tightened in his stomach and worked the acid up his throat. Did he tell her? Would it change her perception of him? For better or worse? He hated lying. “I play hockey.”

  She rolled her eyes, nudging his leg. “I already know that. But what else do you do?”

  He gripped his hands together under the table and tried to play it off. “That’s it. I play hockey.” It was nice having a conversation with someone who didn’t already know that.

  “For real?” The doubt was clear in her wide eyes. “Like professionally?”

  And now what? “Yes.”

  Sweat collected on his nape as he waited for her response. It’d been forever—if ever—that he’d met a woman who didn’t already know who he was. And Jacqui had made it clear that she wasn’t a hockey fan.

  “Huh?” She took a sip of her coffee, brows lowering. “I guess that explains the Bauer bumps. But why don’t you do anything about them?”

  Was she really concerned about his feet? That was what she wanted to talk about? “Because they don’t hurt. And I do wear the pads. They’d be worse if I didn’t.”

  “That sucks.”

  Her completely straight face and honest emotion had him finally relaxing. He let out a low laugh and settled back in his chair. “It’s all part of the game.”

  She glanced at her phone then started putting her stuff back in her bag. “My break’s almost over. Sorry.” She wrapped up the uneaten portion of her sandwich, the distinctive scent of tuna fish wafting over to knock at his guilt.

  “I kept you from your dinner.”

  “It’s all right.” She shot him a smile. “It’ll keep for a snack later.”

  “How late do you work?”

  “I’m closing tonight.”

  He tried to remember the etching on the door proclaiming the hours when he’d entered. “So what? Nine? Ten?”

  She paused, frowning. “Why?”

  Her hesitation had him fumbling forward. “I figure I owe you a meal since I kept you from this one. I could take you out after you get off work.”

  “Oh.” Her easy smile had him returning it. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I have school tomorrow and my first class starts early.”

  “Another time then?”

  She zipped up her backpack and studied him for a long moment. Her eyes were dark, like her hair. A deep shade of brown lightened by specks of gold. They were as simple and interesting as her.

  He waited her out, hoping against the odds that she’d agree. Which in itself was odd since he normally didn’t care enough to bother hoping. There was always another woman who’d go out with him, so a rejection usually meant little to him.

  Usually.

  “I’m really busy right now,” she started, his stomach dropping. “But I’m flattered by your offer.”

  “Right,” he agreed, unwilling to give up. “But you have to eat. So it wouldn’t hurt anything if I bought you a meal.”

  She puffed out a soft agreement. Or was it a laugh? “I usually eat while I’m studying. Double-tasking
is more efficient.”

  “And lonely.” He leaned in, warming to the challenge. “What about Saturday night? I have an event I’d love to take you to.”

  Her head was shaking as she slung her backpack over one shoulder and stood. “No way. Thanks. But that’s not me. Plus I have to work on Saturday.”

  He grabbed his shopping bag and followed her out of the shop, suddenly desperate to get her to agree to something. Anything. “Okay,” he said, coming up beside her. “No party. Is dinner still an option though? Tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Thursday?” Another headshake. “Next week?” Her head was swiveling before he finished the word.

  He stepped around to cut off her path, forcing her to stop. Her deep sigh signaled her displeasure but that didn’t detour him.

  “Lunch then?” Silence. “Breakfast?”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, lips pursing. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that begging isn’t becoming?”

  “You obviously haven’t met my mother.” Her brows winged up, and he bit his tongue, regretting his flippant comeback. He rushed on to cover the remark. “I thought determination was admirable.”

  “Determination? That’s what this is?”

  He shrugged. It’d sounded good when he’d said it.

  “And I suppose you’re used to getting what you want.”

  “No. Not at all.” The hollow truth cut a jagged path through his chest. He so rarely got what he really wanted, he wasn’t sure he knew what it felt like.

  Her challenging grin fell away as she slowly sobered. She hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her ear as she stared up at him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, and he liked that. He could see himself wrapping her in his arms and protecting her from the ugly world.

  “That was rude of me. Again.” She wet her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “No harm.” He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. To see if her hair was as soft as it looked and her skin as smooth. He swallowed and tried to find something that would persuade her. He finally thought of his grandmother’s advice and went with the simple approach. “Have lunch with me. Please. I could meet you at school or somewhere close.”