9. Jack #2
“I said I wouldn’t get one with you. Didn’t say I wouldn’t accept one as a bribe.”
She playfully flips me off as I fill up a glass of water, then grab a piece of veggie pizza once I sit back down.
“Wow, middle finger and everything. Easy, Sinclair, I might think you’re flirting with me.”
I lean back in my chair, trying not to laugh at how hard she fights a grin.
I’ve done my research. I know about her bookstore, and I’ve seen the curated selfies.
It’s a story she sells to the rest of the world.
I’m just as fucking guilty of doing the same.
But right now, it feels like that’s all falling away to something more vulnerable.
I catch myself staring at her mouth, then glance away.
That’s when I notice the record playing softly—something I don’t recognize.
Candles flicker around us, a few scattered on the countertop and windowsills.
Everything about Izzy is cozy and warm, and the small part of me that’s desperate to win her over relaxes just a sliver.
“We barely know each other,” she says finally, wiping her hands on a napkin.
“Then why don’t we fix that?”
She picks up her pizza, about to take a bite, then quickly tosses it down onto her plate. “This feels an awful lot like a date, Murphy.”
I try my best to ignore the way my heart pounds against my ribs when she says my name, her voice rough and exasperated. “Fine, we’ll skip the small talk and dive into the deep end.”
Izzy shakes her head, smiling. “You don’t want to know me.”
Except I do. More than I should.
She’s impossible to look away from—eyes that remind me of the deep water just past the breakwater, and just as moody.
“If you could magically become really good at anything, what would you choose?”
“Your middle child is showing, Jack. I’m good at everything.”
I’ve spent my whole life being the fun one, the easy one, the guy everyone wants at their party. I recognize the act.
The grin comes before I can stop it, and she rewards me with a genuine smile that makes me lean onto the table, fascinated. My fingers ache to touch her again. I’ve pushed aside the hazy memory of that ride home from the hospital, but we’re so close now.
“Everything?” I whisper.
Izzy rolls her eyes. “It’s kind of like my superpower.”
I pull myself away, flashing a crooked grin. “Like being humble?”
She chooses that moment to sip her Slurpee, but I still catch the way her shoulders relax a bit.
“I need a real answer, Izzy.”
She sets down her drink and reaches for another piece of pizza before peeking up at me beneath long, black lashes. “Fine, I wish I were better at public speaking. I turn into a big pile of nervous goo every time I have to host an event at the store.”
“But you do it anyway?”
“Always. Being scared means you’re living.”
She jumped at public speaking too quickly to believe her. “Are you scared to date me?”
“We’re pretending,” she deadpans. “But no, I’m not scared. I don’t love all the extra attention though. The videos, the… comments.”
“Me neither.” The confession slips out of me before I can stop it.
“I just…” She runs her fingers over the embroidered signatures on her tablecloth, a sad smile stretching across her face.
Her hair falls in a way that perfectly frames her cheeks, and I think, however foolishly, how it would feel to cup her face in my palms and kiss her.
“I want to be loved loudly. I don’t want to beg for it anymore, however silly that is. ”
“It’s not.”
“Hmm.” Izzy draws her knee up to her chest, wraps her arm around it, and takes another draining sip of her Slurpee, studying me. Finally, her words sharp and careful, she asks, “Scared of me or the attention?”
It’s another test, and maybe if I weren’t so aware of how easily she could push me away, I would play. Instead, I ask if she’s done with the pizza before I close the box up.
There’s a lot I’m not willing to unpack right now. “I only know what you’ve let me know. If anyone’s going to buy that we’re dating, I need more than your name and what you do.”
“My birthday is in April.” Before I can even laugh at how little she’s given me, she holds her hand up and continues, “I’m proud of the bookstore.”
“You should be.”
“Then what kind of details do you think will sell this? Favorite pizza topping?”
I hate how cute she is when she gets annoyed.
“Listen, we both know the bar is basically on the ground here. If I show up knowing your coffee order, people will be impressed. I think we can do better than pizza toppings though.”
“Who said anything about me tolerating the bar being on the floor, Jack?”
She shakes the last of her Slurpee, digging out the remaining iceberg of cherry-flavored ice with her straw before setting it aside.
I grin, stand, and grab a ginger ale from the fridge. “Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
I hand her one, then tuck the pizza box into the nearly empty fridge. “Good thing I stopped by. Shelves are a bit bare.”
“I haven’t had the time to shop.”
When I spin back around, I rest against the fridge and take a sip of soda. Fuck, I’d kill for a beer, but even I know that’s a bad idea right now. “What is your favorite pizza topping?”
“Buffalo chicken.”
“Bold choice.”
“For better or worse, I’m a bold girl.”
“Never for the worse.”
She scoffs, then slips off her chair and heads to the living room. There’s just one lamp switched on in the corner. The room is dark and cozy. Izzy sinks onto the green velvet couch with a small sigh and grabs the blanket beside her book.
“My mom had me at seventeen. I bounced around between living with her and my grandparents. Never knew my dad. I have two half sisters, Riley and Peyton. Riley is still in high school, and Peyton is a year younger than Annie. I went to community college to become an English teacher. How’s that?”
“SparkNotes, Izzy?”
“You want the long version?”
I sit opposite her, throwing my arm across the back of the couch. “Always.”
She smiles to herself, snuggling tighter under the blankets. “You’re relentless. This nice, flirty boy act.”
“Who said anything about it being an act?”
She stares at me, unimpressed. “You’re the life of the party. The fun. The trouble. And you have a real problem keeping your hands to yourself on the ice.”
I tilt my head. “The fans like me enough.”
She pivots, stretching out to nudge my thigh with her toes. “What about you though?” Her eyes soften, sticking a beat too long on my mouth. “You adore your family, which is why you’re even here in the first place. They love you.”
“Family is important, yeah.”
“I’ve seen your Instagram. You go on fancy vacations during the offseason and have a nice penthouse in Boston.
You live and breathe hockey. And when you aren’t playing, you’re…
well, you have a type, and I’m definitely not it.
” She pauses long enough for that barb to wedge itself uncomfortably in my chest. “You have your life, and I have mine. We don’t need to mix them up any more than we already have. ”
I straighten, feeling the wall dropping between us.
“What if I want to get to know you?”