Page 23 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

“I hired someone to return it for you this morning. I wanted to take you to the airport. You can check your email. I’m sure you have a return confirmation,” I say.

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” she replies with a small smile.

The beach house is quiet. Kaleb's the only one who might be around, but there's no sign of him as I lock up.

Harmony slides into the passenger seat of my Porsche, her posture straight and tense. I climb in beside her with the engine purring to life as I back out of the driveway.

"Nice day for flying," I say lamely as we pull onto the highway that leads to Charleston International.

"The conditions are optimal," she agrees, professional meteorologist mode engaged. "Clear skies, minimal wind shear, no weather systems that would cause turbulence or delays."

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. "Good to know."

The silence grows again, broken only by the GPS voice giving directions. Harmony stares out the window at the passing shore.

"I had a good time," she finally says, still looking out the window. "This past week."

"Yeah?" I glance at her. "Even when I dragged you to that team party and Kaleb tried to explain the entire history of hockey to you?"

A small smile touches her lips. "Even then." She turns to face me. "Your friends are... interesting."

"That's one word for them." I grin, remembering how she'd held her own against my teammates, correcting Kaleb's weather misconceptions.

"Elle and Asher make a good couple," she says.

"Yeah, they do." My grip tightens on the wheel. "Never thought I'd see the day Asher Gray settled down, but here we are."

"And Ryder and Jayden?"

"Disgustingly perfect for each other." I signal for a lane change. "Who would have thought two of the Renegades' most eligible bachelors would end up tied down within one season?"

She's quiet for a moment. "And then there's you."

"Then there's me," I say, forcing a chuckle. "I’ll probably be the last man standing."

"Is that how you want it?"

The question hangs in the air between us. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her watching me.

"It's what I'm good at," I finally answer. "No expectations, no disappointments. Everyone knows what they're getting with Dakota Miles."

"Do they?" Her voice is soft.

I shoot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just that the Dakota Miles I've gotten to know this past week isn't exactly the one advertised in those hockey gossip blogs."

"Don't believe everything you read on the internet, sweetheart."

"I don't," she counters. "I believe what I observe. And what I've observed is someone different than the 'resident fuck boy' you pretend to be."

My hands flex on the wheel. "Maybe you just bring out a different side of me."

"Maybe." She turns back to the window. "Or maybe that's who you really are, when you're not hiding behind the persona."

The highway stretches ahead, each mile bringing us closer to the airport, closer to goodbye. I want to tell her she's wrong, that what she's seen is just another act. Although the words stick in my throat.

"You know," I say instead, "Oklahoma's not that far. The Renegades play the Tulsa Tornados twice this season."

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