“I didn’t know anyone was here.” She lifts one shoulder as if she’s embarrassed. Or maybe she’s shy.
“I was just finishing up.”
She leans in for a closer look. “You’re bleeding. Got any Band-Aids around here?”
Her delicate fragrance of orange blossoms and clove fills my nose, tempting me to inhale her scent until it fills every inch of my lungs and imprints her on my brain. I want to reply, but my mouth seems paralyzed.
She blinks those long lashes again. “I might have one in my car if you don’t.”
A vague memory of seeing when I pinched the screwdriver floats in. I blink and clear my throat. “I think there’s some in that toolbox.”
I’ve scarcely taken a step in that direction when she darts over, finds the box of Band-Aids, and plucks one out.
“Great. Neosporin, too.” She pulls apart the backing and adds a dab of antiseptic cream, then gestures toward my hand with it. “May I?”
I swipe away the bit of blood with a clean towel, then hold my palm up. “Sure.”
Her fingers brush my skin as she applies the Band-Aid, making me acutely aware of the warmth of her touch.
She holds out her hand. “Sophie Adams. I’m a journalist with the Sarabella HeraldTribune.”
“Luke Jameson.” I shake her hand but don’t add that I’m a hockey player. A key lesson I learned in the short time I played in the AHL was to keep my mouth shut around reporters. I’d witnessed too many guys getting misquoted or targeted for little to nothing. Then, my own run-in with one of them after my mother’s accident confirmed they couldn’t be trusted with anything personal.
Her smile spreads, making her eyes tilt. “Pleasure to meet you, Luke Jameson. Have you lived in Sarabella long?”
I shake my head as I lean over to pick up the screwdriver I dropped. “Just moved here recently. New job.”
“I grew up here, so if you want to know where to go for the best burger or which beach has the best shells, I’m your girl.”
My girl? Why does that make me want to return her grin in the worst way?
Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to date anyone. Besides, she’s a reporter. I never was a fan of the limelight, but even more so now. I have my reasons for not drawing attention to myself. Just let me play the game I love—used to love—and stay out of my face.
As beautiful as I may find Sophie Adam’s face, I don’t want her in mine.
I hold up the screwdriver. “I should get back to what I was doing.”
Her smile slips, and she blinks as if she’s startled. “Oh, right. Me, too. I just wanted to get a feel for the place before tomorrow. I’ve been assigned to report on the team for the entire season, so I figured I’d get a jump on things. Not exactly the assignment I wanted, but I’m hoping it will open the door to what I really want to do.”
Takes me a moment to digest her rapid spew of words. However, the way she emphasized ‘entire’ with that adorable eye roll, as if she’s not looking forward to it, sets off warning signals. And that she sees this as away to get what she really wants makes me even more cautious. All the more reason to keep my head down. She’s most likely searching for any dirt she can find to disparage an already less-than-stellar team that’s been under some shaky management in the past.
I did some digging out of curiosity after I let Gabe know I was accepting his offer. Something about inappropriate behavior between the previous owner and one of the trainers. None of my business, but regardless, I recognize a hungry shark when I see it. And Sophie Adams fits the bill. Nothing like a little scandal to get your name recognized.
“Okay, then. Have a good evening.” I drop the screwdriver back into the toolbox.
Sophie waggles her fingers to say goodbye.
I nod, then wait as she heads out the door leading to the tunnel.
She’ll find out soon enough that I’m on the team. Tomorrow, by the sound of it. But I think I’ve made it clear I’m not the talkative type. With reporters, that’s just common sense in my mind.
My gut, on the other hand, can’t seem to let go of her fruity-spicy scent or the sensation of her touch.
And those eyes—I have a feeling those will haunt my dreams tonight.
The locker room sounds more like a high school reunion, with all the guys reacting to seeing each other after the break, except for me. They just keep side-eyeing me as I lace up my skates until one of them steps forward, hand out. “You must be the new guy. Luke, right?”
I shake his hand, which only reminds me of my encounter with Sophie last night. I haven’t seen her, so maybe she’s not here yet. “Yeah, Luke Jameson.”
