Free Home Ice by Catherine Gayle Page A

awareness. It was a sensory thing, too—a way for me and Sophie to connect. It was something I did for her three times a day, every day, for the first few years of her life. By the time she was three, Dan and I were both so stressed with all of her appointments and visits and therapy sessions that we just…fell apart. We didn’t know each other anymore. There was no time for us to be a couple. The stress of it all drove this huge chasm between us, and we were never able to recover from it. But when we divorced, I knew I needed a job of some sort. Preferably something where I could set my own hours and work either at home or close to home, and massage seemed like a good fit. I started my training as soon as Dan moved out of the house, and the rest is history.”
    Mattias hadn’t looked away the whole time I spoke. He had been eating some, but honestly he’d paid far more attention to me than he had to his meal. It was a very rare thing for me to have someone’s undivided attention. I was far more used to having my own attention split multiple ways, trying to make sure each of my daughters had everything they needed and none of them felt neglected.
    He reached across the table and let his fingertips fall on the back of my hand, sending electric jolts up my arm. I bit down on my lip, and he grinned, like he knew he was the cause of my nerves. “No regrets?” he asked. “You don’t wish you’d gone back to college to finish your degree? I can tell from the way you talk about your job now that you love it, but…”
    “No regrets. I don’t believe in them. And I do love my job. Actually, I’ll be taking some continuing ed courses next month that you might be interested in. I already do deep tissue work, trigger point, that sort of thing, but I’m going to learn about sports massage.”
    He made an appreciative humming sound and raised a brow. “If you ever need a guinea pig to practice on, I’m sure it wouldn’t take much arm twisting to get some of the boys on board.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, winking at him.
    In truth, I was slightly shocked and more than just a bit disappointed that he hadn’t volunteered himself. I’d been dying to get my hands on him— really explore his muscles—ever since I’d first seen him last weekend. Having watched his players and spent some time close to Mattias, he seemed as fit as any of them, and likely a heck of a lot stronger than many of them. There was a certain sort of strength that came to men as they got older, and I had no doubt he had it in spades.
    I speared a piece of roasted potato with my fork and popped it into my mouth. Then I almost melted from how good it was. “How do they make something so simple taste so good ?” I asked, still chewing.
    “Something tells me they won’t be giving us their secrets.”
    “Too bad. I could teach the girls to make it, and then we could make a killing out of my kitchen.”
    “I doubt the government would look too kindly on slave labor,” he joked.
    “No slaves involved. We’d call it their chores and pay them an allowance. It’d be all aboveboard.”
    He laughed. Mattias had a rich, deep laugh, much like his voice. It rumbled through me and made me want to be closer to him, to feel it beneath my touch. Once I started thinking along those lines, though, I doubted I’d be able to stop anytime soon. I bit my lower lip again.
    “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to have to join you,” he said.
    I arched a brow in question.
    “Biting your lip.”
    “Be careful not to hurt yourself.”
    He lifted his wineglass and tilted it in my direction. “I meant I’d bite your lip.”
    I downed a large swallow from my own glass to hide the rush of heat that flooded my face, not that it was likely to do any good. Besides, I wasn’t fifteen. I was a grown woman. I could flirt and tease and talk about adult things without blushing like my daughters would, couldn’t I? Determined to prove I could, even if