2. Sloane
TWO
SLOANE
The cool March air nips at my cheeks as we walk away from the arena, following a stream of other people leaving the hockey game.
“Move those legs, lady. I’m freezing,” Whitney says, lengthening her stride.
I groan and reluctantly speed up my pace. The faster we walk, the sooner we get to the bar, and the sooner I have to face Danny.
“I know I agreed to this, but I’m having second thoughts. Maybe I could meet him another time,” I say with only a small twinge of hope that she’s going to let me off the hook.
“Nice try. You’ve already backed out twice. This is it.” Whitney grins at me as she pulls open the heavy door to the popular sports bar and restaurant near the Moonshot Hockey arena. “Ready?”
“No.”
Laughing, she grabs my hand. “It’s going to be great.”
“Will it still be great if I puke all over his shoes? Because that’s how I feel right now. I’m going to see him and throw up.” My stomach swirls with nerves. I wouldn’t be surprised if my face was green.
“Please don’t.” She frees my hand, but before I can make a break for it, Whitney links her arm through mine. “I just got through the part of this pregnancy where I feel nauseas, but I will one hundred percent throw up if I see it. Or smell it.” Her nose scrunches up.
Whitney is the only reason I agreed to this staged re-introduction.
She’s my best friend in Moonshot, and since she met Conrad last summer and got knocked up by the sweet, shy hockey player, there have been too many instances where I’ve narrowly missed running into his teammate and my old classmate Danny.
Now I’m looking over my shoulder at every turn.
It was bad enough living in the same town and seeing kids show up at school wearing Marlowe jerseys and his name popping up in random conversations.
At least before I felt safe in that our paths were never going to cross.
I’m a high school librarian and he’s a professional hockey player.
We don’t exactly run in the same circles.
Or we didn’t. Freaking Whitney had to go and fall in love with his best friend.
I know it’s pathetic that I hide every time he’s around, but I don’t think I can handle the blank, unrecognizable look on his face if (and now when) we see each other again.
It’s one thing to have a massive crush on the most popular guy in high school and him barely notice you, but it’s another to still be harboring that crush years later with no contact.
He wouldn’t know me if we passed each other on the street.
That should be comforting, but it only makes me feel tragic.
Whitney stops abruptly in the middle of the bar and faces me. A neon bar sign hanging on a nearby wall casts shadows over her face, but the intent in her dark eyes is crystal clear.
“Thank you for doing this. I know you’re nervous, but it means a lot. I need you around more than ever. I want this little baby girl to have her aunt Sloane and her uncle Danny without worrying about keeping you from seeing one another.”
I let out a small laugh, tinged in nerves. My smile is all bravado. “I’ll be here. Whatever you need.”
It’s one promise I intend to keep. No matter how awkward this encounter goes, I won’t let it stop me from being there for Whitney anymore.
She nods and then swivels around and takes one confident step before I stop her by clasping onto her wrist like a lifeline.
“Wait.”
She bounds right back, unbothered as she faces me again. I’m sure she expected this – for me to drag my feet all the way to the finish line.
“How do I look?” My face heats at the question. I finger-comb my hair and run my tongue along the front of my teeth, checking for popcorn kernels from the game.
Whitney’s smile is soft and reassuring. “Like the hottest girl from his high school.”
Without another word, she pulls me with her through the crowd and to the back corner of the bar. I keep my gaze downcast, but as we get closer, I can hear their laughter and deep voices more clearly.
My heart is racing, and my stomach is in knots. My plan is simple. I’ll say hello to Danny, we’ll laugh about how he doesn’t remember me, and then I’ll get out of here and pretend this night never happened.
Whitney comes to a stop and then sort of drags me to her side instead of from my safe spot behind her. I’m taller than her anyway so it isn’t like I can hide behind her. Though I had planned on trying.
“Hey, baby.” Conrad steps closer and drops a kiss to Whitney’s lips.
“Hi. Nice game. Congrats,” she says, slipping into the sweet, bubbly tone she reserves for him.
“Thanks,” he says, then I can almost feel his stare on me.
I flick my gaze up and attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace.
I’ve only met Whitney’s fiancé twice and both times were brief, but it’s so obvious how much he loves her that I already adore him.
But tonight I’m too stressed to make small talk.
“Hey, Sloane. Good to see you again.” His brows pinch together slightly.
“You too. Congratulations,” I echo Whitney’s sentiment.
“Thanks.” He looks back to Whitney, that furrowed expression still in place. “D-Low said something at the game. He thinks he went to high school with Sloane.”
Air drags through my lungs like sandpaper.
“He recognized her?” Whitney asks him, voice climbing with surprise and maybe a little excitement. She glances at me with a total ‘I told you so’ expression.
“So it’s true?” Conrad asks, looking at me for an answer.
“Yes,” Whitney answers when I don’t.
His stare ping pongs between us. “You knew that they went to school together and didn’t say anything?”
“You didn’t tell Conrad?” I ask at nearly the same time. I always assumed she confided in him.
Short, staccato bursts of laughter leave my friend’s lips. “I just found out and, I love you, Charming, but you would have acted weird, and Danny would have figured it out.”
“I would have figured what out?” The man I’ve been avoiding for months appears without warning. To be fair, the whole point of coming here was to run-into him but now that he’s here, I am having serious second thoughts.
Danny slings an arm around his teammate’s shoulder and then his gaze roams left, first on Whitney, and then… me.
I hold my breath as his eyes lock with mine and a slow smile stretches across his face. The knots in my stomach melt into something gooey and warm that spreads through the rest of my body. I’m liquified.
“Sloane Wingrove.” The way he says my name turns that liquid into a boil.
“Danny Marlowe,” I say in a much quieter, less assured way.
He drops his arm from around Conrad’s shoulders and moves toward me. He’s hugging me before I know what to do.
“I knew it was you.” His deep voice vibrates against my shoulder as his warm, spicy scent envelopes me.
“You did?” My voice wavers.
He steps back and aims that grin right at me as he nods. “I looked up in the crowd and there you were.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe his good luck.
“How are you? What have you been doing? How’d you end up in Moonshot?” He fires questions at me like he’s genuinely curious to know the answers. Like no time has passed. Like that wasn’t more words than he’s ever spoken to me.
I may have held onto my crush all these years, but there were things I forgot.
And his ability to always make people feel like the most important person in the room is at the top of the list. I don’t know how he does it.
We barely interacted in high school. We were in a lot of the same classes, but we didn’t run in the same group of friends.
And yet still something as simple as asking to borrow an eraser or saying hello could brighten my entire day back then.
He never looked through me. I can’t explain it, but even though we weren’t friends, I never felt like he was purposely ignoring me.
“Maybe let her answer one question before you ask another,” Conrad says with a small chuckle.
“Sorry. This is a trip. Can I buy you a drink?” Danny asks.
“You want to buy me a drink?” I can’t seem to do more than stare dumbfounded at him and wait to wake up from this bizarre dream.
“Yeah, I want to hear everything.”
Everything might be a little less exciting than he’s picturing.
Whitney beams at me as Danny motions for me to follow him toward the bar.
My legs are like lead as I move away from my emotional support human. Whitney nods approvingly. I’m doing this for her, I remind myself. And, fine, for my teenage self. She would be absolutely beside herself right now. (Turns out, twenty-four-year-old Sloane is as well.)
I step up to the bar beside Danny. He angles his body to face me.
He’s taller now and the tattoos are new.
His forearms are covered in them. Bright, colorful artwork.
A red rocket ship, yellow stars that make up some constellation I don’t recognize, a feather, an anchor, a hockey stick— and those are just the ones I can see without gawking for too long.
His hair is the same dark brown. The cut is nicer, but he almost always wore a hat in high school. A black one with the Mariners logo on the front. I wonder if he’s still a baseball fan.
“How long have you been in Moonshot?” he asks me.
“Two years.”
When the bartender approaches, Danny briefly moves his gaze to the guy.
“The usual?” he asks Danny.
“Yeah, and whatever she wants.” His lips pull up on one side. “Do you still like orange soda?”
“Excuse me?”
“You used to drink it at lunch,” he says, then waves it off. “Never mind. What do you want to drink?”
I pull my gaze from Danny to the bartender waiting for my order.
“Could I get a glass of white wine?”
“I have a pinot grigio and a chardonnay.”
“I’ll do the pinot. Thanks.”
When the bartender moves away to get our drinks, I find Danny watching me intently. My face flushes.
“Sorry. I’m staring. I can’t believe it’s really you. I often wondered what you were doing,” he says casually.
It’s nice of him to say even if it isn’t true.
“Well, you have been easier to track. Congratulations on… everything.”