Page 70 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Right. Always a good reminder.

“Yeah, so my sisters are both the best and the worst. Bossing me around, ganging up on me, but also helping when I need it. They’re independent, but come to me when they have issues they can’t solve themselves. Or one or two of them will come to me when one of them needs help but is too stubborn to admit it.”

She doesn’t seem to pick up on my tension. “Do they ever come watch you skate? I’d like to meet them.”

This makes my skin start to prickle, a low buzz of longing along my skin. “You don’t even come to our games, do you?”

“I might start.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I think I’d like to see what all the fuss is about. So, will I ever see them at a game? Are they fans?”

My lips quirk. “Callie had to be escorted out of my last game for the things she was yelling at the ref. And other fans.”

“I love it.” The wistfulness in her voice makes me hurt, and so I keep talking.

I tell her about how they dress up and paint their faces when they come to my games, making best friends with our fans while also nearly getting into fights. I talk about Grey and her music. Lex and the struggles she and her husband are having with fertility. Callie defending her dissertation on British literature in a few months.

“She’s going to make us call herdoctorthe second she gets her PhD. I just know it,” I say.

I realize I’ve been talking for a solid ten minutes. My ice cream is long gone, and we’re back near the start of the park, and Amelia sits down on a bench shaded by lush foliage. She pats the space next to her, and I sit. A breeze cools my neck, which I’m thinking might be getting sunburned.

“I bet they get all up in your business about your dating life,” she says casually.

A little too casually—almost like she’s tryingnotto sound interested in broaching the dating topic.

“Not really.”

She glances up in surprise from her cone. “No?”

“Mostly because I’ve never talked to them about anyone.”

“I thought you said you dated a lot,” she says.

“I have, but not anyone serious enough to bring up to my sisters.”

“Ah. Right—you’re Mr. Casual.”

The words bother me. Partly because I don’t want Amelia to think of me that way. And partly because that tends to be howeveryonesees me: casual. Fun. The truth is, I’m not sure I’veever dated a woman who wanted more. Or thought I was capable of giving more.

I’ve heard some of my teammates complain about women who tried to get things more serious, tried to lock them down. Dumbo once got a whole new phone number and changed apartments to get away from a woman who wanted to be exclusive.

I’ve never had that problem.

It’s almost enough to give a guy a complex. Up until now, I took note, but didn’t really care. Because I’d rather not have to let someone down easy who got the wrong idea.

Now, sitting on a bench with Amelia’s thigh brushing mine, I’m thinking about it. Wondering if I could be more than just a fun, casual guy for Amelia. If she ever wanted to date me, that is.

“That’s me—Mr. Casual Goodtime Guy.” My words are dry. Paired with the jazz hands I pull out of I don’t even know where, I sound way more bitter than I feel.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Amelia nudges me with her shoulder. When I don’t respond right away, she pauses mid-lick and turns to me. “You know you’re more than that, right?”

“Sure. It’s nothing. I was just being dumb.”

Amelia hums, like she sees right through me. “You’re more, hotshot. Much more.”

I have to look away for a few seconds to compose myself. From both her words and the sight of her tongue licking up the side of the cone. Together, it’s a lethal combo.

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