Page 29 of Cross Check Hearts

“Thanks. See you then,” she says with a blushing smile before heading to her car.

I probably shouldn’t stare, but I can’t take my eyes off her—the confident way she moves, like a dancer, each step deliberate and graceful. I swear she could stop traffic just by walking down the street.

I wait until she gets in her car and drives away. Once she’s gone, I feel like I can breathe normally again for the first time since she followed me out of the bar. But I’m still riding high on adrenaline from the intense kiss we just shared, so I lock my stuff in the compartment under my bike’s seat and decide to go back into Sideline for a drink to clear my head. Besides, I’m not entirely sure the waitress got a tip out of the cash I left on the table.

I walk back into the bar with a million thoughts competing for attention in my head, and the waitress flags me down as soon as I step through the door. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here. I know this is awkward, but there wasn’t enough to cover your bill.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to dine and ditch. But you know what? I think I’m gonna have another drink, so can you just leave the bill open and put it on there?” I ask as I pull out my wallet and hand her my credit card so she knows I’m not pulling any funny business.

The waitress takes it and smiles. “Sure. What can I get you?”

“Another whiskey sour, please.”

“Coming right up. Sit wherever you like, I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Thanks,” I tell her.

As she heads off, I scan the restaurant for a seat—then grimace when I spot Aaron sitting in the booth that Hannah and I left. He’s got a mouthful of cheeseburger with a big draft beer sweating on the table in front of him. Judging from the unfriendly look he flashes back at me, the feeling of distaste is mutual.

I have zero interest in getting into it with this guy. I’m not trying to be friends, so I sit at one of the stools built into the bar to watch the bartender make the whiskey sour I just ordered.

He slides it over to me and prints off the bill to pass it to me along with my card that the waitress brought him. “You’re all set. But if you want anything else, just let me know. I’ll open a new tab.”

“I think I’m good, but thanks,” I say and reach for the glass to take a sip.

Some people might call me crazy, but I know there’s more to what’s going on between me and Hannah than she’s been willing to admit, and the fucking amazing kiss we just had sealed it.

I don’t know what we’re going to do about the whole Coach Dunaway problem, but I also know there’s no way I’m going to be able to stop thinking about her—especially not after the way I just tasted her lips on mine. The whisper of whiskey on her tongue. The feel of her lithe, delicate body against mine as we kissed.

Fuck, she’s incredible. And I don’t even think she knows how amazing she is.

I sip my whiskey contentedly, savoring it along with the memory of what just happened and thinking about all the many ways I’d like to show her just what I think of her.

But when the glass is halfway empty, I realize I’m doing the exact opposite of what I came here to do, so I try to think about something, anything, other than Hannah. It feels impossible, like someone trying to convince me that the glass of whiskey that’s right in front of me isn’t really there.

She’s already under my skin in a way no one else has ever been.

I polish off the rest of the drink, hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t do anything. The image of her is still there, her outline permanently etched in my mind.

Sighing, I admit defeat and pick up the check to tip and sign it with the pen the bartender left for me. I’m having a hard time reading what it says, so I hold it a little closer to my face. I was diagnosed with dyslexia when I was in middle school, so I’ve gotten used to the struggles that come with it for the most part, but it’s always worse in low lighting.

“A beer and an order of onion rings,” someone says from behind me, making my shoulders tense up. I spin on my barstool to find Aaron standing a couple feet away. He smirks smugly at me. “Having a hard time sounding out the words? I guess it’s a good thing hockey players don’t have to be very bright. Hannah really deserves someone smarter in her life.”

My jaw clenches. I’ve never been the stereotypical hothead kind of hockey player who gets into fights, on or off the ice, but right this second? I’d love nothing more than to punch this asshole right in his cocky fucking jaw to drag him off his high horse for good.

The only thing that keeps me from springing off this stool and knocking out a few of his privileged teeth is Hannah. It doesn’t sound like she thinks very highly of him anymore either, but I don’t imagine it’ll do me any favors with her if she hears I got into a sloppy bar fight with her ex-boyfriend, so I just glare at him for a while before I spin back around and sign the check.

“You know,” I say without looking at him, keeping my voice level, “the fact that you think intelligence is measured by how easily someone reads a bill tells me everything I need to know about you.”

I brush past him on my way out the door and don’t bother to look back. He’s not worth my time, and he’s definitely not worth Hannah’s either. I’m half expecting him to follow me out into the parking lot to start more shit, but he must know better because I make it to my bike without seeing another hint of him.

I kick my leg over my bike and put in the key to start the engine. But before I put on my helmet to leave, I pull out my phone and tap to start a new message to Hannah, using the speech-to-text option to dictate it.

ME: I meant what I said. Nothing that’s happened between us has been a mistake.

I press send and shove my phone back into my pocket, then rev the bike’s engine and peel away with a smile on my face.

Whatever this thing between us is, it’s something rare. Somethingreal.

---