Chapter 15 #2
That corner of his mouth tilts up. “You ever turn that off?”
“Rarely.” I shrug, trying to act casual, as if I’m unaware of how close he’s standing to me.
“I figured,” he says. “You don’t seem like the type of woman who pauses very often.”
His tone makes it clear he doesn’t mind. Or maybe, and far more dangerously, that he’s already wondering what it would take to make me forget it.
“Did Birdie not want to come?” I ask. Last I’d talked to her—we now text frequently and have plans to go out for drinks this Thursday—she was considering coming.
“Fancy parties aren’t really her thing,” Crosby says. “Although she did make me promise to sneak her home a doggie bag of fancy food.”
We fall into conversation without effort, the way you do when the silence between you has already been broken elsewhere.
“This week felt longer than it should’ve,” he says, angling his body slightly toward mine, one shoulder turned away from the room like he’s unconsciously closing a door. “Road days always do that.”
“I was starting to think time works differently on team planes,” I reply. “Everything is either frantic or suspended. There’s no in-between.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”
I smile, and it feels familiar now. A week ago, I would’ve been cataloging this moment. Tonight, I let it exist.
We talk about the travel schedule, about the way flights and hotel lobbies all blur together. He asks what I do when I’m not filming, and I tell him about a coffee place I’ve started defaulting to near the rink. He tells me about a late-night diner he found and goes to when sleep won’t come.
My mind strays, acutely aware of how close we’re standing.
Close enough that if I shifted my weight, my arm would brush his.
Close enough that I can smell whatever clean, understated scent he wears.
His focus stays on me even as people drift past, even as someone calls his name from across the room and he ignores it without comment.
Crosby hasn’t touched me and I don’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.
There’s definitely a feeling between us that I can’t quite put my finger on. It reassures me—this restraint, this unspoken agreement that whatever this is doesn’t need to be claimed.
But it also leaves a low hum of frustration beneath my ribs, a question mark where certainty wants to be.
He glances down at my glass. “You’re barely drinking.”
“Occupational hazard,” I say. “I like to remember things.”
His gaze lifts back to mine, steady. “Yeah. Me too.”
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and I see Cherry walking into the room. She struts in like she’s on the red carpet.
Her dress is striking—cut low, fitted, unapologetically designed to draw eyes. She looks radiant and sexy, completely aware of exactly what she’s doing and who’s watching.
Miller is with her, hand at her back, pride written all over his face. He looks thrilled to have eyes on her, clearly okay with this part of the package he married.
They walk through the crowd, Cherry stopping intermittently to air-kiss some of the other significant others, telling me she’s very much insinuated herself into the team dynamics. She’s loud, not in a completely obnoxious way, but enough so that she garners eyes and attention.
“And the spotlight has found its mark,” I murmur, glancing at Crosby.
He snorts, lips curving upward. “She’s really good at that type of thing.”
I angle his way. “You know, it’s funny… I don’t get it—if she was always like that, what attracted you to her in the first place?”
Crosby tilts his head at me. “That’s the thing. She wasn’t always like that. She became that way after we started dating.”
“You mean after she started dating star power,” I surmise.
“Exactly. And after we got engaged, that’s when she sort of went all in with it. In hindsight, that’s who she was all along. It was suppressed at first.”
A wave of empathy hits me. I’ve never been in love, and I’ve never been in a committed relationship.
I might have some trust issues based on my childhood, but I very much understand…
he suffered a loss. “I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been easy to watch what you fell in love with turn out to be an illusion. ”
Crosby shrugs. “Honestly… I question if it was really love.”
“Because she seemed to like the spotlight more than the relationship?” I ask bluntly.
He shakes his head. “No. Because I wasn’t sad when it ended, I was relieved.”
I take a moment to be impressed with this man who seems so planted in reality. I don’t know that I’ve ever met someone so self-aware and possessed with confidence. But then I notice him stiffen, his eyes drifting past me, and I turn that way.
Cherry is beelining our way, her eyes pinned on Crosby. Miller follows two paces behind, wearing a displeased grimace.
The woman approaches with a smile that’s warm enough to pass as genuine, but I swear I see calculation in her eyes.
Or maybe it’s what I believe based on what little I’ve learned of her.
“There you are,” she says, looping an arm lightly through Crosby’s and turning to face her husband, who looks bewildered. “I’ve been wanting to connect since we were at The Blue Line a few weeks ago, but we’ve all been so busy, as I’m sure you know.”
Crosby stills. He doesn’t pull or lean in.
Merely stands still.
“How have you been?” she continues, laughing softly and not even bothering to wait for an answer if Crosby were to offer one. “It’s been way too long, and we should have caught up long before now.” She gestures to Miller. “Such a small world, isn’t it?”
It’s clear she doesn’t care what Crosby might have to say in response, because she turns her focus to me, and I know she very much knows who I am.
She disconnects her arm from Crosby’s and offers her hand to me, which I shake because I’m a professional.
“Hi… I’m Cherry Parks. Not sure if Crosby told you, but we used to be an item eons ago.
” She steps into Miller’s side, and his arm goes around her waist, pulling her in tight.
“Now I’m with the love of my life.” She gives her husband a pat on the chest without really looking at him, because her eyes are on Crosby.
She’s gauging his reaction, but the flattening of her mouth tells me she’s disappointed.
Crosby stares at her with an impassive expression.
Cherry’s cheeks turn pink and her gaze flicks to me. “He’s always been like this,” she says, her tone one of fond annoyance. “So internal. He’s naturally closed off.”
Crosby’s jaw tightens, the first sign he’s bothered, and I think it’s because she’s not describing him accurately at all. Crosby isn’t internalized. I find him to be outgoing and open to those he likes and trusts, and I’m happy that I’m included in that group now.
“We’re still very good friends,” she adds brightly. “Some bonds don’t disappear because life changes.”
I’m immediately swept up in the “ick” factor. This woman is making stuff up as she goes along, all for the dual purpose of having the attention on herself and making Crosby feel awkward.
I can’t help myself. “That’s interesting,” I say calmly, stepping forward enough to shift the dynamic. “It’s funny how often people assume someone needs to be explained.”
Cherry blinks once.
Crosby looks at me, mouth slightly hanging open, before he snaps it shut and ducks his head so I don’t see the sly grin on his face.
I keep my tone light and professional. “One of the things I’ve noticed,” I continue, “is how much space Crosby gives people to define themselves. It’s rare and refreshing. But I’m sure you know that, seeing as how you’re still very good friends.”
Cherry’s eyes flare as she processes what I said, her face turning as red as her name. Crosby looks up, not hiding his smirk now.
Silence hums among us and I smile blandly at Cherry.
Miller looks confused as ever and clears his throat. “Hey, babe—I see Axel and his wife over there waiting for us.”
Cherry recovers quickly, a grateful smile snapping into place that her husband gave her an exit. “Of course.” Her gaze drifts that way, and she waves across the room.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say brightly.
“Yes,” she says hesitantly. “Nice meeting you too.”
She doesn’t look back at Crosby as they melt into the crowd. I follow their progress, my mind whirring as to what makes someone like Cherry the way she is.
“I’m sorry,” Crosby says.
I jolt and turn back toward him. “For what?”
He tosses his head their way. “That.”
“I hate to tell you, she’s not all that interesting.”
Crosby chuckles. “Yeah, but she thinks she is. I’m certain she was angling for a spot in your film.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure I can come up with a far more interesting angle than a woman who lacks no self-confidence and isn’t over her ex-fiancé.”
Crosby’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Not over me?”
“Yeah… she’s still got it for you. That was the entire reason she came over here.”
“But her husband was right there.” Crosby cranes his neck, trying to locate Cherry and Miller as if he missed a sign.
And it was obvious to me. “Miller’s whipped and is following along like a lost puppy. He’s exactly the perfect type for her, but he’s not what she wants.”
Crosby almost looks offended. “Well, she’s not getting me back. She has to be nuts to think that.”
My head tips back as I laugh. “She’s definitely self-centered with zero awareness, so I think she very much thinks that.”
Exhaling, Crosby runs his hand down his face. “I don’t have time for that shit.” But then he smiles at me, playful and amused. “But the way you handled her… that was epic. I’ll keep that on replay in my mind for a long time. I could kiss you for that.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Bet you say that to all the girls,” I murmur, and his gaze lifts.
“No,” he says, voice low and rich like melted butter, his eyes lasered onto mine. “I don’t.”
“There you are!” Arch’s voice cuts through the tension those few words and heated looks produced.
I turn to see the happy-go-lucky hockey player and close friend of Crosby standing there, his gaze flicking between us.
He frowns, sensing something might be off. “Did I interrupt?”
“No,” Crosby says, but his eyes stay on mine. “A little truth-telling between friends.”
I swallow hard. What does that mean? He really wants to kiss me?
And if he does, would I be averse to that?
I think the answer is evident.
I wouldn’t mind it at all.