Page 66 of Playoff

“Yeah, but chances are I’m going back to Phoenix, so the fraternization will be over soon.”

“That’s a very cynical perspective, but for conversation purposes, let’s look at that scenario. What do we do if youdoget sent back down? The long-distance thing? It’s about an eight-hour drive to Phoenix, and we both travel during the season. How would it work?”

“It’ll be hard for a while, but next season is probably going to be my last. I can’t afford to keep playing in the minors. My car is falling apart, I live in a tiny two-bedroom with Bodi where we’re on top of each other constantly. I really need to go back to school to finish those last few classes, get my degree.”

“And then?”

“I’d like to open a training business. Maybe even a gym. But I’d have to save up, build up both my reputation and my client base. One of the guys I played with a couple years ago who already retired is doing that, so I might work with him.”

“Where is he based?” she asks.

“Phoenix.”

Our eyes meet.

Fraternization clause or not, this will be complicated.

“I know, it’s not going to be easy if we want to keep seeing each other,” he says. “But I started coming up with the plan before… you. Us.”

“Blake, there isn’t an us,” she says. “I mean, I guess there’s starting to be, but right now we’re running on hormones and memories. I don’t think we’re in a position to make future plans this early in the game.”

“That’s very true. So why don’t we see what happens before we think about the logistics? Right now, I want to enjoy being with you again while I focus on maybe winning my first—and only—championship.”

She looks momentarily undecided, as if this is a huge decision for her, and I find myself holding my breath again.

I really fucking want her to say yes.

I want—no, I need—to get another chance with her.

“All right,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “But sneaking around is going to get old.”

“It’s only constrictive on the road,” I say. “Once we’re back in L.A., it’ll be easier. No one is going to see us at your apartment or if we go out to dinner or something.” An idea occurs to me. “Speaking of which, I want to take you out on a date.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes twinkle now. “Do you remember our first official date that wasn’t something school-related?”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I do. Back row of the Montrose Movie Theater. We saw Godzilla. And I don’t remember a single thing about the movie.”

She grins. “Neither do I.”

I suddenly have a million ideas for date nights.

I’m broke—at least until we get our bonus for this round—and don’t even have full-time access to a car, but I’m going to be the most romantic fucker a broke minor league hockey player can possibly be.

Okay, technically, I am not currently in the minors.

I’m playing for the Phantoms, in the playoffs, and doing a hell of a job.

But I’ve been in a position like this before—at the college championship level—and still wound up spending ninety-nine percent of my career in the minors. So I know better than to take anything for granted.

Including getting a second chance with the only woman I’ve ever truly been in love with. It was young love but it was real. I don’t know where this can go, or if it can go anywhere, but I sure as fuck plan to find out.

“Fuck, we just got an all-hands text,” she murmurs, looking at her phone.

I snap out of my romantic fantasy and grab my phone.

Yup.

Meeting to watch video from last night’s game at three, team dinner at five, lights out at nine—we’re on a curfew tonight.

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