Breakout (A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance) by Aven Ellis Page A

stupid-should-know-better heart is humming with excitement.
    “Hey, Lexi,” Niko says, grinning at me. “Good to see you.”
    “You beat me here,” I tease, smiling back at him.
    “I’m starving,” he admits. “So I got here early to get our name on the list.”
    A man jostles me from behind in the crowded waiting area and I’m pushed into Niko’s chest.
    The second I brush against him, his crazy sexy scent washes over me. I breathe in his rich spice and cedar cologne, and as soon as I do, guilt floods me.
    He’s my coworker .
    I don’t need to get turned on by the scent lingering on his olive skin.
    I blush furiously and push back from him.
    “Sorry,” I manage.
    “No worries.”
    I clear my throat. “So how was the road trip? Other than losing the last game?”
    “It went really well,” Niko says, moving to place the newspaper back in the rack where he apparently took it from. “I was able to go out with the traveling crew and get to know them better. Shared some dinners, that kind of thing, but I was ready to come home.”
    I bite down on my lip. Oh, how I wish I were the reason he wanted to come back to Dallas.
    “Niko, party of two,” the hostess calls out.
    Niko motions for me to go first, and he falls into step behind me. The hostess greets us, grabs some menus, and leads us to a nice booth in front of a window.
    I slide into my seat, and Niko moves in across from me, putting his helmet down first.
    “So you ride?” I ask, nodding in the direction of his helmet as I flip open my menu.
    “Yeah,” Niko says, his eyes sparkling. “My bike is my guilty pleasure. I bought one after I got my first full-time TV gig.”
    “What kind of motorcycle do you have?”
    Niko rubs his hand over his jawline. “Uh, a BMW R 1200 RT.”
    “BMW makes motorcycles?” I ask, clueless.
    Niko laughs. “Yes. For a very, very long time.”
    “Obviously my BMW motorcycle education is lacking,” I admit.
    “I’ll tutor you,” Niko says, flipping open his menu and casting his eyes downward.
    I shift my gaze to his full lips. I’d prefer you’d tutor me in kissing .
    “So what’s good here?”
    I blink, horrified by my thoughts. I’ve got to get myself together. He’s a coworker. A friend. What the hell am I thinking? Do I have a desire to torture myself by dreaming of things that will never happen?
    Yes. Apparently I do.
    I refocus my attention to the menu. “I can only speak for one thing,” I say, “because I get it every time I come here. But I love the Cap’n Crunch French toast. With a side of bacon.”
    Niko glances up at me, once again looking through his amazing fringe of eyelashes. “Is that right?”
    Our server stops by and we order some coffee. After she leaves, I grin at Niko.
    “It’s crazy good. Sweet and crunchy cereal on the outside, drenched in maple syrup . . . I can’t resist it. And I don’t even try to.”
    “I like that about you.”
    I furrow my brow. “You like what?”
    “You like to eat,” Niko says, shifting his gaze back to the selections on the menu. “My last girlfriend didn’t. Going out to eat was an ordeal because she was really picky. I think there were about five foods she ate.”
    “There has to be more than five.”
    “Hmm. Maybe seven. But not more than eight.”
    We both laugh at that. The server comes back, setting down two big mugs of coffee for us. We place our orders, with me going for the Cap’n Crunch French toast and Niko getting scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast.
    I reach for the creamer and dump some into my coffee. I pick up my spoon and begin to swirl it into the hazelnut-infused house blend.
    “So what’s the story on the last girlfriend?” I ask. “Besides the fact that she liked no more than eight foods, and I’m sure you’re grossly underestimating that fact.”
    Niko arches an eyebrow at me. “Oh, are you defending her now?”
    “Be careful, Niko, slander isn’t nice,” I tease.
    He laughs. “So the story on Jessica who