Page 63 of The Big Puck

The band switches to a slow song then—I’d like to think it’s my good karma at work—and I find myself in the place I most wished for all night—longer if I’m honest, which I am. Scrupulously.

“Thank you for swooping in to my rescue.” I allow myself to stare directly into his gold-specked eyes, at the intensity that reminds me of one of those mesmerizing swirls meant to draw a person in, to hypnotize them and take control. It’s like he could bend a person to his will just by looking at him. Obi-Wan Kenobi has nothing on Spencer Hall. The force is mega strong with him.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says, but his voice is more self-effacing than scolding.

“If I wasn’t dramatic, then who would I be?” He almost smiles. I see the tightening of his mouth, his lips compressing slightly at one corner. But I need to look away from that mouth quickly before I get caught up in its charms.

Come to think of it, with his warm strong body touching mine ever so slightly as we sway, there is no part of him that I couldn’t get caught up in.

“Touché,” he says. Even his gravelly voice sets off a buzz in my bloodstream like a starting gun for the most erotic corner of my imagination. I need to talk, to find a topic of conversation to keep my imagination out of my head.

“You came alone tonight. Surely you could have scraped up a date to bring?” Shit. Did I really need to give him sass about being dateless? After he just broke up with Shonda? Seriously?

He raises his brows higher than usual at my provocation, and I’m surprised he doesn’t drop his arms from around me and walk away. I’d deserve it. “Sassy Lainey is here tonight.” His eyes study mine. “I suppose you that sass comes in hand to defend yourself from the likes of Gavonza.”

“I’m always sassy. It’s who I am.”

“Not when you’re with Krissy. Or when you’re baking cookies or—”

I wave a hand. “Point made.” I shrug. “We all have different versions of ourselves to suit the moment.” Then I realize as I bravely stare into his eyes to see what I can see, to penetrate his walls, that Spence hardly ever deviates from his serious demeanor.

“Except me,” he says what I’m thinking. There’s a tick in his jaw, and if it’s true that he keeps his wall up all the time, it’s at a great cost.

The music stops, and he drops his arms from around me and steps away so fast I shiver with the sudden chill.

I reach out and touch his arm. I don’t want to let him go. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know the answer, Lainey. I’m not ready for a relationship. Of any kind.”

I nod. “I get it. You have as much as you can handle already going on with the team and Krissy.”

And not enough room left for me, but that’s not it. I can see it in his eyes, in what he doesn’t say. He thinks I’m bad for him. I unsettle him instead of lightening his load. But I’m good for Krissy. Don’t forget that. And whatever is good for Krissy is good for Spence.

There’s one nasty little persistent afterthought pushing its way into my consciousness as I watch him disappear off the dance floor in the direction of a far corner where he stands against a wall, arms folded.

Whatever’s good for Krissy may be good for Spence—but is it enough for him?

As my feet reflexively attempt to pull me in Spence’s direction, the band starts up again with a frantic punk rock tune that floods the dance floor.

Sabien, Chase, and Jason surround me, along with most of the players, and I find myself dancing like I’ve been programmed to respond to the music in only one way. I laugh, and as one song melts into another, Sabien and Chase tag team me, keeping me on the dance floor.

Despite the crowd, my body twirling and laughing, I catch glimpses of Spence in between the dancers, snippets like I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. He’s watching me, his jaw clenched and scowl deep. When our gazes catch, my belly turns to fire, and I look away.

Even though I know there’s no use pretending he doesn’t affect me the way he does because he knows the truth all too well.

Unless there’s more to it—the part that I’m hiding from myself.

* * *

Thanks to Spence’s guilty conscience, I make my way to a prime seat at the first regular season home game of the year—or ever—for the Portsmouth Whalers. Aunt Hildie got to him with her insistence that I need to get out more and arranged for a repeat performance by the babysitter.

Taking my seat one row up and to the left of the home bench—where I can see Spence—I’m the one who should feel guilty about leaving Krissy two nights in one week. Tina gives me a brief hug as she takes her seat next to me in a rush, and I jump from my seat the minute the puck drops and yell my lungs out.

Spence turns from his spot on the bench to look at me, but only for one breath. I smile at him. He frowns. Then he shakes his head and turns back to the game, directing the next line change. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a smile hidden in the corner of that frown. Why else would he turn away so quickly—I mean, besides to do his job as coach and pay attention to the game? Okay, I’m officially pathetic.

I spend most of the game staring at Spence. Tina nudges me halfway through the second period.

“What’s with you?”