Page 36 of Tricky Puck

“All your worldly belongings?” The panic seeps into my voice just enough for her to notice as we find my car a good distance away from the others.

“Calm down, Milano. I had to bring my stuff. I sublet my studio to my uncle, so I had to pack up all my things.”

Twelve

DELANEY

My answer doesn’t calm him in the least, although admittedly, I’m sidestepping the crux of the issue. But this isn’t the time or place to get into the whole matchmaker’s plan for us to live together, is it?

We catch up to the others, and the team owner takes Link’s other arm as we turn the corner en masse. I get swept up as we head toward an exit sign. Emery is still holding my arm, and Link, who almost lost his shit when he saw me as if I came back from the dead—and still gives off the horror story vibes like he’s not the least happy to see me—walks along my other side, blocking my escape.

Not that I need an escape because I can handle this. We’ll have dinner, and I’ll get back in my car and⁠—

“What are you doing here with all your things?” he whispers in a deep, foreboding voice as he leans into me, taking my elbow and separating me from Emery as we push through a door into a parking garage.

“See you at The Hole in the Wall in a few,” Chase calls as he and Emery turn in a different direction, presumably to their car.

Link half-drags me to a giant SUV—the kind you see in New York in the U.N. district when VIPs are in town and need high-level security. He pulls me to the passenger side and opens the door.

“Well?”

“I think I’ll need a ladder to get in.” I’m stalling because I know he’s waiting for the answer to the question of what I’m doing, showing up at his game unannounced with my car packed up for a long stay and schmoozing with his friends behind his back. It’s funny when you think about it.

I probably should have called to warn him I’d be at the game. But hell, Granny said the matchmaker set it all up, so it can’t be a complete surprise. I would have gone to his house if he was going to be home, but I thought it would be cool to go to his game. Maybe not so cool after all.

He shoves his hand through his hair with such violence I’m afraid he’s going to rip out a chunk of that gorgeous mane.

“Jesus, Delaney. What are you doing here? You should’ve called me if you wanted to come to my game.”

“Your game? I’m not here to see your game. Did you forget? I’m not a hockey fan or a sports fan of any kind.” I hop up into his car with an effort like I’m mounting a giant horse, like one of those tall beauties that patrol Central Park.

He stares at me for a beat, his face unreadable, his green eyes intense and confusing, sending me all kinds of mixed signals—or maybe those signals are getting mixed after they reach my messed-up head. Emotions that I usually have no problem keeping cool are all boiled up and turning into a giant ball, and my gut knots up into a sailor's dream whether he’s intended it or not.

He shuts my door in a controlled swing with a soft yet decisive snick, then he goes around and gets in the driver’s side. All the while, my guts are getting more tangled than ever. I should get out of his car and into mine and head for George’s cabin right now. I don’t need to stay with Link for even one night. Granny will never know.

He punches the start button with no extra force, though I’d swear the waves of energy coming from him have the force of a hurricane—emotionally speaking—but then, I’m no expert.

He revs the engine with one tell-tale hard pump of the gas, then turns to me. “What the holy fuck are you doing here?”

“You honestly don’t know?” It finally occurs to me that maybe Granny’s matchmaker overstated her assurance that Link was on board with the living together plan. “Shit.”

“Shit what? What’s going on, Delaney?”

“The matchmaker told Granny and me that the plan was all set⁠—”

“What fucking plan?” The volume of his voice goes up before he takes a deep breath to dial it back as he stops at a light.

I face him. “The plan where I move in with you so we can get to know each other.” I school my voice and my expression to something as neutral as I can make it with my nerves jangling like bells on a shop door, grasping for my slippery New York persona, though I feel like I lost it somewhere between the Massachusetts border and the New Hampshire seacoast—who knew New Hampshire had a seacoast?

“Are you fucking with me? You just up and quit your life to move up here with me after one night of…” He slows down his tirade, his expression softens, and his eyes change, losing their glare.

“It’s not about us. Our grandmothers⁠—”

He puts up a hand to stop me, which is doubly alarming because he’s driving and already more than distracted. His mouth stays shut, so I finish my thought, leaving our grandmothers out of it since his grandmother is evidently a sore spot—or more likely his soft spot, as in Achilles heel.

“Besides, I was already leaving my life behind to come up and stay at…a friend’s cabin in Sugar Hill, NH.” I’m not stupid enough to tell him it’s George’s cabin.

He flashes a glare at me while he grips the steering wheel tighter. “Is this friend male or female?”