"Goddamn it, Ernie," the first man yells. "You need to watch where you're going."
"No, you need to watch where you're going," the other guy yells back. "Fuckin' blind as a bat, you are."
I snicker as I watch the two men trying to disentangle their chairs that are now stuck to each other near the footrests. The receptionist looks alarmed but like she doesn't have a clue what to do. I think she might stand up and try to assist, but then one of the nurses--I'm guessing by the fact she's wearing cranberry-colored scrubs--jogs up to the men and with some murmured words and her hands to their shoulders gets them to stop yelling. She then squats down, pulls the chairs apart, and sends the men on their way in opposite directions.
When she stands up and turns toward me and Hawke, my breath freezes in my lungs as I recognize her.
The beautiful woman from the convenience store last week.
Julianne is her name.
She doesn't see me because she's walking with her head down as she makes her way through the lobby and out the doors, carrying a brown paper bag with her.
"Holy shit," I say as I stand up from the couch, my legs involuntarily walking after her.
I'm not in the least bit ashamed to say I went back to that little convenience store three more times, hoping to catch her on duty again, but she was never there. I'd honestly given up after that third time, figuring she maybe worked a different shift or even that she didn't work there anymore, and frankly, couldn't say as I blamed her. Looked like a shit job to me.
I don't know why I wanted to talk to her again. On the face of things--her working a minimum wage job and having three unruly kids--we didn't have much in common. If I had to guess, I think it was the fact that despite what was clear exhaustion and frustration on her part that night, she still had a solid backbone when it was all said and done. That impressed me.
And let's not forget...she's totally gorgeous.
"Where are you going?" Hawke asks, but I don't spare him a glance.
"Be back in a minute," I mumble as I traverse around the low coffee table and follow the woman out the lobby doors.
She's tall for a girl, maybe topping out at five-nine, but that's perfect for me. I'm a towering goalie at six-five. Her hair is in a ponytail again and it swings jauntily as she turns right once she clears the doors and heads to a small courtyard. And when did nursing scrubs look so damn good on a woman before? They mold her ass perfectly, and I'm not ashamed I'm noticing that either.
Not a red-blooded male around that wouldn't look.
She waves at a coworker sitting at a picnic table wearing the same colored scrubs, which I'm guessing is a uniform, but doesn't sit with her, thankfully. Instead, she chooses a concrete bench set under a large crepe myrtle and takes advantage of the shade. Even though it's the first week of October, it's still fairly warm today.
I don't even hesitate but walk right up to her. She doesn't see me though, as she's got her head bowed over the paper bag while she pulls out a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a fruit cup. I glance at my watch and see it's only five after eleven, so I'm guessing this must be her lunch hour.
"Julianne?" I ask hesitantly when I'm just a few feet away.
Her head snaps up and she looks at me with blank eyes even though she answers almost hesitantly, "Yes?"
I push my hands in my pockets and try to look casual as I come to a stop before her. "Met you in the convenience store last week. Well, we weren't officially introduced..."
She still stares at me blankly, and while her golden brown eyes are as beautiful as I remember, they're still marred by the blue circles under them. It's clear she has no clue who I am. This should wound my ego, but again the opposite occurs and I like that she doesn't recognize me at all. I like being a true mystery for once and not having immediate assumptions made about me because of my fame.
I feed her a little more information to jog her memory. "Two redneck assholes giving you trouble. Then two feisty rug rats taping their sister up?"
I punctuate that last statement with a grin, and she finally recognizes me as her mouth forms into an O.
"I remember," she says softly with just a wisp of a smile, which slides off just as quickly as it formed. "That wasn't my best night."
"Well, I think you handled it with grace," I assure her.
Another slight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, then her gaze drops to her lap. It's a shy maneuver, as if she doesn't know how to respond, or perhaps she just wants to be left alone. Since I don't know the answer, I press on.
I take a seat next to her on the bench, and she gives a little jump then turns to me with wide, curious eyes.
"I went back there to see you," I tell her conversationally.
Her mouth drops. "Why would you do that?"
I shrug and give her the simple but overly forward truth. "Pretty girl, I didn't see a wedding ring, and I wanted to talk to you more."
Julianne's eyebrows knit inward and she appears thoroughly confused.
So I try to enlighten her, and lean in and give her a conspiratorial wink. "It's what happens when a guy is interested in a girl. He tries to make conversation."
Well, that's not exactly true. Many guys just try to get in the girl's pants, but that was not my original intention. Don't get me wrong...this woman is smoking hot and I'm not going to pretend that the attraction isn't a big part, but I'm also equally intrigued by her.
She still doesn't say anything and I can't figure out if she's just a horrible conversationalist or unusually shy, both of which will really suck because I like my women to have some sort of personality.
So I try one more time to get the ball rolling. Reaching my right hand across, I hold it out and say, "My name's Max Fournier."
She finally moves, as if introductions are something she can handle, and shakes my hand. "Julianne Bradley, but my friends call me Jules."
Her hand is soft and the bones feel delicate yet her shake is surprisingly strong. I like that. I also like that she has put me in a friend category and not a weird-creeper category.
Our hands break apart. I don't like that.
"Well, Jules...when are you working again next? I'll drop in and keep you company. Might chase off a few more rednecks for you."
Finally, I get a true smile from her and it reaches her eyes. "Well, that's sweet of you but unfortunately I got fired from that job, so you won't be able to stalk me there."
"Why did you get fired?" I ask, a little dismayed I can't see her there, since it's the perfect excuse for me to...well...stalk her, but also a little happy because I felt that job was beneath her.
"My boss found out I had the kids that night and that's against company policy," she says sadly. "And I had to miss work one day because my babysitter fell through, again."
I tilt my head. "I assume this is your full-time job here. Are you a nurse?"
"Yeah, this is my full-time job. I only worked at the convenience store Monday through Friday from seven to twelve in the evenings. And I'm a certified nurse's assistant."
"So you were working two jobs and raising three kids?" I ask, astounded.
"Pretty much."
Just...wow.
"Husband or boyfriend to help you out?" I can't help but ask.
She shakes her head, accompanied by another pretty smile, but this time she drops her eyes in a definite shy gesture. She takes her hand and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear that has escaped her ponytail. "Just me."
Jesus. No wonder she looks like a strong wind would blow her over. And I'm guessing whatever prick got her pregnant and left her with three children should have his ass kicked.
While I'm pleased to hear there's no man in the picture, I'm still left with an unsettled feeling over her plight. "No other family to help a young mother out with her kids?"
Her face gets a little guarded and I think she might tell me to mind my own business, but I'm stunned when she says, "I'm their legal guardian and it's just me. The kids came to live with me four month
s ago when my sister died."
Fuck.
Just...fuck.
And everything is suddenly clear and fitting into place. Young woman working as a nurse's assistant and probably getting by okay on her own. Sister dies and she takes on raising her niece and nephews on what is probably a terrible salary for what she does. No wonder she was working a second job.
Hell, no wonder she looks like she's about ready to collapse.
And given how unruly those little hellions appeared to be, I bet she's in over her head.
I know that this should be causing all kinds of warning bells to go off in my head, but for some reason it merely makes me want to pull her to my side, press her head on my shoulder and assure her that I'll make everything right.
Which...that's fucking weird. I've never been a guy who feels like he has to rescue a girl just to prove his manliness. And besides, I remember when I tried to help her pull the tape off the little girl the other night, and she gave me a firm "Don't." I remember that tilt to her chin even though she looked on the verge of crying. I could tell right then Julianne had a backbone and I've always been attracted to independent women. She may be having troubles, but she's definitely strong.
"Max." I hear Hawke calling my name and I turn my head toward the lobby doors. Jim is standing with him. "Let's go, buddy. We're ready to present the check."
"Be right there," I say as I hold up a finger.
Hawke nods and they both turn back inside.
I look back to Jules, who still has no clue who I am, or if she does, she's not impressed by it.
I like that too.
"So...I know this is totally forward, but any chance I could take you out sometime?" I ask with a full smile, which I know is one of my better features as I've been told my dimples are panty-droppers.
She's shaking her head no before I even get the words all the way out, and that is a definite ego-crusher.
"That's sweet," she assures me with apologetic eyes. "But it's just...Well, I can't. I don't have any free time, and even if I did, I can't afford a babysitter..."
Her words fall off and her eyebrows knit together in confusion again, as if she's just now realizing that her life is far more complicated than she ever realized.
"Part of the date would be me covering the cost of a babysitter," I urge with hopeful eyes, and fuck...why do I want to go out with this woman so much? Everything about her circumstances spells trouble to me and yet it's drawing me closer rather than repelling me.
But then she smiles at me.
And those whiskey eyes go warm.
And she says, "You really are very nice, but my priority is those kids right now, and until I can get a bit more stable, I'm not doing you any favors by going out with you, not with my mixed bag of troubles."
Yes, it's clear. She's simply an incredibly intriguing woman who seems to be focused, driven, dedicated, and caring. Add on the fact she's stunning, what fucking guy wouldn't be interested in that?
Despite the fact she has no time and is flat broke and looking quite broken.
"Max," I hear Hawke call out, and he's standing outside the lobby doors again, this time pointing to his watch with a look on his face that says "Get your ass in gear."
I nod at him and stand from the bench, turning to face Jules. She looks up at me, same sweet smile on her face even as she starts to unwrap her sandwich, which had been resting on her lap.
"It was nice meeting you, Jules," I tell her sincerely. Even more sincerely I say, "I hope we run into each other again someday."
"Nice meeting you too, Max," she says softly, and is that a tiny hint of regret in her eyes?
Hmmmm. Can't really tell but it doesn't matter.
She'll be seeing me sooner rather than later.
"That will be seven dollars and thirty-two cents," I tell the guy across the counter from me. I peg him as single, because no wedding ring first and foremost, but also because he's purchasing a twelve-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and that just screams of a lonely Friday night to me.
He hands me a ten and I make change, passing it to him with a smile.
Yes, a smile.
"Here you go, and have a great night," I tell him with a grin that's actually genuine and fueled by a little bit of peppy energy I seem to be oddly sporting only an hour before midnight.
Here I am, back at Whalen's convenience store and gas station on the outskirts of Raleigh, going on my twelfth hour of work today, not counting the time spent cleaning and cooking after I got home from Sweetbrier, and I actually feel a little giddy.
Maybe even euphoric.
And that's simply from the fact that I'm back at this crappy job I'd lost two days ago. I'm so relieved not to have to worry about finding a new job, or how I'm going to manage things financially until I do, that I'm actually fucking over-the-moon happy to be back here.
The guy nods at me, stuffs his money in his back pocket and tucks the boxed twelve-pack under his arm. I watch him walk to the double glass doors, which automatically open on the exit side just as he reaches it, and I can't help the tiny smirk that comes to my mouth when I see Max Fournier on the other side.
He holds the door open for the sad single guy getting ready to get drunk tonight on cheap beer. Single guy does sort of a double take when he sees Max but Max isn't paying attention. He's actually sauntering in as if he owns the place.
"I was wondering when you'd be in," I say with a pointed stare that I try to level as chastising but completely misses the mark.
"Well, wonder no more," he says with an answering grin that is unapologetic. "I wanted to wait until things died down here. Glad to see you're settled back in."
"Yes, well, it was sort of hard to decline Chris' offer when he called me yesterday all in a tizzy that the Max Fournier stopped into his store to pay him a visit and politely begged him to give me this job back." My tone is dry, slightly disapproving, but he can tell by the sparkling tease in my eyes that I'm overjoyed to be back.
Max shrugs as if he did nothing special. "I don't like to take advantage of my celebrity but this seemed like one of those times it was warranted."
Indeed.
Yesterday, Max Fournier approached me in the Sweetbrier courtyard as I was on my lunch break and I really didn't know what to do. I immediately recognized him and he was just as insanely gorgeous...like the type that took your breath away gorgeous. How could I forget that face from last week when he witnessed my near-meltdown after the redneck-masking-tape-kid fiasco? Despite how tired I was, despite how stressed and worn down I was, I could not disregard his ruggedly handsome face or his wavy, stylishly messy brown hair with lighter brown streaks attesting to the fact this man likes being outdoors in the summer. Those wavy locks fell boyishly over his forehead, highlighting a pair of amazing hazel eyes that were filled with kindness and sympathy as he'd watched me peel tape off Annabelle.
Yeah...I remembered him, and when he approached me yesterday I ogled the hell out of him those first few moments because I was so stunned to see him, it seemed like all my wits had melted away. Of course, by the time I'd gotten them back, he was being called away and caught me completely off guard by asking me out. My heart wanted to say yes, but my head was already saying no to him. It was just terrible timing.
So I was sad when he walked away, wondering how that might have played out had I not had the responsibility of the kids, and what opportunity had just passed me by. I tried not to think too hard on that because it would only make me feel guilty.
I always felt guilty anytime I imagine the what-ifs in my life.
While I recognized Max as being the guy from the gas station, I had no clue who he actually was. I was enlightened by Chris, who had left an urgent voicemail for me while I was working. When I got off duty from Sweetbrier and was in my beat-up old Maxima heading to the apartment, I called him back.
"It's about time you called me," Chris said urgently when he picked up.
"I'll try to get by there today to pick up my check and
give you the key," I responded.
"Forget that," he said impatiently. "You've got your job back. I know this is late notice for you today, so I've got tonight covered, but you can start back tomorrow night."
"Huh?" was about as intelligent a response as I could muster.
"Girl, I had no idea you had friends in such high places," he said in awe. "Here I was today, doing inventory while Jody worked the register for the lunch rush, and Max Fucking Fournier walks into my store."
Max Fucking Fournier?
He deserves "fucking" as a middle name?
I didn't want to appear stupid, so I just said, "Uh-huh."
"I'm a huge fan of his, of course, and I about died. Walked right up to me...asked me to talk in private. You know...sort of man-to-man?"
"Uh-huh."
"And well, he lobbied for me to give you your job back and I just couldn't say no to him, you know?"
"Uh-huh."
"So, you can come back tomorrow."
"Uh-huh."
I did have to listen to Chris ramble on and on about what a god Max Fournier is, and I heard words like goals against average and maybe something about a Stanley Cup, but I was so stunned that this man had the ability to command Chris that way, I was in overload. It was only after I got home that I Googled Max and realized who in the hell he is.
Max Fournier is a professional hockey player and the goalie for our own Carolina Cold Fury.
His bio is impressive.
Twenty-seven years old and born in Montreal. He's bilingual, speaking English and French-Canadian, and that explains what's not quite an accent I'm detecting but more of a soft flow of his words together that hinted he might not be American. I hadn't recognized it for what it was until I read that.
He left home at sixteen to join the Ontario Hockey League and played for the Ottawa Stallions for two years before he was drafted into the NHL at age eighteen to the Florida Spartans. He spent three years there as first a backup goalie, then a starting goalie, before being traded to the Cold Fury, where he's been for the past four years although he suffered injuries that kept him on the bench last season.
I am not completely ignorant of hockey. I've dated guys in the past that are all about the sport and so I learned some things. I've even been to a game once before. But I didn't know enough to recognize who Max Fournier was, and I sure as hell have no idea who any of the other players are.