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“Oh!” Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t think of that.” For a second I thought she was concerned, but then she delicately folds her hands in her lap. “Oh yeah, because you're a big shot hockey celebrity.” Her lips twitch as she continues. “Like on the T.V. and stuff. Wouldn’t want a puck bunny to track you down and…”

“Made your point, Baby Becks.” I cut her off, but I’m still not going to let her forget what started this whole outburst. “The point is. I don’t miss a meal, and neither will you. Not on my watch. Do you get that? You are perfect.” My words are out before I can take them back. Fuck my life.

Where did that come from? I really need to think before I speak. It’s becoming a problem.

Laney goes quiet. Too quiet, but I can tell her mind is racing. Her chest is heaving. I’m not sure if she’s about to claw my face off, cry, or have a panic attack. So, I do what I do best with her and either piss her off or stick a foot in my mouth. “A perfect pain in my ass.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You were a good host; I’m not starving on your watch. You offered me protein in seventeen different forms. There. Guilt absolved.” She talks without taking a breath. The way she does when she is flustered. Which is kind of cute. Because at least I know I didn’t piss her off and she wasn’t about to cry.

“You took the bar.” I remind her.

“And I managed to eat it without throwing up. Mission accomplished. Now, can we move on?”

“Good.” I change lanes and lift the coffee she brought me. We need a change of conversation, and if I know Laney, I know coffee is a never-ending conversation with her.

“Black,” she says without missing a beat. “Like your soul.”

I chuckle. “Thoughtful.”

“I considered getting you a drink that’s a little more adventurous, but you seem like the kind of person who needs to be eased into flavor.” She eyes me as I take the first sip. “Can you even handle vanilla, Ken?”

What the hell?

I choke on the liquid.

“Too hot for your delicate mouth?” She continues. “Who’s the baby now? Need me to blow on it?”

I slowly turn my head toward her. She doesn’t acknowledge me. She’s staring at the GPS. Completely innocent. Does she not even realize the power of her words? Probably. Maybe. But I know the kind of books she reads. There is no way she doesn’t know what her little vanilla comment meant. I saw that movie. Actually, all three of them. That guy had lots of flavors, and vanilla wasn’t one of them.

Hmm… she’s not done playing games.

She just doesn’t realize her little game has me twitching in places where I shouldn't be twitching, talking about coffee flavors with my best friend's little sister.

I tried to shut it down, but if she wants a little fun. I’m going to give it to her. Maybe Delaney Beckett needs a little lesson.

“You planning to ease me into flavor, Baby Becks?” I turn my head and flash her a smug smirk.

Her eyes snap to mine. There it is. A faint wash of pink creeps back over her freckled cheeks. “I meant coffee.”

“Hmm.”

“Whatever. Drink your coffee, Bishop.”

I do. Because if I keep looking at her or, worse yet, talking, I’ll say something I definitely shouldn’t.

The roast is stronger than what I keep at home, hot and dark with enough bite to wake up whatever practice didn’t beat out of me.

She watches me over the rim of her own cup. “Well?”

“It’s coffee.” I shrug.

“Wow! Such a sophisticated palate.”

“I just know what I like.”

Her gaze catches mine for half a second. Fuck. I take another sip.

She smiles into her cup. “Sorry, they were all out of banana protein shakes.”