Chapter 6 Eve #2
Pulling out my phone, I browse through app options. Love Struck catches my eye with its retro-inspired pink branding. It’s new. I overheard some Heston U students raving about it while I was bartending.
“This one seems cool,” I say.
“Do it, do it,” Lauren chants enthusiastically.
“We’ll help you with what to put in your profile.” Julia shuffles to sit on my other side.
“Fine, you win,” I say.
I feel silly creating a dating profile, but we all giggle as I download the app. They’re with me every step of the way to fill it in.
By the time the second bottle of wine is nearly finished off, I’m all set up on the app. The movie’s over and our paintings are done.
Lauren squeezes my hands when we’re all saying goodnight. “Just remember to have fun.”
“It’s what I deserve,” I say.
“Hell yeah, you do.” Caroline smiles and hugs me. “You deserve everything, so go out there and get it. That’s the fuck you Shawn’s earned.”
“Love you guys. Thanks for everything.”
After they leave, I run a bubble bath and pour myself the last of the wine. I add a scoop of bath salts and hum when I sink into the warm water.
I start a short, spicy audiobook on my library app, enjoying the narrator for the guy.
His seductive rasp is perfect for all the dirty things he tells the heroine.
I forget how his appearance was described, picturing thick dark hair, green eyes, and a chiseled jawline like I do for most romance book heroes.
My thighs slide together. The thrum of arousal burns through me, tingling across my skin. I pause the audiobook to take a sip of wine, then end up distracting myself when I see a notification from the Love Struck app at the top of my screen.
Settling back against the tub, I browse through profiles it pulls up in my area when I open it. A few promising ones make me pause, but most have cleared the pleasant haze I was enjoying while listening to the romance book.
Fictional men will always be superior to reality.
The hazardous thing about online dating apps when you’ve lived in the same town your whole life is that you know every one of the guys in the pool.
You know Peter who picked his nose and smeared it on you on the playground in elementary school.
Swipe.
You know Zach who asked you to Homecoming only to disappear five minutes after arriving so he could make out with his ex-girlfriend.
Swipe.
You know—
I freeze at the profile picture.
No way.
No fucking way.
You know your brother’s best friend from high school. The same hot hockey player who definitely was oblivious to how much he owned my heart before he moved away. The same guy who just moved back to Heston Lake to work as assistant coach…under your dad.
Cole’s photo stares back at me with a handsome smile, green eyes crinkled at the corners. At least he’s not holding up a freshly caught fish like most guys on dating apps.
Unlike them, he’s laughing genuinely at something. It easily makes him even more attractive, drawing me in with his natural magnetism.
Swipe, I tell myself. Swipe now.
The more I want to swipe away, the more opening it is the only thing I’m thinking about. Licking my lips, I drum my nails against the edges of my phone to ride out the temptation.
Looking wouldn’t hurt, right? He doesn’t have to know I saw him on here. We’re both just two people avoiding singlehood.
Impulsive curiosity wins out over logic. I tap into Cole’s profile.
His bio is briefer than mine, but I smile at the photos of his travels. He looks happy surrounded by kids in hockey gear. Coaching looks good on him.
Then again, everything about him looks good.
The match notification jumpscares me.
“What?” Water sloshes when I jolt upright.
The Love Struck app has our photos framed in pink hearts, declaring that he’s only 1.4 miles away from me in Heston Lake, Connecticut. It gives me options at the bottom of the screen to start a conversation, send a heart, set up a date, or unmatch.
My face heats when I realize we’re both wearing Heston U Hockey fan gear in the pictures we picked.
Mine’s a striped long sleeve shirt in Knights’ colors that I made myself with a heat press to add the logo.
His is a heather gray t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest beneath a shearling-lined utility coat that looks damn good on him.
It gives him a rugged vibe to go with his athletic build.
I bite my lip, rubbing my thighs together beneath the sudsy bathwater. A shiver runs down my spine from the silky feeling of the salts I added.
Maybe he didn’t get a notification. I hope this app doesn’t work that way. I’ll just unmatch him.
New message from Cole K.
There goes my hope that the dating app wouldn’t notify him that it thinks we’re a good fit. How do I tell this app he’s off-limits—no, double off-limits?
I open the message. At the bottom, the app asks Has love struck? Take this match to the next level. It also offers activity ideas, letting me know the planner found upcoming events happening in our area, suggesting the hockey game for a date.
Oh good. Of course there are read receipts. I can’t stalk the chat without responding. He already knows I’ve seen his message. Love that for me.
MightyPuck: What the fuck? No way.
CraftyCutie: Awkwaaaard [laughing emoji]
MightyPuck: I can’t believe it haha. How did we match? What are you even doing on here?
I relax. It seems he’s more amused by this than weirded out.
CraftyCutie: Me? Why are you on here, hmm?
MightyPuck: Don’t worry about it.
CraftyCutie: Who says I’m worried?
MightyPuck: Bet your brother will get a kick out of this [laughing emoji]
CraftyCutie: Hell no! Don’t you dare tell him. OR my dad!
MightyPuck: Okay. I’ve always got your back, Evie. They don’t have to know anything. It’ll be our secret.
The smile I didn’t realize I had while we were having fun challenging each other drops off my face. My thumbs hover over the keyboard while my heart beats hard and fast.
Maybe it’s the nickname only he uses. Maybe it’s the way I’m able to picture his sincere expression perfectly.
Hell, maybe it’s the wine going to my head.
I start to type out a confession I’ve kept to myself for years.
I’ve always through about y—
Before I finish, I delete it quickly. My cheeks heat. I can’t believe I almost told him I’ve thought about him. Thought about being with him. Fantasized about it.
Shaking my head, I huff out a laugh and reach for my wine glass, downing the last of it.
“That was close,” I murmur.
CraftyCutie: Soooo, we’re going to pretend this didn’t happen and never talk about it again, right?
MightyPuck: If that’s what you want, my lips are sealed.
A flutter tickles my stomach. I swipe my tongue across my lower lip while trying not to think about licking his—or any other part of him. Why does he have to be so unbelievably hot and sweet, considerate, kind, freaking sexy as hell—
Okay, okay. I need to stop.
It would never work between us. He fits perfectly with my family and they’ve always loved him. What if it ended badly and it was on me for making things weird for everyone?
Besides, there’s no way he sees me that way.
It’s just a silly old crush. Who doesn’t crush on their older brother’s best friend? It’s a rite of passage. Growing pains that you laugh about.
Except I’m not laughing and the flutter dancing between my chest and my stomach isn’t going away on its own.
I’m sure I’d do something to drive him away like my other exes.
It would gut me for Cole to get frustrated by the things I do that drove Shawn crazy because I couldn’t just function like normal people.
I gulp past the lump that sticks in my throat at the memory from one of our past fights, the words still embedded deep on my heart.
He would get so annoyed every time I bought a new planner, muttering that we both knew I wouldn’t stick with it, or when I would get overstimulated and need to change outfits ten times before going out, then he’d be a dick about my time management.
I rest my cheek against the edge of the bathtub, reminding myself that Shawn is an insensitive, selfish asshole. I can manage my neurodivergent brain with therapy and medication, but there’s nothing to fix being a fucking douchebag.
Surprise hits me when Cole texts me. I didn’t think he’d still have my number. Not that I ever deleted his from my contacts. I hold my breath as I read it.
Cole: I unmatched. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Good luck.
Eve: Thanks. You too. Did Heston win? I didn’t check the final score.
Cole: Yeah. They’re awesome. The team bus is on its way back now. I’m riding with them.
Eve: They didn’t see anything, did they? The…you know. The thing that we’re not talking about.
Cole: No we’re in the clear.
Eve: Good. They’re cool, but there’s no way I’d trust them with that information.
Cole: See you on Thanksgiving if you don’t stop by the rink to have lunch with your dad. Night.
Eve: Night.
Sighing, I sink lower until the water comes up to my nose. If only he wasn’t Benson’s best friend or Dad’s assistant coach. If we could be two random people who matched on this app. Maybe then we could flirt, and flirting would lead to a date.
And that date would lead to knowing how Cole Kincaid kisses. Whether he’s soft and teasing, or commanding and dizzying. Either way, I’d want it.
I’m left wondering what if until the bubbles dwindle and the bath cools.