Page 96 of From Fling to Ring

Of course, I know why he’s here. I’m just being a brat and making him say it.

“You know, I woke up one morning and thought I’d chase you across the continental United States and then the Atlantic Ocean because I had nothing else to do. It’s bye week, so I had some time on my hands.”

I wrinkle my nose. “What the hell is ‘bye week?’”

“We get a week-long break before the playoffs start.”

“You’re in the playoffs?”

He nods.

Jesus, I am so out of the loop. On the other hand, why would I be following hockey when I’m trying to forget this guy?

The guy who populates my dreams every night, who is the last person I think of before I fall asleep and the first whose face I imagine when I wake up.

Damn him.

“So you just board a plane during your bye week because nothing screams psycho like transatlantic stalking?”

He considers this. “Never been called psycho before. You know how to make a guy feel good.”

He laughs, the sound filling the café and turning heads. People smile, assuming we’re just another young couple in love, enjoying the beautiful city.

He leans toward me. “Look. I know I messed up. Big time. But I can’t shake this feeling that we have unfinished business.”

“And a quick trip to Paris is going to fix that?” I ask.

He takes my hand and it feels so good I want to crawl into his lap. I consider snatching it away because I don’t want to be tempted by this man.

Only, I don’t.

“I miss you. I miss us,” he says without hesitation.

“You’re just lonely.”

“No, I’m not lonely. It’s just that I’m without you.”

“I thought you were a nice guy. But you’re not,” I say, my resolve weakening by the second.

“Yeah well, I thought you were a nice girl. And I’m still willing to consider you might be, and that this is just a big fucking snafu that someday we’ll look back on and laugh our asses off over. Look, I let you get away because of my pride, and fuck me if I’m too late but I have to tell you I love you. I’ve loved you from the beginning, before you loved me, before you even knew my last name.”

“What’s your last name again?”

He leans toward me and our lips meet for the first time in weeks, although it feels like I kissed him just yesterday.

“I knew you were going to crawl back to me,” I say.

“You did?” he asks, wrinkling his brow.

“No. Not really. It’s just that I saw someone say that that in a movie once and thought it sounded good.”

“Look, Lucy. I’m willing to fight for us and I’ll spend every day proving I’m worth it. But I can’t do it alone.”

“You mean that? Like, really mean it?”

“If you think I deserve a second chance, I’ll gladly take it. But only if you think I deserve one.”

“Shit. I’ve missed my French class.”

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