Page 38 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

Dylan made a disgusted face, but he laughed too. It was interesting to see the lines around his eyes relax and realize how much of that was from stress.

“So I take it you’re not a fan of pineapple on pizza?” I asked between bites.

“Not even a little.” He slid his full mug of root beer toward me next, and I drank half of it in one gulp. I hadn’t even realized how thirsty I was. I pulled up my notes app on my phone and typed:

1. Doesn’t like pineapple pizza.

“What else?” I asked him.

“For what?” he asked, frowning. I missed the smile.

“I’m getting to know you,” I informed him. “So people will believe we’re together. It’s going to take more than a side hug for this to get back to Max.”

His frown deepened. “Max?”

“Eriksson. The whole reason we’re doing this.” I circled my finger between the two of us. “To make him fall madly in love with me. You’re the unsuitable love interest.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I knew you wanted to get together with that tool.”

“Um, the pot and the kettle and that whole thing,” I replied, but I leaned close, because even if he was talking about my love, tea was tea. “What’s your beef?”

“Max and I have never gotten along.”

“Jock versus nerd,” I said, nodding. “Clichés are cliché for a reason.”

He scoffed. “No,” he said, but some of the sparkle was back in his eyes. Good. “It was nothing major. He’s just always been a condescending jerk. Maybe he’s changed.” From his doubtful expression, it was clear he didn’t actually believe that. But people changed all the time. Look at my dad.

Which reminded me. I pulled out my tips to count them.

“What else should I know about you?” I asked as I flipped through the bills. My tips were always really good on nights the Peaks played.

“I play hockey.”

I waited, and when he didn’t say anything else, I stopped counting my money. His folded arms showcased those fabulous biceps. It may have been unintentional on his part, but his distraction technique was working.

“There’s got to be more to you than hockey,” I pressed.

“It’s the only important part.”

“And the pineapple thing.” I stuffed the bills back in my apron with a sigh, too distracted now to count accurately. It was becoming apparent to me why fans had a hard time connecting with Dylan. He was clearly very focused on hockey, to the point of neglecting everything else. “Did you do your assignment?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” I asked skeptically.

He crossed his heart with his fingers. “I read the entire book.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“My favorite scene was when she barged into the locker room after they had that huge fight—”

“Stop!” I put my hands over my ears to block him out. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Then how am I supposed to prove I read it all?”

“I don’t know.” I didn’t really think he’d do it. I mostly gave him the assignment to get under his skin. “Did you like it?”

He tilted his head to the side as if thinking about it. “I did. The author got a few things wrong, but I can tell she did her hockey research.”

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