Page 11 of The Game She Hates

“Me? Crushing on a hockey player? You have the wrong number. I mean, sure, he looks like a model and movie star combined, but he’s a predator. I hated every minute he was in my office,” I exaggerate, trying to make a point. I did enjoy his scent; that was nice. But it was also threatening, drawing me closer. But that wasn’t intentional. Or at least I don’t think it was. Every comment, the way his gaze pierced me—it was all torture. I wish I had never laid eyes on him.

“Did you get hit on by Zane Ortiz?” Robyn fans herself, biting her lower lip. “I’m gonna scream. I’m gonna lose it. Lose it,” she singsongs.

“He tried to get my number. It was so annoyingly predictable.”

“So, this doesn’t sound like a therapy session if you’re telling me all this.”

I huff and shake my head. “He can’t be my client. For all the reasons I told you and Kendrick last time, and now, on top of that, he’s danger incarnate.”

“You’ve been hit on by your clients, clients’ parents, and some really handsome men. Why are you so worked up over Zane? You’re not even a fan of his. Do you maybe think you felt something for him?”

“Robs, drop that thought right now. I’ve dated enough pretty faces to know better than to give someone like him a second thought. I kept it professional the whole time.”

“Are you saying I can kiss my dreams of meeting Zane Ortiz goodbye?”

“Absolutely. Forget about it because I’ll make sure we never have to see each other again.” I rise from my chair and make my way to the kitchen. Dinner isn’t going to cook itself.

“You non-hockey fans are such grumps,” Robyn shouts after me.

I roll my eyes. Robyn thinks she’s invincible to heartache because she’s never fallen for anyone who could break her heart. She can’t possibly understand what it was like to meet Zane. It wasn’t just about his looks; there was something about him that drew me in, something I managed to resist only by the skin of my teeth.

After two successful sessions with my clients and a meeting with a social worker, it’s already lunchtime, which means Randy’s customary coffee and danish—or perhaps today I’ll opt for a scone. I often ponder whether I should make healthier lunch choices, but then I remind myself that my regular living room workouts grant me permission to indulge in a treat every day.

I stroll down the street to my favorite coffee shop, and the welcoming chime of bells greet me as I enter. Joining the queue, I take a moment to check my phone. While I’m not active on social media platforms, I do participate in a church group and often receive updates on the week’s activities and messages from the youth ministry that I sometimes lead.

Out of nowhere, a familiar husky voice startles me from behind. “It’s your turn now,” Zane’s voice rings out. I jump in surprise, turning to find him wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and an all-black outfit straight out of a magazine.

“What’s your deal looking like a robber?” I tease, masking the fact that seeing him sends my heart racing.

“Trying to blend in and avoid attention.” This explains his choice of shades indoors but he’s got it all wrong, black makes such a statement. I’m surprised he doesn’t know this.

“If you don’t want to stand out, you should try neutral colors,” I suggest, motioning to my own champagne jumpsuit. I don’t typically do bright colors either, but my office is an exception—I want it to be inviting, especially for the children who come to process their thoughts with me.

I quickly realize how absurd it is that I’m fixating on his incognito outfit choices. This is the second time we’ve accidentally bumped into each other here, and today feels less like a coincidence.

I turn back from placing my order with Randy and glare at him. “What are you even doing here?”

He raises his arms in mock surrender. “This is a public place, you know. You’re making it sound like I broke in or something.”

I give him another once-over to remind him that his outfit doesn’t exactly scream innocent bystander.

“I’m here at Randy’s every single day around this time, and I’ve never once spotted you.”

Zane just shrugs. “Happy coincidence. I come here often too.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this where you come to take selfies with your fans?”

He quickly gestures for me to lower my voice and steps closer, setting off alarms in my head. That scent again—citrus and spice. I instinctively take a step back, only to be stopped by the counter. I can’t handle any more of this.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t like to be seen in public. It creates chaos. Can we sit in that corner?” he asks, indicating a secluded spot where he was likely sitting, a coffee already on the table.

I feign glancing at my watch. “I have to get back to my office.”

“Can I at least walk you back?” he insists, his eyes hopeful.

“No need, it’s just around the corner,” I reply with a forced grin, eager to make my escape as soon as possible.