Page 58 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

Anna

I see Troy every night for the next week, both of us carefully avoiding the topic of his imminent departure after I asked him what day he’s leaving when he stayed the night at my place Monday night. It’s been strange having a man in my space, but not bad strange. More like, once upon a time, this was normal. But I’ve gotten very used to being on my own, and also Troy is nothing at all like Jared.

He’s so much better. So much sweeter. He gets up with me, makes breakfast for me while I shower, then walks me to my car, kissing me goodbye for the day before I go to work, and he returns to the cabin on the lake. Then he meets me at my house in the evening or I go to the cabin for a while to watch Bluey or roast marshmallows after eating grilled burgers or chicken before we head back to my place. The weekend is split between the cabin, where we play in the water with the kids as well as taking the canoe to the cove where we first made out for some time to ourselves, and my house for quiet time, sleep, and sex. So much sex. And I can’t get enough of any of it.

It’s idyllic. Perfect, even. Or it would be if the fact that he doesn’t actually live here weren’t hanging over our heads.

I didn’t realize how much I missed hanging out with friends, though, until I started spending time with Troy and his friends. Yes, I still enjoy time to myself, and by the end of the week, I’m approaching the limit where I’d like an hour or two all alone, but knowing that Troy’s leaving soon has me pushing those feelings aside. Soon enough, I’ll have all the alone time I want and then some.

Brit’s been keeping tabs on me but hasn’t scolded me for ignoring her this week. I think she knows that I’ll have plenty of time to hang out with her once Troy goes home.

Every time I think that, my heart gives a tiny squeeze. I do my best to keep my thoughts of him leaving light and easy, but when he comes to my door on Wednesday after work looking devastating in a light blue polo that brings out his eyes and khaki shorts, freshly shaved, hair still damp from a recent shower, I can’t do it anymore. It takes everything in me not to crumple at the sight of him, at the obvious effort he’s putting in to making this last night something special. But I manage to keep a tight rein on my emotions, smiling and kissing him back when he steps inside, not betraying the fissure in my heart that’s widening with every passing second.

I don’t want to ruin tonight, though. I want to keep hold of the magic we have for as long as possible. There’ll be plenty of time to fall apart tomorrow.

“I thought we could go out for dinner tonight,” he says, his eyes trailing over my body and leaving heat in its wake. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out as a squeak, and grimacing, I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. Going out sounds great.”

He gives me a sad smile, like he knows exactly why my voice is creaky, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge it. “Anywhere in particular you like to go? I saw a couple spots that looked good—there’s an Italian place across from the gazebo that has good reviews. Or there’s an Asian fusion place close to your friend’s shop that looked promising too.”

I blink for a second. I know those restaurants, though I haven’t been to either one. They’re on the pricier side. “Oh, um. The Italian place sounds good.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “Should I change first?”

Stepping closer, he sets his hands on my waist and pulls me in for a kiss. “Don’t change a thing,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

God, why does he have to be so wonderful? It’s not fair. He’s amazing and sexy and kind and says just the right thing to make me melt at all times, and he’s leaving tomorrow morning.

Part of me wants to stomp my foot and shout, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” like a toddler, but since I’m an adult who’s experienced my share of heartache, I don’t give in to the urge.

“Thank you,” I whisper instead, not trusting my voice to be any louder.

He gives me that same sad smile when he pulls back to let me grab my purse, then laces his fingers with mine after I lock my door and we head down the stairs. He leads me to his car, opening the passenger door for me, bending to kiss me once more before closing it and climbing in on his side.

We pass the short drive in silence. Normally I don’t feel the need to fill the silence with him—not anymore anyway—but this silence sits heavy between us, the air charged with the unspoken reality that this is our last night together. We both know it, our expressions and actions broadcast that knowledge, even if neither of us will talk about it.

When we get to the restaurant, we manage to make small talk about our respective days, but it’s lackluster, the ticking clock looming over us casting a pall on our normally easygoing conversation.

The food is delicious, and I know that this place will forever be haunted by the memory of this night for me, no matter how many times I come here in the future or with whom.

As we’re finishing our dinner, Troy picks up his napkin from his lap and sets it to the side, leaning forward with one forearm on the table, he holds his hand palm up.

Setting my fork down, I place my hand in his, quirking an eyebrow in question, because this feels a little odd.

He squeezes my fingers and sucks in a breath, holding it for a second before letting it out. Then he speaks. “Can we talk about tomorrow?”

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes asking the question. “I’d really rather not. Can’t we pretend tonight is the same as all the others? I don’t want …” My eyes dart around the restaurant, but only vaguely aware of the white tablecloths, the tiny oil lamps on each table filled with other couples, the extremely romantic setting. “I don’t want to ruin this,” I manage at last, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Troy stares at me for a beat, his expression unreadable, then he nods once, squeezes my fingers again, and releases my hand. “Okay. Later, then.”

I want to shake my head again, but I don’t. “Later,” I say instead.

I’m not really sure what there is to say about tomorrow, though. He’ll be leaving. I’ll be staying. We both knew that would be how this ended from the beginning. What more is there to say?

When the waitress comes and offers dessert, we confer silently before shaking our heads. “Just the check, please,” Troy says, clearly ready for the privacy of my apartment as much as I am.

“Will you be staying the night tonight?” I ask when we get to my front door. I’d assumed so, but when he said he wanted to talk about tomorrow, maybe that means I won’t see him in the morning.

“Of course,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on the back of my neck as I unlock the door. “Assuming you want me to.”

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