Page 48 of One Day

“Yeah, if you want to come,” she offers. “Fitz always has extra tickets in case his family wants to make a last-minute trip down, and he gave them to me. I technically have three if you want to invite Flynn to come along. You don’t need to come,” she says, suddenly back peddling in her invitation. “If you don’t want to. I just thought maybe it’d be fun.”

I smile at the nervous edge in her voice. Nothing about Sonya has ever been nervous, not with me, and I’m wondering if this is a new addition to our friendship now that we’ve slept together. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do, not that I want her to be nervous with me but it’s a confirmation I need. She wants me to say yes. And fuck, all I want is to make her happy.

“I’m there.”

“Yeah?” she asks, not waiting for me to change my mind. “Okay, great! I’m glad. Did you want to come to the house and drive over with us or meet us there? We usually go to On The Bench after to celebrate.”

“Even when they lose?”

“Even then. They celebrate both. It’s a weird bonding thing, I think. They win together, they lose together,” she shares. “I don’t really understand it, but I’ve given up trying to understand hockey players and their rituals.”

“I’m going to be honest. I don’t know a damn thing about hockey. I’m probably going to need you to explain it to me.”

“We don’t go for the game, Cowboy. We go for the hockey butts. And don’t worry. I’ll explain as much as I can, but you’ll pick it up quickly.”

“How about you look at hockey butts, and I’ll just admire yours.”

“Are you an ass man, Walker? I had no idea,” she says as if she hasn’t felt my stare on her ass in the last year and a half. I am only human. “I can’t really blame you. My ass is fantastic,” she hums out, confident as ever.

“I’m pretty sure I’m just a Sunny man,” I admit before I can think over what that means. There’s a string of silence between us, and I’m about to correct myself when she graces me with that small giggle again.

“Smart man.”

Smiling, I lean into the edge of the bookcase. “I have my days,” I tell her, tucking my free hand into my jean pocket.

Maybe this was a bad idea, all of it. We opened a door that I don’t know can ever properly be shut again.

I feel myself wanting more of her, craving everything she’ll give me, but the panic is quickly replaced by the memory of her moaning last night. The way she had arched into me, pulling me into her. She wants this just as bad and doesn’t need to tell me because I felt it.

“I’ll meet you guys there. What time?”

“Seven.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at seven.”

“Bye, Cowboy,” she says, and after returning the gesture, the line goes dead, and I’m left to stare at the wall of history books in front of me. I don’t know if there is an easy way to get myself through this without any damage. She already has a tight hold on my heart. I handed it over without question because I knew she’d protect it from any outside harm.

Problem is, I’m not sure it’s the outside I need to be worried about.

She’s going to break your heart.

“Damn, you must have left an impression if she’s already calling you,” Flynn says with a teasing grin, her eyes glistening with warmth.

“Oh, fuck off,” I say, sinking back into my abandoned chair. “She was inviting me to Dylan’s hockey game tonight.”

“You? At a hockey game?”

“Yes, me at a hockey game.” I roll my eyes in her direction while pulling my laptop towards me, waking it back up to the notes I’ve been putting together for the law school admission test I’ll be taking in the coming months as I prepare for my final year in undergrad. “It’ll be fine. I can handle a hockey game.”

“Sure you can, Sport.”

Maybe I overestimated just how ready for a hockey game I am. The parking lot outside the MacDonald arena—better known as The Barnyard—is packed. I knew our team was good and had a fair amount of off-campus attention, I just didn’t realize how much.

Shouldering my way through the crowd, I spot Sonya standing on a set of stairs leading up to the arena with Bekah at her side. She lifts her hand when she spots me, taking a few steps down to meet me at the bottom step, putting her right at my eyeline.

“Hi, Cowboy.”

“Hi, Sunny,” I say with a smile, lifting my gaze from her for a second to acknowledge Bekah, who’s bundled up in a puffy black coat. A dark blue beanie is pulled over her dark curls with the Mustangs white, gray, and neon blue logo stitched into the front. The horse’s mane and eyes, a blazing blue flame.

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