Cold as Ice (15 page)

“You were always nice to me. Nice to everyone. One day in the lunchroom, I came in and you were arguing about a trade the Warriors made. You were right, and I was amazed at your facts. They were dead on.”

“I wouldn't say it unless I was right.”

The waitress sets down a bottle in front of Kip. He swipes the cold bottle and brings it to his mouth.

“Why didn't you ask me out?” Carla wants to know.

“Because you were with Andy.”

“Oh.”

“You wouldn't have gone out with me, anyway.”

“No? Why's that?”

“I wasn't your type.”

“And Andy was?” she says, laughing, remembering her boyfriend breaking out in a dance whenever he finished on air. It was like a ritual for him. Loved the attention and loved making people laugh, although Carla never got his jokes.

“Do you want another drink?” the waitress asks.

“No, thanks.” Carla looks at what's left of her beer. She should probably get going, unless Kip plans to be here longer. She can use the company on a Friday night.

“Do you like Chinese food?” Kip asks.

“Yeah.”
Is he going to ask me out?

“There's a really good Chinese restaurant that just opened up by the Dome. Awesome food.”

“Really?” she asks, interested.

“Lined up out the door.”

“I'd love to try it.” Carla leans forward, batting her eyes.

“You should. It's worth the wait,” Kip says, knocking back his beer. “I'd better get going. My wife will start to wonder who I've run off with.” He laughs nervously.

“Wife? You're married?” Carla looks at his hand for a ring but doesn't see one.

“Yeah. I've got twin boys too.”

“Congratulations. How old?”

“They just turned three.”

She swallows hard. “You must be proud.”

“They're amazing little guys. They can build a fort out of cushions and blankets and play pirates for hours.” Kip grins and takes a sip from his new beer, as though his mind is stuck on the memory. “Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“Most rewarding experience.”

Carla tucks in her lips. “I hope one day . . .”

She watches Kip get up and throw money on the table. “There's enough here to cover one of your beers.”

“Thanks,” she says softly and watches him walk away. Her eyes are fixated on Kip walking away as Devin comes into view. Her heartbeat quickens. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His stare shoots right through her. “Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

He pulls out a chair and sits beside her, resting his arm on the table. “Is your guy friend coming back?”

She purses her lips. “Kip? No. We used to work together. Hardly a friend.”

“And there's nothing between the two of you?”

She laughs. “No, why?”

“He kept trying to touch you.”

“He's married.” She tilts her bottle toward her. “Some people just like talking with their hands.”

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You said he's married? Then he's looking for some side action.”

“What are you talking about?” Her look is half mischievous, half flirtatious.

“I know those types of guys. Is he coming back?”

“No!” she says and her mouth freezes in position until she takes a quick sip from her bottle. “Why aren't you sitting with your teammates?”

“I thought I'd see what you were up to. Friday night . . . you by yourself . . . no date?”

She shakes her head, staring into those dark eyes of his.

“Who did you go to the game with, or were you working?”

She sucks in a breath. Should she tell him she met his dad and that he was at the game? How will she explain why she met him? And the letter?

“Working,” she lies. “Always on call.”

She casually reaches into her purse, opening the inside zipper for the white envelope addressed to Devin. She can feel those intense eyes watching her every move. What should she say? That she ran into his dad and he gave her this to give him? What happens if he says he doesn't know what she's talking about? Her fingers stop at the feel of the paper, unsure how to approach him. She likes looking at him. Right now he's easy to talk to. Giving him the letter will intensify it, maybe change the way he talks to her. A split decision; she grabs her cell phone instead. She takes it out of her purse and says, “I thought I heard it ring.” She fakes a laugh and shoves it back into her purse.

“Have you toured the city much since the last time we talked?” she asks, taking the last sip of her beer.

“Not as much as I'd like. What do you say we get out of here?”

Her eyebrow lifts and her lips come together, unsure of what he's asking. “And go where?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. You still need to show me your city.”

“Right. I promised.”

“You don't keep promises very well.”

“I never make them,” she says.

“Except?”

“Except to you.”

He brings a hand to his chest. “I feel so privileged.”

“Don't be.” She grins. “Aren't you having another drink?”

“No. One beer's enough.”

“Is that what your dietician suggests?”

“It's my preference. I come to sit with the guys and have a drink. I'm not one to sit around all night in a bar.”

“Me neither. I don't know why I'm here,” she says, thinking of Gabby and passing up a club for a game, something she wouldn't think twice about. A game is always more entertaining. Carla stands up.

“Have you heard of Westminster Quay?”

She laughs.

“I guess you have.”

“Haven't been there in years.”

“Do you want to go?”

“When?”

“Now.”

“There's not much to do there at this hour. The casino.” She digs for her phone and clicks it on so she can read the time. “It's late.”

“You're probably right.”

“I should go,” she says. “Good luck on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?”

“You're playing the Blackhawks.”

Devin stands up. “Are you sure you don't want to go for a drive?”

“I'm sure. It's late and I need to get home.” She takes her keys in her hand. “Good night.” She waves and heads out the door.

“I'll walk you out.” He chases her out of the bar.

She stops, turns around, her nose inches from his broad chest. He smells of soap mixed with cologne. “I . . . I'm fine. My car is right there,” she says, flinging her arm over her shoulder with her keys in hand. She doesn't bother to look.

“What do you drive?” he asks, glancing past her.

“Mercedes.” She turns her head. “Huh.” Carla puts a hand on her hip. “Where did I park? Oh, yeah. Right there!” She points and glares. It doesn't look like her car, but it's ten o'clock at night. It's dark. “Hard to see.”

“Let me walk with you,” he says.

“Suddenly you're Mr. Nice Guy?”

“I am nice! I don't know where you get the idea I'm not. Where do you get your information, anyway?”

“My research and”—she looks ahead but doesn't recognize her car—“people talk.”

“They shouldn't. It's bad information.”

“Not if it's true.” She clicks her button for her alarm and nothing. Again. Nothing. “Batteries,” she mutters. She stops at the parking stall. “What the hell? My car. I parked it right here!” She frantically looks around her. “I'm sure I parked here.”

Devin looks at the building and points with his thumb. “Where it says loading zone?”

“What? No! I didn't park in a loading zone.”

“Are you sure it's not on the other side of the building? There's a back entrance. Maybe you came in that way.”

“I never go that way. I always park here . . . well, on this side.” Carla digs in her purse for her phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Mark Buckley, to tell him his parking rules suck. I'm calling the towing company.” She exhales to relax and puts a hand on her hip. When the operator answers, she asks very calmly if they have her car.

“Yes. Jack is dropping it in the yard right now.”

Carla blows out a bigger breath. “Seriously? Jack didn't have anything better to do on a Friday night than tow a woman's car? Single woman, I might add, and I'm by myself.” She exhales. What happened to the days when you parked in the wrong spot and someone came into the place and yelled out to ask who was parked in the spot? Jeez! “Nobody gives anybody a break anymore?”

“You can come down and pick up your car. Cash is preferred.”

“Of course it is.” Carla hangs up the phone and turns to Devin.

“You're not alone. I'll drive you.”

“You don't have to.”

“How else will you get your car?”

She thinks for a second. “Okay, I guess. Thanks.” She pouts. Who would she call if Devin wasn't here? Gabby was probably in no shape to drive. It's too late to call her dad, but she would have if she had to. She could call Timothy, but he's the last resort.

“Just tell me where to go,” he says.

She follows him around the building to his Range Rover. She hops in the passenger seat, throws her purse on the floor and tightens her seat belt.

“Do you know where we're going?” he asks, turning the ignition.

“Yeah.” She sits back. “Been there before.”

“How often?” He laughs.

“Just once. I parked in a no-parking zone after four. Didn't think it meant holiday Mondays.”

Devin chuckles as he turns onto the main street. “You thought they would make you the exception?”

“I was in a hurry to park and make it to an event. I overlooked the sign.” Carla watches the streets as they pass intersections. “Keep going straight.”

Devin looks up at every street number as he drives through it.

“At the next light, make a right, and instead of going over the bridge, make a right and it will take you underneath to the yard.”

“You know where you're going for only having been towed once.” He has a half smile on his face as he looks over.

Devin pulls up in the dirt parking lot. Carla jumps out, clutching her purse and marching up the steps of the portable office. She swings open the door. “I'm here to pick up my car,” she tells the lady, who gets up from her desk like it's an inconvenience and brings her glasses to her face.

“License plate?” she asks and takes the invoice papers in her hands.

Carla runs off her plate number.

“White Mercedes?” the woman asks, searching the papers for the right one. “That'll be seventy dollars.”

“What? For a no-parking zone?”

“It's a violation.”

“So is the price,” Carla says, getting out her wallet and handing over the cash.

The woman ignores her as she rings up the charge and hands her the invoice to sign.

Carla's hand is trembling as she signs her name. She puts the paper in her purse and takes out her keys.

“Your car is parked by the gate.”

Carla storms out of the portable, slamming the door behind her. She gets down the steps and walks over to the gate, where she can barely see her car.

Devin jumps out of his Range Rover and runs over to her. “Did they tell you where your car is?”

“Yeah, right here.” She presses the unlock button on her remote.

“Okay, well, good . . . glad you got it.” He runs his hand through his hair, the other hand on his hip. “They didn't do any damage?” He steps closer to her car so he's standing right beside her.

“I didn't think to look.” She gets close to her car and examines her driver's side window, slides her hand around the frame. “Nope. I don't see anything.” She turns around and is caught with her nose in his chest, inhaling his cologne. Her insides go frail at his scent, imagining how his arms would feel wrapped around her. She envisions his hard abs. She swallows and looks up to meet his uneasy stare.

“Looks good, then?”

“It does.” She nods swiftly.

Devin doesn't step back; instead he bows his head to hers and stares into her eyes.

She swallows again to moisten her throat. “What?” she whispers.

“You,” he says, bringing his hand to her chin and leaning in to kiss her.

She opens her mouth to his as a reaction to his lips closing in on hers. The kiss is slow enough to taste his sweet lips. She shouldn't do this. She can't. He'll regret this when he finds out what she's done. What will he say when he gets the letter? Will he feel the same about her? Devin wraps his arm around her waist like an anchor to keep her still. He kisses her tenderly. Her body presses against his. She brings her hand up to his open suit jacket, feeling the firmness and well-worked muscles underneath his shirt. What is happening? She kisses him back. His lips tug at hers, eager for more, and then he gently sweeps her lips with one last kiss before letting go.

She can't let this happen.
He doesn't want me.
He wants the recognition, for her to forget how she feels about his career, doesn't he?

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Kissing you.”

“W-why?”

“I was tempted and . . . well, the moment felt right.” He pauses, staring into her eyes.