Page 34 of Finn

Sighing, I simply divulge as much as I can. “Look, I know you want me to find someone. And I love that about you. But don’t worry. Someday I will”—that one is a little lie—“it’s not going to be Finn, though. Or anyone else right now. I’m just not in the right headspace for a relationship, okay?”

She nods and says, “I can accept that. And I’m sorry I pushed you. That was wrong of me. You’re right. You’ll know when it’s time.”

“Yeah, I will,” I agree, knowing all the while that “time” will never come for me.

Finn

First, the bad news…

With six minutes and ten seconds left in the third period, and our team up by only a goal, I’m digging in the corner for the puck with one of the Predators’ nastier players.

I win the battle and start to skate away with the puck, but the rotten fucker I’ve been tussling with tries to stop me by reaching out with his stick and hooking my ass.

But it’s not my ass, or my leg, that he hooks. No, the blade reaches up to my fucking face and under my visor, resulting in a slice to my cheek that starts pouring blood.

I think it probably looks worse than it is, as it doesn’t hurt all that much, but I still have to leave the ice with our trainer with a towel pressed to my face.

Now the good news…

Despite the bleeding, just as I suspected, the cut is not all that deep. I don’t even need real stitches. In the back, the trainer seals up the wound with a liquid-stitches ointment.

I’m amped to get back in the game, but it’s too late.

An assistant steps into the room and tells us that we just won.

That’s great, and the cool part is that we scored another goal on a power play after that asshole who cut me got kicked out ofthe game. But I’m bummed that I can’t get back in and score one myself.

The trainer assures me that I’ll be good to go for the next game, so that makes me feel a little better. I am fortunate, too, that I now have the opportunity to hit the showers before my teammates do, seeing as I have a date tonight with Sammie.

Er, I mean a dinner.

Yeah, not a date, I remind myself.

Once I’m cleaned up, and with my hair still slightly damp, I tug on black dress pants, black socks, a nice pair of shoes, and an olive-green button-down shirt that I roll up the sleeves on.

Finally, the best news…

When I walk into the lounge down the hall from the locker room, not only is Sammie in there waiting for me, which is cool on its own since I had this fear that she’d blow me off, but she rushes over to me and places her hands on either side of my face.

I love that she’s touching me. I don’t even feel the lingering sting in my cheek. I just feelher.

“Oh my God,” she says, sounding equal parts worried and relieved, if that’s even possible.

She shakes her head slowly as she assesses my injury. “I saw that stick come up and hit you in the face. I thought the worst had happened. But this doesn’t look too bad. Are you all right, though? I see there’s a little swelling, and—” She squints as she continues to examine me. “—it looks like they sealed the cut up with something.”

I’m glad no one else is in the lounge at the moment, because I’m able to enjoy her touching me and revel in her concern.

I mean, fuck, she clearly cares.

I let her hands remain where they are as I tell her, “I’m fine. It looked worse than it was. I didn’t even need real stitches, just liquid ones.”

Biting her bottom lip, her eyes meeting mine, she asks softly, “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head, then instantly regret doing so, because she drops her hands to her sides, like my movement alerted her to the fact that she was still touching me.

Crossing her arms, she asks, “Do you still feel like going to dinner? If not, I understand. We can always go another—”

I stop her by touching her elbow, cursing the leather jacket she has on, even though it is cute as hell, as is her whole outfit.

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