Page 61 of One Pucking Destiny

I pull off the small card, and it readsThinking of you.

A beautiful sentiment to go along with the cards athome—missing you, wanting you, and needing you—to name a few. No one could ever claim Bash isn’t a romantic. Romance oozes from his pores, making him almost irresistible. Almost.

I returned from bye week two and a half months ago, and there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t heard from the guy. He’s respected my wishes by staying away, but that’s where his distance ends. He makes sure he’s on my mind with twice-a-week flower deliveries and daily texts. The messages that come across my phone are usually short and sweet just to let me know he’s thinking about me. Every now and then, he’ll send me a gift of some sort—books, chocolates, and even a stylish new winter coat. The brand-name coat had to be pricey, and I wanted to be annoyed when I received it. Yet the stitching on mine was coming loose, and I actually really needed a new one. I never mentioned it, but somehow he just knew, or maybe he didn’t know at all and simply wanted me to have the fancy coat. That’s the thing with Bash; he knows me. I don’t know why he’s so in tune with everything about me, but he is.

It takes me longer than usual to get home. Heavy snow from the impending storm forecasted for this evening is already falling, making the roads slick. We had spring weather just last week, giving us false hope that the warm weather was here to stay. Now, it’sfreezing again, and we’re under a winter storm advisory. The joys of Michigan weather.

After a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel for the whole trip and sliding through a stop sign, I make it safely to my apartment building. My tiny car isn’t made for driving in Michigan winters. I really should upgrade to something with all-wheel drive at the very least.

Wrapping my arms around the flowers, I retrieve them from the passenger seat and make my way inside, careful not to slip on the icy sidewalks.

Attempting to wrangle the key from my purse while holding the bouquet has me oblivious to the tall, handsome man at my door.

“Hey,” he says, causing me to yelp.

“Bash!” I hit his arm. “You gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?”

He holds up a brown paper bag. “Bringing dinner.”

“Hold these, please.” I shove the vase of flowers into his arms so I can find my apartment key. I unlock the door, and he follows me inside. “Just place them on the counter.” I point at the kitchen counter, which is unnecessary, considering I live in a studio apartment. Not to mention, the small surface sticks out like a sore thumb in this tiny space because it already houses three vases of flowers with grand bouquets.

“I don’t know if there is room,” he says, amusement in his voice.

“Tell me about it.”

He pushes the other vases as close together as they’ll go so he can add the new one. He sets the bag of food on the stove.

I hang up my coat on the hook by the door and shake out the wet snow from my hair.

“Your coat looks good on you.” He takes a step toward me.

“Thanks. Some stalker bought it for me.”

“Is that so?” He quirks a brow, supplying a cheeky grin, and I can’t ignore the flutters within my belly.

It’s good to see him. While the past couple of months have flown by, and he’s remained in contact, there is nothing like Sebastian Calloway in the flesh. Over the past ten weeks, I’ve tried to convince myself that he is not as beautiful as the images of him in my brain. Surely, my mind exaggerates his good looks as a way to torture me even more. I’ve been good about not googling him, and I’ve been too busy to watch any of his games. All compelling evidence that my mind was playing tricks on me. Yet looking at him now, if anything, my brain downplayed his features. He’s breathtaking.

I sigh. “What are you doing here, Bash? I thought we agreed to no contact?” I hate the way the wordscome out. If he were anyone else, he would’ve stopped trying a long time ago. But he isn’t just any guy. He’s my sweet golden retriever who would follow me anywhere when I don’t deserve to be followed, who’ll shower me with love when all I give is indifference. He’s perfect and beautiful, and though he hasn’t said the words, he loves me even when I can’t love him back.

“Because it’s been two months, and I miss you, and as the NHL game scheduler gods would have it, we don’t have a Saturday game this weekend.”

“I work every weekend,” I say.

He takes a step closer to me, taking my hands in his. “Are you working this weekend?”

My eyes drop. “No.”

“Interesting.”

I chuckle. “I normally do work weekends, though. This is my first weekend off since bye week.”

“Well, I guess your work scheduler god is also on our side.”

“Her name is Dr. Pedlow, and she told me she’d fire me if I came in this weekend.”

“Sounds like maybe she thinks you’re working a little too much.”

I shrug and lean my head against his chest.

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