Chapter 11
Winnie
I’m right on time and this almost never happens.
Buttermilk threw up a carrot after overindulging and then I spent way too long debating what to wear before landing on a navy wrap dress with white sneakers and a denim jacket.
Admittedly, I took a little longer with my hair, putting beach waves in it, and okay…
more makeup than I normally wear at school but far less than a full beat.
Casual. Cute. Like I didn’t try too hard, even though I absolutely did.
I pull into the lot of the little diner Lucky picked—Griddle & Grind—and spot his blacked-out Tahoe.
Of course he beat me here. He offered to pick me up, but after a few more texts last night, I knew his time today was limited since the team is flying to Dallas this afternoon, and I insisted I meet him here.
Inside, the place is the perfect mix of cozy and classic. Booths with cracked red vinyl seats, coffee pots clinking behind the counter, and the smell of bacon thick enough to bottle. I spot him right away, already seated in a booth at the back, nursing a coffee and scrolling through his phone.
He looks up the second I approach, his smile instant. Warm and easy, like we do this all the time.
“Hey,” he says, standing to greet me, eyes moving down my body and back up again. “You look beautiful.”
My face goes hot and I want to kick myself. Who blushes from a simple compliment? “Thank you,” I murmur. “You look beautiful too. Shit… I mean handsome.”
“You’re fucking adorable when you’re flustered.” He laughs and gestures to the booth. “Perfect timing. I ordered us coffee, but you can switch to tea if you want. I know you like floral ones but not sure the type.”
I slide into the seat, touched that he remembered that detail from our first date. “Elderflower and chamomile. Good memory, but I’ll stick with coffee this morning.”
He shrugs. “I’m a good listener.”
The waitress swings by with a mug for me, which she fills, and I add cream and sugar. I nod down at his cup. “Black. No nonsense.”
He taps the edge of his mug. “Real men drink it black. None of that cream-and-sugar shit women love.”
I blink at him, surprised by the sexist remark. My voice is tight. “Really?”
Lucky tips his head and laughs. “No, not really. I just wanted to see your expression when a man hands you something so ridiculous. On your videos as you break down your dates, you’re always funny about it, but I wanted to see if you actually get offended.”
I shake my head, my lips curving. “Yeah… I obviously do get offended.”
“Men are stupid much of the time. I mean… I’m not saying I have all the answers when it comes to women, but there are some dudes that you know were homeschooled by a pigeon.”
I snort hard as I’m taking a sip, almost drawing the liquid up my nose and down into my lungs simultaneously. “So,” I say, after a slight coughing fit during which he grins at me. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
He lifts a brow. “We’re starting off with hard-hitting questions, huh?”
I nod. “Always. Can I ask you something kind of nosy?”
Lucky glances over at me, mockingly. “Absolutely not. This is a deeply private and guarded space.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m serious.”
“Fire away.”
I sip my coffee and place the mug down. “What’s your dating history like? And don’t say ‘extensive but respectful,’ because I’ll throw the sugar canister at you. And also… this is strictly for scientific research.”
He grins, clearly amused. “Fair enough. My experience has been casual, mostly. A lot of short things. Nothing significant.”
I tilt my head. “By choice?”
“Partially,” he says, more thoughtful now. “I mean, hockey’s kind of the third person in every relationship I’ve ever had. The travel schedule sucks. The fame thing complicates trust. And sometimes, people just… want to be part of the brand, you know?”
Something tugs in my chest. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“I’m not a commitment-phobe or anything,” he adds quickly. “I just haven’t found someone who made me want to rearrange my life for them.”
“Ever been in love?”
He exhales. “Not yet. You?”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “Yeah. Once.”
He looks surprised. “Serious serious?”
I nod. “It lasted a couple years. He was a nurse. Kind, thoughtful, funny. The kind of guy who remembered my coffee order but forgot to take the trash out every week.”
“What happened?”
I keep my voice calm, but my fingers twist the fabric tighter. “He cheated. Claimed it didn’t mean anything, but I guess it meant enough to blow up what we had.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It was a long time ago. I healed. Moved on. Learned to buy my own damn flowers.”
“I love that song.” He watches me carefully. “That explains the dating challenge.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, a smile finally tugging at my lips. “It’s my way of choosing hope without expecting fireworks.”
Lucky’s expression darkens. “The guy sounds like an idiot.”
I smirk. “He was. But I learned a lot. Like how to spot red flags. How to not compromise who I am for someone else’s comfort. And how to block a number with terrifying efficiency.”
He laughs, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or understanding.
The waitress swings by again, and we order—pancakes for both, bacon for me, sausage for him, and a shared side of hash browns.
“Okay… let’s see… what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”
Lucky raises an eyebrow, forkful of pancake poised in the air. “We’re doing worst-date confessions now?”
“Obviously,” I say. “It’s the foundation of my entire brand. Besides… you’ve seen all mine on TikTok.”
He laughs. “All right, but you asked for it.”
“I’m braced.”
He puts the pancakes in his mouth, chews and swallows, then dabs his mouth with his napkin.
After setting his fork down, he steeples his fingers like he’s about to deliver a sermon.
“So, a few years ago during the league’s summer break, I went out with this girl who seemed totally normal when we talked on the phone.
My cousin set me up with her. She was pretty, smart, into dogs. Green flags all around.”
“Okay.”
“We meet up at a bar. She’s cute. Funny. Then she starts telling me how she’s really into spiritual alignment and aura energy.”
“Still not a deal-breaker.”
“No, not a deal-breaker. But then she pulls a crystal out of her bra and tells me my root chakra is blocked and that’s why I have commitment issues.”
“Oh my lord,” I wheeze through a laugh.
Lucky nods with an expression on his face as if he just bit into a lemon. “She tried to rebalance me. In public. By humming and pressing the crystal to my sternum.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I cover my mouth, laughing. “Did it work?”
“Oh, totally,” he says. “I left my body and hovered above the bar, watching myself order an Uber.”
I cackle. “That’s incredible.”
“To top it off, she texted me two days later to say she couldn’t continue seeing me because my energy field clashed with her rescue ferret.”
“I’m sorry,” I say between laughs. “A rescue ferret?”
He shrugs. “Apparently his name was Nimbus and he didn’t like my vibe.”
I snicker into my hand. “Even though you’d never actually met him?”
“She said my energy stained hers and transferred to him,” he says blandly.
I’m doubled over now, wiping my eyes. “That’s the greatest worst-date story I’ve ever heard.”
Lucky grins, proud. “Told you. High bar.”
“Well, I can’t compete with ferret-based rejection,” I say, raising my coffee in salute. “You win.”
He leans back with a smirk. “Honestly, I’ll take my chances with Buttermilk. I understand from your videos that he’s judgmental, but I like my odds better with him than an emotionally attuned ferret.”
I laugh again, but my brain short-circuits a little. He thinks he’s meeting Buttermilk. That implies he will be coming to my house. Me, inviting him in. Letting him into more than just this experiment.
And wow. Why doesn’t that feel as scary as it should?
Over the next hour, we cover everything from favorite childhood snacks to irrational fears.
He tells me he once had a recurring nightmare about being tackled by a giant tiger mascot that bounced on its tail like Tigger.
I admit that I still check behind the shower curtain before I pee, just in case.
It’s fun. Easy. The kind of morning that sneaks up and makes me forget I’m technically still part of a public social endeavor.
When we’ve both demolished our plates and the coffee’s nearly gone, he leans forward, fingers tapping the rim of his mug.
“I want to see you again,” he says.
My heart does a little lurch, but I play it cool. “You are seeing me.”
Lucky rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. A third date. Just us. No cameras, no commentary. Just… more of this.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, hesitating.
“I’d like that,” I admit. “But…”
His brows lift. “But?”
“I do have a date tonight,” I say carefully. “With someone else.”
He goes still for a second. Not angry. Not surprised. Definitely processing.
Then he nods. “Right. The experiment.”
I nod. “I just… want to be fair to what I started. Even if this”—I gesture between us—“is starting to feel less like data and more like something I don’t totally understand yet.”
His voice is quiet. “I can work with that.”
I smile, soft and small, because that’s not what I expected. No guilt trip. No possessive vibes. Just… understanding.
“I’ll text you,” I promise.
“It’s a plan. And hey”—he stands as I rise from the booth—“no matter how the data shakes out, you can’t deny the pancakes were top tier.”
I laugh. “They were. And so were you.”
We step into the morning sun. He walks me to my car, not touching me but close enough I feel his warmth.
“Good luck tonight,” he says, but his eyes twinkle mischievously. “I hope he’s everything you’re not looking for and the data supports I’m a much better catch.”
I hope so too. But I don’t dare voice that.
“Good luck at the game tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”
Lucky smiles, bends down and kisses my cheek. I have to force myself not to touch the skin, which actually tingles from his touch.
He starts to walk to his vehicle and my eyes inadvertently drop to his butt. Damn… he’s got an amazing ass.
When my gaze lifts again, he’s got his phone out, holding it up in front of him with the reverse camera pointed back over his shoulder—squarely in my direction.
He’s recording a TikTok.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I know that smirk. He grins like he’s just won something, and I’m guessing I’m the punch line. Or the headline. Or both.
My mouth drops open and I call out, “Are you filming me right now?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking, casually lifting his hand in a wave before climbing into his Tahoe.
I stare after him, completely flustered. I should be annoyed. I should yell something clever. Instead, I fumble for my keys with a ridiculous smile spreading across my face.
That man is a menace wrapped up in a confoundingly charming package.
And I think I might like it.