Page 22 of Tricky Puck
“My voice is mediocre.” She shrugs. “But thank you for your kind words. You’re so sweet—”
“Are you out of your mind? The last thing I am is sweet—or kind. You legitimately sing like an angel.”
She laughs, and I wonder why she’s determined to minimize her singing talent.
“You’re far too easily impressed. You must still be under the influence of Pappy Van Winkel—and good sex.”
“You mean fantastic sex, don’t you? Maybe I’m no expert, but your voice strikes a chord in me. I think it’s beautiful and full and rich, and you have perfect tone.”
“How would you know all this? Are you a closet musician?”
“No, but I once had a crush on my music teacher.”
“What grade? Please don’t tell me high school.”
“Second. She was the love of my life, and I blame her for spoiling me for women ever since. She’s the real reason I’ll never find a woman good enough to settle down with.”
Eight
DELANEY
Even though his words are meant to be funny, a joke, I feel the harsh realness of the truth that I’m not good enough for him to settle down with. Though, what the hell do I care about settling down anyway? Still, his words smack too much of rejection, and I don’t like it.
I’m the one that does all the rejecting, aren’t I? Maybe this is a good lesson to know how it feels to be on the receiving end. Maybe I should take better care of men’s feelings and let them down easier in the future.
“Not that you’ve been looking,” I remind him.
“Touché.” He runs a hand across my collarbone, then drags his calloused fingers across the sensitive skin of my breasts, raising goose bumps and making me shiver, effectively disarming me. “So, why are you so afraid to sing?”
“I’m not afraid,” I scoff. I’m terrified.
“Why aren’t you working in the family bar? Where does your interest in music come from?”
“Getting awfully nosy, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Grandma expects me to get to know you. I can’t face her without a full accounting.”
“Liar. You’re just pressing what you think is my weak spot like a big bad bully, but I’m not that girl you can get an edge on. And I’m not sure why you’re working so hard to dominate me anyway—why are you?”
“Says the expert deflector. I’m not that guy who bullies girls. I’m genuinely interested in what makes Delaney Collins tick.” He circles my nipple with his thumb, staring at me with those sea-green eyes, and I can picture him as a swashbuckler.
“I don’t believe you.” I push his hand away. “And stop trying to distract me.”
“Is that what you call it? I thought you enjoyed—”
He leans in and nuzzles my neck, landing hot kisses along my pulse point, and I draw in a deep, shuddering sigh.
“My mother. I got my interest in music from my mother. She’s the real singing talent. I don’t have the kind of talent for a successful career as a singer. But, she’s why I love songwriting and music.” He pulls back, and I take a deep breath. “Happy?”
His lazy grin answers me. “Hard to imagine a happier place right now.”
“What about you? How’d you end up playing hockey?”
“My grandma is a New York Rangers fan.”
“They’re a hockey team?” He laughs, fully amused, his eyes crinkling and flashing all kinds of sparks in my direction. Even if he is laughing at my expense, it’s hard not to be sucked in and charmed by his good humor.
“Was your mother a successful singer?” he asks.
