Page 102 of Cross Check
“Hey.” His foot nudges mine under the table. “Are you okay?”
No. You’re the first and only man I’ve ever wanted to spend time with, and discovering this over something as mundane as pancakes is fucking unsettling.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the spike in my pulse tells me I’m a goddamn liar.
“Do me a favor, Amelia.” He sets the menu down and rests his elbow on the table, leaning forward. “Don’t dull down the things that make you happy when you’re around me, okay? I want to see them. Pancakes. Jewelry. Whatever else you have up your sleeve. I like learning about you.” When I don’t answer, Grant lowers his chin and gives me a stern glance. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I bob my head, flustered by the seriousness of his tone. “I won’t.”
“Good.” He brightens and leans back in the booth. “Now that we got out of the way, tell me about your perfect pancake. Thick and fluffy? Thinner and lighter like a crepe? I want all the details.”
“Thick and fluffy, and this place is the best.” My smile is easy. It always is around him. “I drove past here on a whim, and I’ve been hooked ever since.”
“High expectations. I can’t wait to see what we’re working with, but I trust you, Green.”
Twenty minutes later, we have full plates in front of us. Grant passes the syrup my way, and he doesn’t comment when I douse my pancakes until they’re drenched.
“Thoughts?” I ask, taking a bite.
“You know the first time you tried Pete’s and it was basically a religious experience with angels singing and the heavens parting?” His eyes flutter closed, long eyelashes fanning out over the tops of his cheeks. He sighs, loose and content, and drops his fork. “That’s what I’m going through right now. Tears are about to fall.”
“I’ll respect your privacy as you sort through those emotions.” I grin and stab another bite. “But please know if you cry, I will document it with a photo.”
“Blackmail. You’re cruel, Amelia.” He blinks, gaze settling on me. “Have you found a pancake anywhere in the country that’s as good as this one? If so, you need to tell me the name. I’m flying there tomorrow morning.”
“No.” I can’t stop smiling. “So far, this is the winner.”
“Okay. Well. My agent is going to get a call about a possible trade.”
“Or, instead of uprooting our lives for the sake of food, we strike up a deal. You’ll be my sandwich provider. I’ll be your pancake provider.” Our knees knock under the table, and I pull my leg away. “We’ll come here next time you’re in Denver, and you’ll take me to Pete’s whenever I’m in DC.”
“Or Baltimore. Aren’t you lucky there are two teams within driving distance of sandwich nirvana?”
“So lucky,” I say, but there’s a piece he’s forgetting from that sentence.
Aren’t you lucky there are two teams within driving distance of sandwich nirvana we can go to together?
I shrug it off and focus my attention on my food.
“Thanks for giving up your afternoon to hang with me,” Grant says. “I’m glad I get to see you.”
“Me too. The ticket at will call is under Everett Grant—thanks for having two first names, by the way. It’s in the lower bowl, so I’m not sure how much you’re going to blend in, but it’s all I could snag last-minute.”
“I have a fix for that. Fake facial hair.”
“Excuse me?” I choke. “What are you talking about?”
“Grant Everett doesn’t have facial hair, but Everett Grant has a mustache. And sideburns. Not a damn person in that arena will know it’s me.”
“Why the hell would someone own fake facial hair?”
“Because my teammates and I need to get a life. Ethan wanted to see what he’d look like with a goatee—terrifying, by the way—and we all bought a pack to try out different styles. The only one who can pull anything off is Liam. That goalie looks sexy as hell with a beard.”
“And you just… carry sideburns around with you?”
“You don’t keep those in your hockey bag with your sticks and skates?” Grant laughs. “Nah. I thought I might need to disguise myself, so they were my contingency plan in case I didn’t have a seat in the upper bowl. Glad I brought them.”
“You’re going to look ridiculous,” I say.
