Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
The door swings shut, and he’s gone.
Miller gawks at me. “What the…?”
I go cold everywhere. “Shit.”
“I mean, this is it,” Miller says, frowning. “He knows.”
My gut twists. It’s not like I’ve been Mister Secretive. I’ve taken Mabel out to lunch, kissed her in the bakery, fake-dated her. I’ve basically stopped hiding.
And yeah, it’s not his business and all, but my stomach curls with the realization I should have had this talk sooner. A lot sooner. “He probably does.”
Miller claps me on the back. “It was good knowing you,” he says as we head to the locker room, the sound of sneakers echoing behind us.
In a second, Lake catches up to us. “Is Knighty Night retiring?”
“Yep. He’s going to bow out because he’s about to get traded,” Miller deadpans.
Riggs is next, and he joins us. “Shit. Seriously?”
“No, I’m not getting traded. I have a no-trade clause. I just need to—” I stop and shed all these worries. She’s worth it. That’s the point of telling Theo. “I need to see Theo and tell him I’m going to date his sister.”
Lake winces, a rare show of emotion. “Got a death wish?”
Riggs pats my shoulder. “It was fun while it lasted. Playing with you and all.”
I flip them the bird, then turn around and hustle down the hall. I was going to do this after practice, but since Theo’s free now, I guess it’s now or never.
I bound up the steps, and rap on Theo’s open door. He’s at his desk, holding a cup of coffee.
“Come in—”
I barely let him finish the sentence. “We’ve been friends for more than a decade, right?”
His brow knits. “Yeah.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t think I’m a dick then.”
“No,” he says, then hesitates. “But should I?”
“Nope. Because I’m not. Was I there for you when Ginny left?”
“Yes. And what are you getting at?”
“Did I water your plants when you went out of town and your plant sitter flaked?”
He motions for me to spill. “’Fess up, Knight.”
“Did I root for you when you wanted to be GM?”
He heaves a sigh. “Yes. What. Is. It?”
Undeterred by his impatience, I square my shoulders, blow out a breath, and come this close to saying, I’m in love with your sister.
Because I am. I’ve been falling for her for a long time. I’m also sure I fell. Pretty sure I’ve known it on some cellular level since the night she came to my game right before the holidays—when I felt relaxed on the ice, steady even, thanks to her. When I stopped fighting the way I felt. When I accepted that these feelings weren’t going away. But I’m not going to tell him before I tell her. And I’m not going to tell her until the right moment.
For now, I meet Theo’s steely eyes and say, “I’m crazy about your sister, and I wanted you to know we’re going to start dating. For real.”
He drops the mug of coffee he’s holding.
The mug crashes to the wood floor, hot coffee splattering everywhere, along with the handle. Theo doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are locked on me, wide, furious—or maybe just stunned. “You’re what?”
Damn, that felt good to get off my chest. I roll my shoulders and practically strut to the chair opposite his desk. I stop though. The polite thing to do would be to help clean up.
I head to the men’s room, grab some compostable paper towels, and return to wipe up the coffee on the hardwood.
He takes some too, and we clean together. He scrubs harder than anyone needs to, breathing out with each push of the towel.
“Did you just…did you seriously tell me you’re dating my sister in the same tone you’d use to ask me for extra tickets to a game?”
“I did,” I say, feeling a thousand times lighter.
He shakes his head. “Back this up. Try again. Tell me something that doesn’t end with me wanting to aim darts at your picture.”
“Want me to pick you up some new darts? Game store’s right by the rink.”
He exhales heavily. “And she’s…into you?” He sounds like he can’t quite believe it.
A small laugh escapes me. The floor’s clean enough now so I rise, toss the towels in the compost bin, then nod. “She is. And I’m…just fucking besotted.”
He blinks. “Fucking besotted? Are you a wordsmith today? From your metaphors to this?”
Maybe the love letters are rubbing off on me. “I guess I am.”
“I…” he begins, but he can’t seem to form words. He’s never speechless.
So I take the reins. “Listen, I get that you don’t like her exes. I don’t either. I get that you’re protective. I am too. I also understand that you don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t either. And you should know I’m going to treat her like a queen.”
He doesn’t need to know I’ve already been doing that.