Page 28 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

His response comes quickly, making me wonder if he's been waiting up.

Dakota:Always. Just don't stand me up too many times, Miss Green Eyes. I might start to think you don't like me.

I type out a response…Me:There's something I need to talk to you about. Important career opportunity.

I look at those words for a long time, my thumb hovering over the send button. Then I delete them and retype something else.

Me:Never that. Just busy saving the world from bad weather. Talk tomorrow?

Dakota:Count on it.

I place my phone face-down on my nightstand and stare at the ceiling, listening to the light rain that's started outside my window.

Chapter 16-Dakota

I check my phone for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Still nothing from Harmony. It’s been three days since her last real text—not counting the "busy, talk later" bullshit she sent yesterday. I toss the phone onto my bed and run my hands through my hair. This isn't me. Dakota "Lucky" Miles doesn't pine after women. They pine after me. At least, that's how it used to be before Miss Green Eyes stormed into my life with her that smile that makes me forget my own damn name.

"Fuck," I mutter, pacing the length of my bedroom. Our last time together replaying in my head.

The memory makes my jaw clench. I grab my gym bag harder than necessary, knowing I need to get to practice. Our team hasa critical game tonight against the Chicago Bladed, and I can't afford to be distracted. Yet here I am, a grown-ass professional hockey player, moping over a woman who's clearly lost interest.

I grab my keys, slam the door behind me, and take the stairs two at a time. Outside, the sun beats down, mocking my dark mood with its cheerfulness. I slide into my Porsche, the leather seats hot against my back, and tear out of the driveway faster than I should.

On the drive to the rink, I try to focus on hockey. The team. The plays we've been working on. Although my mind keeps circling back to Harmony. The way she'd laugh at my ridiculous jokes just to humor me. The slight furrow between her brows when she's concentrating. I grip the steering wheel tighter.

When did I become this guy? The one checking his phone like a teenager waiting for a girl to text? I'm Dakota Miles, for Christ's sake. Charleston Renegades center. The guy who once had three different women show up to the same game wearing jerseys with my number.

I pull into the players' lot at the rink, park haphazardly, and grab my gear. Maybe crushing it at practice will clear my head.

"There he is! The man, the legend," Ryder calls out as I walk into the locker room, already half-suited up. "Thought you might be running late, considering."

"Considering what?" I snap, dropping my bag onto the bench.

Ryder raises his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Asher. "Considering the game tonight. You okay, man?"

"Fine." I yank open my locker and start changing, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The room fills with the usual pre-practice chatter. It’s all normal hockey player shit that usually feels like home but today just grates on my.

"Miles, you look like someone pissed in your protein shake," Kaleb observes.

"Just focused on the game," I mutter, lacing up my skates.

"Bullshit," Asher says, dropping onto the bench beside me. "This is about Weather Girl, isn't it?"

I shoot him a glare. "Her name is Harmony."

"So it is about her," Asher grins, nudging my shoulder. "Trouble in paradise?"

"There is no trouble, because there is no paradise." I stand up, grabbing my stick. "Can we just focus on hockey? You know, the thing we get paid to do?"

Practice is a disaster. I miss passes. I botch shots I could make in my sleep. Coach benches me twice to "get my head out of my ass," his words echoing across the ice for everyone to hear. By the end, I'm sweating, frustrated, and more wound up than when I arrived.

As we're heading back to the locker room, Asher falls into step beside me. "Hey, let's grab a coffee. We've got time before we need to be back for the game."

I start to refuse, but there's something in his expression that makes me nod. "Fine. Give me ten to shower."

Twenty minutes later, we're sitting in a quiet corner of Caffeine Beach. Asher pushes a black coffee toward me and leans back in his chair.

"So, you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?" he asks.

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