Page 19 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

I brush a strand of hair from my forehead, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in my gut. "Maybe I'm tired of the old game."

"Just shy of a week, Dakota." His voice drops lower. "You've known her five days."

"I know how long it's been."

"And she leaves tomorrow."

"I'm aware of the calendar, thanks."

Kaleb sighs. "Just... be careful. Long distance is hard."

"Who said anything about long distance?" Even as I say it, I know I'm lying to myself. These last few days of coffee dates and beach walks and late-night texting, and somehow I'm contemplating changing my entire MO.

When we return to the fire, the group has shifted. Asher and Elle have wandered down to the water, his guitar abandoned beside the log. Ryder and Jayden have disappeared entirely, probably back to the house. Only Harmony remains, poking at the fire with a stick.

"The natives have abandoned us," I say, sitting beside her again.

"Apparently I'm very boring," she replies with a small smile.

"Impossible."

The fire pops and hisses, sending sparks upward to join the stars.

"Day after tomorrow, you're off, and I'll be stuck here with these old goons," I say, trying to keep my tone light.

Harmony's laugh is gentle. "You know I have a life back home, Dakota. Yeah, it sucks, but that's the real world."

"The real world is overrated."

"Says the professional hockey player with the beach house."

"It's not my beach house," I clarify. "I just pay rent."

She nudges my shoulder with hers. "Still."

I turn to face her, studying her features in the dying firelight. The freckles across her nose, the slight cleft in her chin, the way her eyes reflect the flames. Five days shouldn't be enough to memorize someone's face, but here I am, trying anyway.

I lean forward and kiss her, soft and slow, like we have all the time in the world instead of just a day. When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.

Chapter 13-Harmony

There’s a heaviness in my chest. Today. That's all we have left before I fly back to Oklahoma and reality crashes down on whatever this thing is between Dakota and me. His arm is draped over my waist, but when I turn to look at him, his eyes are already open, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that makes my stomach clench.

"Morning," I say, my voice still rough with sleep.

"Hey." Just one word, but it lands between us like a stone. None of his usual warmth, no "morning, Miss Green Eyes" or playful grope under the sheets.

I slide out from under his arm, feeling suddenly exposed despite wearing his oversized Renegades t-shirt. The clock on his nightstand reads 7:38 AM. Time—the enemy we've been ignoring all week—is suddenly very much present.

"I need to check some weather data," I mutter, reaching for my phone. It's a lie. The first of the day, and it's not even 8 AM. I don't need to check anything; I just need a moment to rebuild the walls he's been systematically dismantling since we met.

Dakota sits up, sheets pooling around his waist. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and normally he'd make some joke about sex hair and morning stubble. Today, he just runs a hand through it and sighs.

"Caffeine Beach?" he asks, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Sure." I clutch my phone like it's a lifeline. Data. Numbers. Predictions. Things I understand.

We move around each other in a dance that suddenly feels choreographed rather than natural. He showers first while I pretend to be absorbed in my email. I shower next, lingering under the hot water, trying to wash away the feeling that something fundamental has shifted overnight. By the time I emerge, dressed in shorts and a lightweight blouse, he's waiting by the door, keys in hand, face a blank canvas.

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