Page 58 of Virgil's Demons
“Yeah. There’s nothing like a game in person,” he breathed. “The lights, the feeling in the air, the excitement… but you ‘ave to wear the jersey.”
“Gotta… represent Team Batiste?” she said softly, looking at him. He could see something in her eyes; it wasn’t rejection, but rather a glimmer of hope and awareness.
“I would like that,” he mumbled, trying not to hold his breath and expecting her to yank off the jersey just to spite him in that moment. “It would be nice to ‘ave someone in the crowd cheering… for me.”
“I could do that,” she replied and looked away. “If this isn’t too weird between us. I mean, we’re friends, and friends do stuff like that, right?”
Seeing her ‘retreat’ slightly made him wonder if she left him sitting there at the table, like at the restaurant on their first date because retreat was her mode of coping with something that felt like it was too much for her to handle. If that was the case, then he needed to quit feeling so rejected by her and keep marching down this path he was on… because it was working.
“Just friends,” he said gently. “Friends cheer for each other and hang out.”
“They do.”
“And… we could be friends.”
“We… are,” she hesitated, and he saw the retreat in her before she spoke again, marveling that he could read her so well. “We’re friends so long as you don’t get all weird or crazy on me. Maybe when you play this next game, you could keep from getting cracked in the skull.”
“I’ll wear a different helmet with a full faceplate, a cage, so I don’t get uglier…” he chuckled softly and saw her sharp glance sideways.
“You should go,” she began quietly, pointing at the plates. “We’re done eating, and the game is almost over. Plus, I’ve got to finish my work, or I’ll never be free to attend a game in person.”
“I’ll go,” he agreed, rising to his feet and digging out the tickets in his back pocket for her. “This is by the ice, very close, and I ‘ave two tickets for you – if you want two of them?” She plucked one from his hand… and paused, looking at him in this strange, confused gaze as she angled her head sideways.
“I never said you were ugly.”
Her voice was tiny, breathless, and he could barely hear her, but the words were there, hanging between them as they stared at each other. His hands were itching to pull her into his arms,craving the feeling of what it would be like to kiss her, yet somehow, he managed to nod – and stepped back.
“Good to know,” he choked out, making his own retreat. “See you Friday.”
“I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 7
AIMEE
“I’ll be there…”Aimee mocked her own words as she sagged weakly against the doorway, closing it behind Theo. She somehow managed to remain standing despite the way her limbs were trembling. The man made her knees weak and scared the bejesus out of her. What would it be like to be in a relationship with a man who was constantly getting beat up, leaving her flustered, and pushing her buttons all the time?
He was weirdly annoying, always throwing her for a loop and devastatingly handsome in a way she never imagined. As she leaned toward him earlier, she realized just how close she was to throwing herself at him. His dark eyebrows, those long lashes, and the intensity of his expressions combined with that faint scar on his eyebrow and his upper lip, made her want to kiss away every line, every mark.
“This is crazy,” she breathed, looking out the window as he climbed into a dark green Jeep with massive black rims that screamed money. He was a professional hockey player who could have anything he wanted, anyone he wanted, so why was he showing up here, talking to her? “And what would it be liketo be more than friends? What would it be like to actually date him? Can any of this be real? And what do I do about my Mystery Man guy?” she paused, letting the curtain drop as she backed away from the window not moments after his Jeep pulled out of her driveway. “This is crazy. All of this is sheer insanity.”
Moving around the living room, she plucked Éclair off the plate where she was licking at the now-cooled and congealed gravy remnants of the poutine. Gathering the plates and the two empty beer cans, she moved to the kitchen, filling the sink. Theo left his pot here, she mused, realizing it would need to be cleaned and returned to him… only to hear the doorbell chime. Shutting off the water, she moved to the door and yanked it open, seeing Theo standing there.
“Hey…”
“’Allo…” he paused and looked extremely nervous.
“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?”
“No. I just wanted to tell you that I had a great time,” he admitted carefully and hesitated. “I really liked this evening, and maybe we could ‘ave dinner again, as friends, next week or something.”
Aimee realized at that moment that he was expecting her to shoot him down, to crush him beneath her foot, or worse… and felt awful. He was so handsome, so openly transparent about asking her out, combined with the sweetness of the unexpected invitation that she couldn’t help herself – she smiled.
“I suppose that could happen,” she agreed softly, casually tossing a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen in the distance. “That gives me a little time to clean up that pot and be ready to deal with handling your company again. I mean, with today, Friday’s game, and then seeing each other next week at some point – it’s a lot, and somebody might get the wrong idea.”
His smile was brilliant as he chuckled softly, putting his hands in his jeans pockets and looking at her with a warmth that was staggering.
“We wouldn’t want that, eh?”