Page 2 of Rewind It Back

Her chardonnay is set on the table before our server clears our now empty plates and I’m that much closer to this being over.

I scold myself for feeling that way.

Foralwaysfeeling that way.

I can’t remember the last time I even made it to a second date, so I should focus on that small victory I suppose. But this is what tends to happen. I’m eager to meet someone, desperate, you could say. We go on a first date, I don’t feel that spark, and that’s where the connection dies.

Try harder.

“What do you do for fun?” I continue.

“I’m almost always out with my friends. I get invited to a lot of events, so that keeps me busy. I enjoy working out. I like trying new restaurants—”

“I love trying new restaurants!” I sit up, way too stoked about finally finding some common ground.

Chelsea eyes me, thoroughly unimpressed by my excitement. “Cool.”

Shit.

“Do you like music?” I try again.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“We should pick a song.” Pulling out my phone, I begin to scroll through my music library.

“Pick a song?”

“Yeah, you know, since it’s our second date. We should pick a song to remember it by. That way, when we hear it, it’ll remind us...” My words die when I see her face.

Her eyes go wide, practically screaming how fucking weird she finds me, and when she opens her mouth to respond, it quickly closes without anything to say.

Because she’s nother. No one else has been.

“Or not,” I decide.

That forced smile is back. “Let’s not.”

Chelsea looks around the restaurant, for the exit I would presume, and I don’t blame her.

“Do you want to get dessert?” I ask.

It takes a moment for her to decide until eventually she surprises me by leaning over the table and slipping her hand over mine. “Actually.” Her tone has gone all soft. “I was thinking we could do dessert back at your place.”

Oh.

That is... not what I was expecting.

“I just got back today from spending the summer in Boston, so unfortunately, I don’t have any groceries right now.”

She smirks seductively. “That’s not the dessert I’m referring to.”

Yeah, it’s perfectly clear that’s not the dessert she’s referring to, but I was hoping for a “he’s fucking clueless and has no game, so never mind” kind of outcome.

But it’s once again one of those situations where it doesn’t matter if I say all the wrong things, or hell, if I don’t say anything at all. At the end of the day, I’m a professional hockey player and that alone gets me more first dates and overnight invites than I let anyone know about.

But I know what I’m looking for and this connection isn’t it.

“Chelsea, I’m—”

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