Page 29 of Across the Boards

“Goodnight, Elliot,” I reply, reluctantly backing away from her door.

I wait until she’s safely inside before heading to my own townhome, unable to wipe the grin from my face. Inside, I grab an ice pack for my throbbing ankle and settle on my couch, replaying the evening in my mind.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Your jacket smells like cedar and something else I can’t identify. Very hockey player-esque.

Official NHL cologne. They issue it with our jerseys.

I knew it. Mass-produced manliness.

Absolutely. Comes in three scents: Ice Rink, Playoff Beard, and Eau de Trophy.

Horrifying. Which one are you wearing?

That’s my natural scent. Can’t bottle this kind of authenticity.

Your humility is truly inspiring.

One of my many stellar qualities. Along with taco selection expertise.

Speaking of stellar qualities, are you icing that ankle? I noticed you were still limping.

The fact that she noticed makes my heart do that stupid little flip again.

Yes, Dr. Waltman. Ice pack deployed.

Good. I’d hate for you to be too injured to make this supposedly decent bolognese.

I could make bolognese with two broken ankles and a concussion.

Let’s not test that theory.

Spoilsport.

Realistic adult. Someone has to be the voice of reason.

Is that your official role in our friendship? Voice of reason?

There’s a pause before her next text.

Someone has to balance out your golden retriever enthusiasm.

I laugh out loud at that.

Are you calling me a dog, Waltman?

If the tail-wagging fits...

I’d be offended if it wasn’t so accurate.

At least you’re self-aware.

One of my better qualities. Along with my pasta skills, which you’ll experience soon.

We’ll see. Goodnight, Carter. Ice that ankle.

Yes, ma’am. Sweet dreams, Elliot.

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