The Definition of Icing: A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance (Dallas Demons Series) Page 5

  So wonderfully, refreshingly real.

  Nobody is fake. They aren’t pretending to be interested in what I’m saying. I find myself surrounded by people who are genuinely interested in getting to know me, as a person.

  And none more than Nate.

  He’s next to me, and I’m acutely aware of his presence. The way he studies me whenever I talk, how he asks me thoughtful questions and comments on things I’ve said. I know he’s only asking as a friend, but it still makes my heart leap when I feel his gaze on my face.

  I’ve learned quite a bit about Nate during dinner, too. That he stayed with Harrison and Kylie when he was first traded to Dallas in July, in their guesthouse, and they helped introduce him to the city. Nate shared with me that he has purchased a condo at the W Hotel in Dallas, and he’ll be moving in next week. He talked about growing up in Minnesota, where he lived outside of Minneapolis, and that he has a younger sister named Holly. And from the way he talked about his parents and his sister, I can tell he’s extremely close to them.

  This trade to Dallas must have been so hard on him, I muse. After all, Nate grew up in Minnesota, went to the University of Minnesota, and was drafted by the Minneapolis Black Bears. Not only did something go horribly wrong in his personal life, but he was uprooted and sent away to Texas, which is about as different from Minnesota as you can get.

  And all of his support systems—his family, his hometown friends—are no longer there for him in the physical sense. In all truthfulness, he’s starting over, in a new city, alone.

  Kind of what I did by going to Europe, I think. After I broke up with Chase, I needed a clean slate. A new focus. Which I found by studying chocolate in Switzerla—

  “This is why I approved the trade to Dallas,” Nate says, putting down his knife and fork on his plate and interrupting my thoughts. “I heard rumors that Flynn could be a badass in the kitchen. Glad it’s true. I came just for the food,” Nate teases.

  “Nothing to do with joining a champion,” Harrison jokes.

  Nate grins and strokes his fingertips along his jawline, and damn, he’s so hot when he does that it’s hard for me to concentrate on anything else.

  “Nah, who gives a shit about that?” Nate says.

  Kylie laughs and stands up to clear the table, and we all follow suit. “The next time you come over I’ll try to have something to offer for dessert. I’m afraid I don’t have anything for tonight.”

  Harrison smiles as he helps her pick up dishes. “Don’t you keep a reserve batch of sea salt chocolate chip cookie dough in the fridge in case of an emergency? Or did you crack the glass on that supply this week?”

  “Shut up,” Kylie says, but they’re both laughing.

  “Ah, this is where I can help,” I say happily. “I always gift something to my clients before I leave, and I think it will work perfectly for the occasion.”

  “Kylie, if it involves curry, please say no,” Nate says, teasing me.

  Kylie wrinkles her brow. “Curry? With dessert?”

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I instinctively reach over and flick Nate on the upper arm with the back of my hand. “Will you stop it? You’re going to poison her mind against the experience.”

  Oh shit. Shit. That was too flirty. I shouldn’t have done it. Nate wants to be my friend. I barely know him at—

  But Nate’s laughter interrupts my panicked thoughts.

  “I will not shut up,” Nate says good-naturedly as he nudges me back with his arm. And the second he does that playful move my stomach flips in response. “Kylie is my friend. My line mate’s wife. I have an obligation to protect her from such disgusting combinations.”

  “You have curry chocolate?” Harrison asks, taking our plates and placing them in the sink.

  “Well, smart ass Johansson over here thinks that’s what I have tonight, but I don’t,” I say, lifting my eyebrow at Nate. “But curry in milk chocolate is very good.”

  “But is it wicked good?” Kylie asks. And as she does, I notice she’s grinning at Harrison as she says it.

  “Are you making fun of my Bostonisms again?” Harrison flashes Kylie a bright smile.

  “I’m sorry, but you all lost me,” I say, laughing. “And no, I don’t have curry chocolate with me.”

  “We’re spared,” Nate teases.

  I smile and move over to my supply box. I take out the glossy orange box of chocolates I have inside. I’ve branded the box with my signature color, a vibrant orange, and “Confection Consultations” imprinted on the lid in a scripted brown font.

  “Oooooh, what’s that?” Kylie asks, her eyes lighting up at the sight of it.

  “Truffles, but not just any kind of truffles,” I say. “What I like to gift is something you can have the next day. So I call this my ‘Chocolate Breakfast’ collection.”

  I present Kylie with the box. She puts it on the island and removes the lid, then lifts up the tissue paper to reveal a set of eight gorgeous truffles.

  “These are beautiful,” Kylie says, her eyes widening.

  “The top four are French toast and bacon truffles,” I explain. “They have a maple and cinnamon ganache filling, dipped in dark chocolate, and adorned with candied bacon. The bottom row are my Italian espresso truffles, which have a filling of espresso ganache, dipped in dark chocolate, and dusted with espresso sugar. So you can have your breakfast and your coffee in truffles.”

  “Cool,” Harrison says, staring at them.

  “I’m having one now,” Kylie says. “I’ve got to try the French toast and bacon one.”

  “What’s ganache?”

  I turn and see Nate studying me. Once again, he’s listened to everything I said and wants to know more about what I do. His brown eyes are locked on mine, and I know he’s interested in what I have to say.

  And it’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world, to have a man see me like this.

  “Ganache is a mixture of heated cream poured over chocolate,” I explain. “You combine the mixture until it is smooth. For truffles, the ratio is two parts chocolate to one part cream to create a firmer texture that you can shape. For a ganache that can be used as a glaze, you adjust the ratio to one part chocolate to one part cream.”

  Nate’s eyes never leave mine. “So the key is the ratio of cream to chocolate,” he says.

  I smile brightly. “Exactly.”

  “Oh wow,” Kylie says after taking a bite of her French toast truffle. “This is incredible.”

  Harrison tries his. I watch his face, and I can tell by his expression that he likes it.

  “The bacon makes it,” Harrison declares.

  “The saltiness of the bacon really plays well with the sweetness of the maple and the chocolate,” I say.

  “It’s wicked awesome,” Harrison declares, finishing it off.

  “I agree, it was sooo good,” Kylie says. “Where did you get these, Kenley?”

  “Oh, I made these,” I say honestly.

  Both Kylie and Harrison seem impressed.

  “You didn’t source these?” Kylie asks.

  I shake my head. “No, for client gifts I always make my own truffles.”

  “They’re like art,” Kylie says. “Each one is so perfect and beautiful. That’s amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I say, beaming from her compliment.

  “So you’re a food scientist and an artist,” Nate says.

  Okay, I know Nate’s not interested in me, and I need to be careful here. But I can’t help but feel happy that he sees me in this way. As woman who has talent and intelligence. One who applies not only her creative energy to her work but understands the precision and chemistry involved in making confections.

  “I am,” I say, nodding. “It takes both to make a good truffle.”

 
; “You have to try one,” Kylie says, nudging the box across the island toward Nate.

  I hold my breath as Nate selects an espresso truffle. He’s about to take a bite when he pauses and studies me.

  “Promise there’s no curry in here?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

  I giggle. “No.”

  “Potato chips, jerky, pork rinds, anything else I need to be warned about?”

  I burst out laughing. “No. But Hammond’s makes a Pigs N’ Taters bar I can get for you. Milk chocolate, potato chips, and bacon.”

  Nate puts the truffle down. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I am. Chocolate is serious, Nate.”

  “Shit, Johansson, I swear you’d rather take a slap shot in the face than eat a truffle that is outside the box, wouldn’t you?” Harrison teases. “Would you man up and try it already?”

  Nate grins. “Yes, captain.” Then he takes a bite.

  I study him, because I can always tell by facial responses if people enjoy a chocolate or not.

  And I know he likes it.

  “Wow,” Nate says. “That’s an intense coffee flavor.”

  “Is intense good or bad?” I ask, honestly wanting to know.

  “Intense is good,” Nate says, his eyes locked on mine.

  A shiver rips down my spine in response to his gaze. Again, a little danger alarm goes off in my head, but I shove it aside. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way that I want to enjoy it, even if the feeling is all one-sided on my part.

  We all hang out a while longer, but I realize it’s getting late, and I shouldn’t overstay my welcome with new friends. I announce I’m headed out, and Nate does, too.

  “I’ll help you with your stuff, Kenley,” Nate says.

  I nod and load up my supplies. Nate picks up the box for me. We say thank you and goodbye, and all of us agree we have to do it again soon. Then I head outside into the Dallas night, with Nate following behind me.

  The air is still hot and sticky, and the sounds of crickets and cicadas surround us.

  “That was fun,” I say as we walk down the sidewalk. I make sure to hold a portion of my long dress up, so I don’t step on it.

  “I’m glad you stayed, Kenley,” Nate says as we walk.

  My heart pauses for a moment. “You are?”

  We stop at my car. Nate puts the box on the top of my trunk and gazes down at me.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It’s the best night I’ve had since I’ve been in Texas. Thank you for giving me that.”

  Nate’s thanking me for being me.

  “That’s a beautiful compliment,” I say, meaning the words with all my heart. “Thank you.”

  He’s silent for a moment, and all I hear is a lone cicada singing his song.

  “And thank you for not making me eat curry-flavored chocolate,” Nate adds, lifting an eyebrow.

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, and he does, too.

  “Okay, I should probably go so you can back out,” he says.

  I turn and my eyes nearly pop out of my head. Only Nate could completely distract me from the fact that a gorgeous silver Bentley is parked right behind me.

  “You drive a Bentley?” I say aloud.

  Nate rakes a hand through his hair. “That was my latest contract gift to myself,” he explains. “A Bentley Continental GT.”

  I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Nate is a freaking multimillionaire. These are the kind of cars professional athletes can easily afford.

  Yet when I talk to Nate, all of that falls away. I just see him as Nate. Not Nate Johansson, the wealthy superstar athlete.

  Just like he sees me as more than a beautiful blond.

  “Well, you have yourself a very nice set of wheels,” I say smartly. Then I smile at him. “When Confection Consultations takes off, I’ll be sure to ask for your input on selecting one.”

  A huge grin spreads across his handsome face. “So that should be in six months?”

  “Ha!” I snort, opening the passenger door to my car. “More like sixty years.”

  Nate retrieves my box and sets it on the passenger seat for me.

  “I have no doubt you’ll make enough for any car you want,” he says.

  “Well, I’ll keep my sights realistic,” I say. “Like a used Vespa.”

  Nate laughs. “Aim higher. At least a used Fiat.”

  We both laugh. I shut the car door and turn to face Nate.

  He’s staring at me, and I wish he would ask for my number. I know it’s stupid. Emotional roulette, if you will. But I’ve never met anyone like Nate, and I want to continue learning more about who he is. His identity outside of being a Dallas Demon.

  “Are you okay to drive home?” Nate asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yes, I only had one glass of wine. I’m good.”

  “I just wanted to make sure,” he says.

  My heart melts at how aware and protective Nate is.

  “I’m good,” I say. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  There’s another pause for a moment. Then Nate clears his throat and removes his keys.

  “Be careful going home,” he says.

  “You too,” I say, my chest tightening.

  Nate nods and goes to his Bentley. I walk around to the driver’s side of my car, disappointment filling me. Which is ridiculous. Nate isn’t interested in me. He made that clear. We’ll be friends—when we see each other. And with regret I realize that won’t be often unless we happen to be doing something with Harrison and Kylie.

  I slide behind the driver’s seat and bite my lip. Then I rest my head on my steering wheel in frustration as I hear Nate start his car.

  Damn it. I finally meet a man who is interesting, mature, and who sees everything about me that I want him to see. A man who is aware and protective of those around him. A good man. A really good man.

  Someone who would be worth breaking my man sabbatical for.

  But Nate Johansson has zero interest in me.

  I lift my head when I hear Nate back down the driveway. Soon he’s on his way, and I follow suit, driving behind him out through the neighborhood.

  A knot forms in my stomach. Nate stops at a red light, and I know he’s going to head in the direction of the W Hotel at Victory Plaza, where he’s been living until his condo is ready. I’m ready to go back toward Uptown, the part of Dallas where I live.

  With a heavy heart, I drive home. I park in the garage for my apartment building, and when I’m stepping into the elevator, my phone vibrates inside my purse. After I punch my floor button, I put my box down at my feet and fish out my cell. There’s one new notification, from my Connectivity social media account:

  Nate Johansson wants to Connect with you. Connect or decline?

  Chapter 6

  Body Check: Using body contact to separate an opposing player from the puck — Nate

  “So you accepted his Connect request immediately?” my sister Amanda asks. “Wow, way to make him sweat it out and play cool, Kenley.”

  I hold my cell to my ear, listening to Amanda while I retrieve my iPad out of my tote. Then I sink onto the sofa and go to my Connectivity page, where I still can’t believe I’m now Connected to Nate. I’m so elated I want to jump up and dance. He wants to be able to contact me. Okay, so yes, probably as a friend, but still. Nate sought me out. Nate!

  Since Lexi was out with friends, and wasn’t responding to my text messages, I had to tell someone about this, so I called Amanda.

  “Why should I have waited? We’re friends,” I say, scrolling through his page.

  “Yes. You always call me at ten-thirty at night about Connectivity friend requests you receive,” Amanda says in a knowing
voice. “So you definitely think of Nate as more than a friend.”

  Suddenly I hear screaming in the background. “Mommy! I can’t find Pinkie Pie! Help me find her!”

  I smile to myself. That’s my niece, Claire, and she’s obsessed with her My Little Pony dolls.

  “Of course she wakes up and can’t find the most annoying pony on the planet,” Amanda quips. “That pony talks in scream voice in the cartoon, have you noticed that?”

  “Mommy! I need Pinkie Pie right now!” Claire bellows.

  Amanda sighs. “Message me on Connectivity. I’ll message you back in a bit.”

  I laugh. “Good luck finding Scream Voice,” I tease.

  “Ha, ha,” Amanda says. Then she hangs up.

  I go back to scrolling through Nate’s page. This is obviously his personal account, not his public one, because I see the Connect request option and notice the number of Connects he has is 25. Wait. 25? That’s it?

  Wow. Nate really does limit the people he lets into his world.

  And then my heart skips a beat when I realize he wants me to be one of them.

  I see he’s posted about moving to Texas, how hot it is—which makes me smile. He must despise the heat here. Pictures of The W Hotel and of the condo in the luxury hotel he’s buying . . . His first picture in a Demons jersey, after he was traded . . .

  Suddenly my phone beeps with a text alert.

  I pick it up and see it’s Lexi:

  Are you serious you had dinner at Harrison Fucking Flynn’s house?

  What happened with Nate? Oooh did he Body Check you? HA!