Page 18 of Trade Deadline

Alex

The door flies open,causing the bell to chime wildly like an alarm, followed by a bellowing voice that startles me. I briefly lose my footing and nearly drop an entire tray of freshly baked Biscoff donuts onto the floor.

“You need to tell me everything!”

Tightening my grip on the tray, I close my eyes for a moment to compose myself, taking a few deep, steadying breaths when I see it’s only Nate.

“Jesus, Nate! Why can’t you enter a building like a normal person?” I slide the tray into the glass display before placing my palm over my rapidly beating heart. “If I had dropped those donuts, you would’ve been a dead man.”

He shrugs, resting his elbows on the counter and placing his chin in his palms. “And what fun would that be? You know I like to make an entrance.” He flutters his long eyelashes, a move that has always gotten him out of trouble.

I roll my eyes. My traitorous lips can’t help but smile. Some things never change.

We became best friends on our first day of college, when we found out we were going to be sharing a dorm room. I was midway through unpacking my clothes when my grandma began to give me a lecture on how it would be rude to “service the little general” when sharing a room with someone. She continued on to suggest the sock on the door handle method when we realized Nate had been standing at the doorway, holding a box of “welcome roomie” cookies. I was mortified because he’d witnessed the entire thing, but he started laughing so hard that he ended up curling up on the floor because his stomach ached.

We have been stuck together like glue ever since.

He's been there through the highest and the lowest moments of my life, and I couldn't wish for a better friend.

“Anyway, so a little birdie told me you rejected Blaine Olsen last night. Wanna tell me what that’s all about? Are you sick?”

Nate paid for me to take an Uber home as he ended up staying later with a guy he met. I text him when I got home letting him know I had fun, and I bumped into Blaine, but that was all I shared.

I glance around the shop but thankfully, we’ve just finished the lunchtime rush, so the shop is empty.

“I guess I didn’t want to be just another number.”

Nate frowns. “But he was the perfect candidate for some meaningless fun.”

“I know that, but what if I had a bad experience? Then the team that I have known and loved for as long as I can remember would be tainted by it.” I shake my head. “Players are just that, players. I’ve learned my lesson over the years, and I don’t think I could put myself through that again.”

Anyone else in my shoes would be jumping at the chance to get in bed with a professional hockey player, but my heart has been through a lot. I’ve dated a few athletes, and while they are fun, their egos are bigger than the moon, and they thrive on attention. Every one of them cheated on me, and I let them manipulate their way back into my life because I thought I was in love.

I’m not sure I'm one of those who can separate actions from emotions anymore. I may be at the point where I don’t think I can do hookups.

I want to date, do the whole getting to know someone, and build something meaningful. It was fun while it lasted in college, but now I want something real.

I want that connection.

Plus, the team genuinely means a lot to me. It’s a lasting link to my grandpa.

Nate leans over the counter with a sigh, giving my bicep a comforting squeeze. “It’s just sex… It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“And I can getjust sexfrom someone else when I want it, but Thunder means too much to me to get involved with a player and for it all to go wrong.”

Which it will, no doubt about it.

Nate nods, disappointed, but I know he understands where I’m coming from.

Am I shocked that I had the willpower to say no to a night of what would have been wild-hot sex with a hockey player?

Yes. I’m very shocked.

More so because Blaine is my type with a capital T.

Nate fills me in on the guy he went home with after I left him at Gino’s last night and all about his class at the gym where he works when the bell rings above the door again—less frantic this time. Our conversation halts, and I switch into professional mode, but when three figures enter the shop, my mouth goes dry.

Blaine, Elliot, and Zach’s huge bodies suddenly make the shop feel small. They're wearing hats low over their faces to try and hide their identity, but the disguise doesn’t work on me. I’ve watched too many games not to know who they are at a glance.

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