Page 78 of Head Over Skates

“Ridiculous…ly crazy about you, Kitty Cat.” I lean in slowly. Emily meets me halfway, her lips pressing softly against mine.

Kissing her feels like coming home. Like she’s the family I’ve been searching for my whole life.

Before we get carried away outside of a police station, I end the kiss by giving her a sweet peck on her nose. "You do realize this gives you a juicy story for your blog now, right?"

Emily's eyes light up. "Oh my gosh, you're so right! This is gonna be epic." She whips out her phone, fingers flying as she starts taking notes, completely in the zone.

Just then, Coach Knight exits the station and spots us on the bench. He ambles over, hands on his hips.

"Well, we got Mark his job back on the condition he attend Gambler's Anonymous meetings and get on a debt repayment plan with help from the club. So I suppose some good has come out of this mess after all."

I nod, relieved to hear Mark won't face any criminal charges.

"As for you two," Coach says gruffly, "it seems I can't turn my back for two seconds without you stirring up trouble. But… I suppose things worked out in the end this time."

Emily and I exchange a grin. Coming from Coach, that's high praise.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a team to whip into shape for our game on Friday. I expect you bright and early for practice, Jablonski."

He gives us one last stern look before lumbering off towards his car. Emily turns to me, eyes dancing with excitement.

"So, I guess it’s too late to go to the Science Center?”

I smile and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I think Cyrus probably took the bus home by now. But I can call Shannon and ask her if it’s okay to pick him up there.”

“Look at you. Asking permission.”

“I’m trying to be a better man.”

For her. Because of her.

“But first, let’s eat. I'm starving after all that drama. What do you say we grab a bite at St. Lawrence Market?”

Emily nods eagerly. "I'd love that."

24

OWEN

Emily dances around my kitchen wearing one of my old Titans jerseys, the oversized fabric swallowing her petite frame. The hem skims the tops of her toned thighs, and I find myself wishing it would ride up just a little more to reveal those cut-off jean shorts I know are hidden underneath. She bops along to the pop song playing from her phone, using a spatula as a microphone while she flips the grilled cheese sandwiches in the pan. I will never tire of this.

Seeing her happy and relaxed in my home, it does something to me. It just feels right having her here, even if she refuses to move in. I know better than to push. For now, I'm content with our current arrangement—her days spent here cooking up a storm in my gourmet kitchen while I sleep on her lumpy couch at night, keeping guard like a faithful watchdog.

Emily loves having full access to my big kitchen and quality cookware to experiment with new recipes. She says it helps spark her creativity or something artsy like that. And I'm certainly not complaining about the amazing meals I get out of this little arrangement. Once I finally convince her to let me buy us a house in a better neighborhood, I'm going to marry thiswoman. I know asking now will spook her, though, so I'm biding my time. I can be a patient man when I want to.

As she plates up the sandwiches, Emily catches me staring and grins. "You know, you could help instead of just standing there looking pretty," she teases.

I shake my head, moving into the kitchen to wrap my arms around her from behind. "Nah, I like the view too much." I nuzzle into her neck, placing a kiss below her ear.

She swats me away with the spatula, but I can see a faint blush on her cheeks. "Behave yourself and grab the chips."

"Yes, dear," I say in my most polite voice, dodging another swat as I grab the bag of chips.

We settle in at the kitchen island, Emily perched on one of the stools while I stand and lean against the counter. The grilled cheese is perfection, gooey and buttery, with crispy fried cheese on the edges… just how I like it.

“What are you going to do during my hour with Gwyn?” I ask around a mouthful of crunchy sandwich.

Gwyn is the team resident therapist. After about a thousand denials that I suffer from anxiety, Emily gently coaxed me into trying it. She went to my first session with me. But now, Gwyn prefers it if I go alone. Usually Emily shops at Borders Books while she waits.

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