Chapter 7
SEVEN
“Congrats!” Sloane hugs me.
“You stayed,” I say with some surprise as I wrap my arms around her.
“Of course. I had to cheer you on.”
“You’re supposed to cheer the boys on.”
She waves a hand. “Same thing.”
“Not really.”
“I don’t know much about hockey, but you looked great yelling and drawing on that clipboard.”
I snort a laugh. “Well, thank you.”
She covers a yawn. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but this week kicked my ass. Are we still on for our Saturday morning walk?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” She smiles. “I’ll be over at nine.”
She backs away, then lifts one fist over her head. “Go, Coach Whitney!”
I’m laughing, shaking my head, when I turn around and head for my office.
It was a long week. Long practices, sleepless nights worrying about our first real test of the season, and on top of that, two of my math classes had quizzes.
I did not consider how mentally taxing it would all be when I made my plan for the semester.
The arena has emptied, and it’s mostly families waiting for the players to emerge from the locker room.
As I round a corner, I see Grady standing in the hallway with two men I recognize instantly.
One tall and broad with brown hair that brushes against the collar of his T-shirt and the other, a little shorter and leaner with blond hair and blue eyes a girl could get lost in.
I can’t actually see his eye color from here, but I remember them well.
My steps falter. I seriously consider ducking into another room or turning around and going in the other direction, but Conrad looks up and spots me while I’m deciding which way to go. My stomach performs a series of impressive somersaults.
What is he doing here? Was he here for the game?
Of course he was. He didn’t stop by after, that wouldn’t make any sense.
I move slowly toward the three men. I can’t believe he was here, and I didn’t notice him until now.
There’s no situation in which I would have thought that possible.
Shouldn’t my body have some sort of danger sensor that alerts me to ex-boyfriends and past disaster dates?
Grady notices me when I’m six feet away.
“Hey, look who came to watch the boys play,” he says to me.
“What a pleasant surprise.” My voice is a little too high pitched. I smile at August and then briefly at Conrad before I speak to Grady. “Good thing they didn’t know they were here until now.”
I motion with my head to the locker room behind us.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Grady lets out a small laugh. “I would have had thirty boys hogging the puck and taking shots hoping to impress you.”
“They were impressive,” August says. “They’ve come a long way since the summer.”
“They have.” Grady nods and smiles. The pride on his face is a reflection of the emotions I’ve felt all night. There’s no better feeling than watching their hard work pay off.
“Do you want to say hello before you take off?” Grady hitches a thumb to the locker room door.
Both men nod their agreement. Grady heads in first.
“Everybody dressed?” he calls, standing in the doorway.
After a short pause and a chorus of yeses from inside, he waves us in behind him. Music is playing, and the boys are laughing and talking. The excitement of winning their first game is palpable.
“Gentlemen, we have visitors,” Grady yells over the noise.
Penn follows Grady and then Conrad stops and holds the door for me.
“Thanks.” My cheeks burn as I pass by him. I never thought I’d see him again and now here he is. The only small justice in the world is that he looks as uncomfortable with our run-in as I feel.
The stench of sweaty hockey gear is mixed with body spray. I hold my breath and linger in the doorway. When the boys see August and Conrad, the room vibrates with cheers and whoops.
“Nice game tonight,” August says.
The two pro hockey players are hit with a barrage of questions at once. “What are you doing here?” “Were you guys here for the entire game?” “Did you see my goal?” “Did you see my assist?” “Are you coming to our next game?”
It’s adorable how awestruck they are. My stare holds on Conrad as he smiles at the boys and answers as many questions as he can, along with August.
Grady cuts them off about ten minutes in when it’s clear there’s no end in sight.
“Okay, I think it’s time to say goodbye. These guys need to rest up before their big game Monday night and your families are waiting outside.”
It still takes a few more minutes for Grady to extract August and Conrad from the boys’ ongoing questions and comments.
When the four of us step back out into the hallway, I inhale a deep breath and am hit with another scent—this one far more pleasant than whatever popular teenage body spray half the team wears—coming from Conrad.
It’s light and clean with just a hint of citrus.
He’s standing next to me as Grady thanks him and August again for coming.
“Good luck this season,” August says to us.
“You too.” Grady shakes his hand, then looks to Conrad.
The latter’s arm brushes against mine as he reaches forward. A pleasant jolt ripples up to my shoulder. It’s a sad day when arm contact makes me tingle. It might be time to get back on the dating apps.
August moves behind Conrad and smiles at me, extending his hand.
“Nice to see you again,” August says.
“Likewise.”
Then all that’s left is for me and Conrad to acknowledge each other. I take a step back, putting some distance between us as I say, “Thanks for coming.”
I spin around before he can reply—which is highly unlikely anyway.
“Thanks for coming?” I mutter to myself as I walk down the hallway and out the side door. I suck in the cold air and increase my pace as I hurry toward my car. I can’t wait to get home, take off my bra, and scroll cute dog videos. And absolutely not think about Conrad Shepard.
“Whitney.”
For a second, I think the voice is in my head, but when he calls out my name a second time, I pause. There’s little light out here and the employee parking lot is empty aside from my car and two others, but I don’t need to see well to recognize him.
“Hi?” The word comes out like a question.
“Hey.” He lifts a hand and rubs at the back of his neck. If I thought he’d suddenly decided to burst into a lengthy explanation for his every move, then I would be very disappointed.
After a few seconds of silence stretching between us, he says, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” My brow furrows.
“Being the worst date ever.” He smiles, but it looks strained.
It’s unfortunate that he’s so nice, he thinks he needs to apologize for not being into me. It only makes me want to know him more.
“It’s okay. Really.” I take a step closer to him.
“No, it isn’t. I . . .” He opens his mouth, then closes it. His lips press into a hard line.
“You don’t need to explain yourself. We went out, you weren’t into me, and we went our separate ways. I’ve barely thought about it.” Only once or twice every day (cough, hour).
His head tilts, and his blue eyes narrow like I’m speaking in riddles. “Not into you?”
“Well, yeah. Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”
“No.”
“No?”
He has a real way with one-word answers that somehow leave me more confused.
“Then I have no idea—”
He spins around, giving me his back, before I finish my sentence. Okay, then. I guess that’s that. Conversation over? Except he doesn’t move. His shoulders rise and fall and then he rakes both hands through his hair. What is happening?
“Listen. Honestly. Whatever the reason, I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I don’t typically date hockey players anyway. I admit I was a little disappointed. I liked you and it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been out with a guy I was excited about, but it’s been months now. So really. It’s fi—”
My words are cut off by his lips. He moved so quickly, I didn’t see it coming, but his mouth covers mine and his hands come up to frame my face.
Big, warm hands that cradle me carefully while his lips press against mine more insistently.
I inhale a surprised breath. My mind is spinning, but the rest of me leaps at the opportunity and cares little for the reasoning.
Maybe this is a “sorry, I don’t like you” kiss in which case, wow—I wonder how he kisses women he does like.
Later, I might replay this and be embarrassed at how eagerly I respond—fisting his shirt in my fingers and lifting onto my toes to get closer to him. But not now.
He lets out a low hum and pulls back far sooner than I want.
My eyes flutter open slowly. I might need him to kiss me one more time .
. . you know, to really cement how much he doesn’t like me.
I never understood hate sex, but if it’s anything like this “sorry, I don’t like you” kiss, then I need to rethink things.
“I’m not good with words. I freeze and my mind goes blank.
Especially with women.” He clears his throat.
“Especially women I’m interested in.” He waves a hand in my direction almost absently like “Hey, you. I guess you’ll do.
” Except his words combined with that kiss . . . I think I’m starting to understand.
“Who needs words?” I press two fingers to my lips.
“I did like you.” Even in the dark I can see his face is turning pink. “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong idea.”
“Did like me or do?”
His lips curve into a small, timid smile. “Do.”
He still isn’t saying much, but I’m hanging on his every word, processing and adjusting everything I thought I knew.
“Whitney?”
He has a nice voice—low with a hint of gravel. It’s both comforting and sexy. I think I could listen to him read my grocery list and be enthralled. Complete with video and I’d never need porn again.
I blink out of my haze.
“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Do you want to hang out?”
A nod. “More than anything.”
I let out a small laugh. “More than anything, huh?”
“Except maybe winning the Stanley Cup, but it’s close.”
“I can live with that. Should we get a drink or something?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.” His gaze drops to my mouth again.