Chapter Twelve
Gale squeezed into the narrow booth at Dotty’s Diner. His knees barely fit under the laminate table as he leaned back against
the cracked red vinyl seat and surveyed the scene. This was his second-favorite twenty-four-hour dive joint in Austin. The
plates formed a patchwork collage, like a map of forgotten road trips. What always caught his eye, though, was the diner’s
collection of novelty salt and pepper shakers. On a shelf above their table was a pair shaped like kissing cowboy boots. The
place had a vibe—chaotic kitsch cool.
That’s why he’d suggested it when Harriet’s message had lit up his phone. Meet up? Two little words, and his heart had nearly punched through his ribs.
And he knew in an instant what he wanted. Harriet sitting across from him in one of her prim collar shirts and glasses, that
slicked-back ponytail begging to be tugged free.
Fuck.
And when she turned up exactly how he’d hoped, except that her white button-up was actually a whole-ass dress, well, it did
things to him. Filthy, secret things that had no business crawling through his mind. Talk about out of his league.
She was the one with the PhD in robotics, designing the future, while he tried to remember what winning felt like.
He needed to get smart and figure out how to turn this part of his brain off.
But then again, he’d never pretended to be a fast learner at anything besides hockey, and lately even that felt like a stretch.
His heart kept hammering. Just watching her concentrate shouldn’t make his pulse skip—shouldn’t turn his insides molten when
she was just reading a damn menu. But here he was, acting like a teenager with his first crush.
“Are you getting the doughnut burger?” she continued, completely oblivious to her effect on him. “God. Look at that thing!
A quarter pounder between two glazed old-fashioneds and it’s got cheese AND applewood-smoked bacon.”
“Nah, that’s not for me.” He chuckled at her shock. “I’m a creature of habit. Always get the same thing.”
“Then you gotta let me guess your order. I want to see how close I get.” She studied in silence before peering over the top
of the menu, a trifle smug. “The three-berry pancakes. That’s my vote. Final answer.”
“Too bad, so sad.” He reached across the table, his finger landing on the item listed under house specials. “Try the Elvis.”
“The . . . Elvis?” She adjusted her glasses with a confused frown. The unconscious gesture detonated something in his chest
because apparently his specific kink was Her Doing Literally Anything. The glasses, the way she analyzed a menu like it was
a fascinating puzzle, her whole hot-librarian aesthetic—it was all unbearably hot in a way that felt personally crafted to
wreck him.
He slumped back in the vinyl booth, spreading his arms wide with a grin he hoped passed for casual. “Guess you could say it’s
the King of sandwiches.”
“A grilled peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich?” She cocked an eyebrow, lips twitching. “My arteries just filed a restraining order. I think I’ll go with the homemade peach cobbler and coffee instead.”
After they put in their orders with a waitress who apparently cosplayed Betty Boop, Gale’s gaze drifted back to the salt and
pepper shakers on the long shelf above their table. A quiet “aw” escaped him.
“What’s up?” She turned, following his line of sight.
“See those,” he muttered, jutting his chin in a reverse nod. “They look like Biscuit and Deke.”
Harriet followed his line of sight to a pair of salt and pepper shakers shaped like two orange kittens.
“Who are Biscuit and Deke?” She glanced back, realization dawning. “Wait, did you name the kittens?” He gave a tentative nod.
“And does this mean you’re accepting your fate as a proud cat dad?”
“I guess so.” Gale felt his ears warm slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to drop his guard a bit more. “Okay,
don’t tell anyone, but . . .” His gaze shifted from the ceramic kittens to trace the graceful line of her profile. “I’ve got
a soft spot for small, cute things.” The words came out softer than he’d intended, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to
look away from how the light caught the curl of her hair.
Her smile disappeared like someone turning off a light switch as an internal guard went up, her expression going on lockdown.
“So anyway, we’d be better to pivot to business.” She drummed her pink-polished nails on the table. “What E.M.M.A. has been
saying . . .”
He listened, mentally cringing at his own misguided attempt at .
. . whatever that had been. Of course she’d want to keep things professional.
He pushed down the urge to apologize—that would only make it more awkward—and tried to focus on her explanation about E.M.M.A.
, until the actual content of her words finally registered.
“Let me get this straight: Your AI thinks I need a love life?” Gale interrupted, flicking the chrome napkin dispenser in the
table’s center. “Come on.”
She fixed him with a stern look that sent an unexpected tremor down his spine. Without breaking eye contact, she reached into
her purse and pulled out a tablet, tapping her screen. “This is harsh, but I want to be clear what’s at stake here.”
The home page revealed a list of trending news, his photograph beneath damning headlines. Gale winced as he read them.
Knight Falls: Benched for Another Game
From Star to Scratch
Regals Hit with a Gale of Disappointment: Knight Posts Career-Low Numbers
“Thanks, but I think I’m well aware I’m in a slump.” He sank lower in the booth, shoulders tight with defensiveness. “And
come on, you can’t seriously think my love life—or lack thereof—is affecting the game. That’s ridiculous.”
The Betty Boop waitress returned, refilling their coffee without asking. Gale nodded gratefully, wrapping his hands around
the warm ceramic, wishing some heat would leach into his hands.
Harriet waited until the waitress was out of earshot before leaning in, her voice low and commanding. “When was the last time
you had a real conversation with someone that didn’t involve hockey? Talked about feelings? Hopes? Dreams?”
He wanted to say “with you,” but something told him that would go down like a lead balloon, especially after his earlier misstep.
His eyes drifted around the diner, past chrome and neon, searching for an answer that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic.
The LOVE IS ALL YOU NEED sign in the window flickered, as if mocking him.
“Brooke,” he said finally. “I have my sister.”
“You check in on your favorite new—and only—nephew, not yourself.” Harriet stirred creamer into her coffee with deliberate
slowness, the spoon making soft circles against porcelain. “Remember, I talk to Brooke more . . . and hear all. Try again.”
He swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of Harriet’s intense gaze. He fumbled with a spoon, nearly dropping it. “I . . . I
can’t remember,” he admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter.
“That’s what I thought.” She set her spoon down with a soft clink. “Now, let’s discuss the fix.”
Gale spread his elbows on the tabletop, his forehead nearly touching the tacky Formica. “Fix what, exactly? I’m not doing
the dating app thing. And right now I have to figure my gameplay out.”
“I trust E.M.M.A. and you trust me.” Harriet gestured to the headlines again, her tone brooking no argument. The professional
distance in her voice made his earlier moment of vulnerability feel like a lifetime ago. “This is your path.”
Gale sighed, running a hand over his face before stacking jam packets. The aroma of frying bacon suddenly felt like too much—he
wanted fresh air. He didn’t want to do this, but he also didn’t want to let Harriet down. “Alright, alright, I’ll give it
a shot. But I swear, if this ends up in some cheesy tabloid . . .”
Harriet laughed, the sound bright against the backdrop of clinking silverware and sizzling griddles. “Just do what E.M.M.A.
says. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied automatically, then blinked in surprise at his own words. He rarely called anyone “ma’am,” especially not someone just a few years older. But something about Harriet’s presence just pulled that response out of him without thinking.
She was still grinning as she leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Really? ‘Ma’am’? That’s new.”
He busied himself arranging sugar packets, hoping she couldn’t see how flustered he felt.
As she resumed her explanation, Gale made an effort to focus. But part of his mind kept drifting back to that night in his
kitchen—for a few hours, life had felt better, until that heated moment when everything shifted. The memory of her scorched
through him—wine and raw need, her tongue claiming his mouth like she’d been starving for it. She’d arched into him with a
soft moan that still echoed in his dreams, her curves molding against every hard plane of his body as he’d pinned her to the
counter. He could still feel the bite of her nails on his shoulders, the way her thigh had slid between his legs, the heat
of her skin burning through their clothes.
“You’re doing that thing you do sometimes,” her voice cut through his thoughts.
“What?” Gale asked, trying for innocence.
“Where you pretend to listen but you’re zoned out. Care to share with the class?”
He resisted the urge to flinch. “Won’t happen again.”
Harriet’s lips curved. “Good.”
As they dug into their food, Gale felt a strange mix of anticipation and nervous energy. He was stepping into uncharted territory,
far beyond the familiar confines of the ice rink. But as terrifying as it was, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder,
What if E.M.M.A. was right?
When they finished, they headed to the parking lot. “I’ll walk you to your car,” Gale said.
“That’s sweet, but no need. I’m just right over there under the streetlight and—”
“There’s something else I want to say.” He hadn’t realized he was going to do this until just this second. Something about