Page 16 of One Goal in Mind

“If we win, what do I get?”

My instinct is to tell him ‘me,’ but quickly squash the temptation to reply with a flirtatious response. “What do you want?”

“Stay with me,” he pleads, making my heart ache. We’re just friends who flirt, but every fiber of my being knows it would be more if we lived closer.

I chew on my thumbnail. “That’s not a good idea. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“If Vancouver wins, you stay in my bed. That’s the deal. I won’t touch you, I just…” He blows out a long breath.

“Okay,” I concede. “You have a deal. I have to get back to work, but good luck tonight.”

“I’ll text you after the game. It’ll be late there, but if you’re up, I want to know how the rest of your first day went.”

This. Man.

“I’ll stay up. Bye, bestie,” I sing.

“Bye, Red.”

We hang up, and there’s a new text from him.

Use the orange one and tell me all about it tonight.

Orange one?

My breath catches. I never should’ve told him about my toy collection last week.Stupid tequila…

The rest of my day is spent meeting with the medical staff and management. Once I’m home, I order dinner and pull out college binders, wanting to brush up on goalie injuries—Jones has been suffering from knee issues, and I want to keep an eye on it.

Two glasses of wine, yellow curry with rice, and several hours of research later, I fall asleep on the couch. I wake to my phone vibrating on the coffee table. I snatch it up, hopeful it’s Russ. I breathe a sigh of relief the moment I see Russ’ name onthe screen and can’t answer fast enough. “Hey, Red,” he greets before I can say hello.

“Hey, how was the game?”

“You mean you didn’t watch?” he teases, and I can’t help but chuckle. “We won—because of course we did. Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Sort of,” I groan as I set my binder on the coffee table. I check the time; it’s a few minutes after midnight. “Are you home?”

“I am, and still riding the high from the game. So, tell me, how was today?”

“I can’t say much—don’t want to give you an edge for tomorrow, you know.”

All of my fun, flirty Russ is gone when he asks, “Why would you say that?”

“I’m so sorry,” I rush out. “I didn’t mean anything by it! I know you wouldn’t use anything to your advantage. I’m just protective of my patients and, well, if you win tomorrow, I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m afraid if I stay with you tomorrow, things might change between us,” I admit, shutting my eyes tight. My soul calls to him in an indescribable way. It hurts to imagine a world where we aren’t at the very least friends. If I stay, if we cross that line, I don’t know if I could handle a version of reality where I lose him completely. The only place I can think clearly is the shower, so without much thought, I pad off to my bathroom, turning the knob to scalding. Just how I like it.

His voice is gentle but sure. “I’ll love you in any capacity you need, but the fact remains, I love you, Scarlett. You want to be friends? I’m in, but I… Are you doing dishes? It’s the middle of the night.”

“No, I’m going to take a shower.” His words finally register, and I screech, “Russ! You didnotjust tell me you love me.” I swallow thickly; he hasn’t called me Scarlett since the night we met. Even then, I can’t recall if he ever said it. He loves me? Surely he can’t mean it.

“Sync the call to your shower Bluetooth speaker,” he commands, and I regret telling him how I belt out nineties pop while I’m getting ready for work.

“We should just hang up,” I offer, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.

“I won’t be able to hear you. Do you trust me?”

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