Page 32 of Romancing My Grumpy Goalie

“I know it’s not,” I say. “Jeremy was tired of being in Maple Creek. And honestly, I think he was tired of me.”

“Who could be tired of you?” he asks simply as he examines some of the wiring before making a few small tweaks.

His words have built a fire inside me.

“My dad left when I was small,” he admits. “He never came back.”

My breath catches at his admission. “I had no idea.”

“I don’t talk about it much.”

“Did your mom ever remarry?” I ask.

“Yup.”

He flicks the switch again, and the porch light flares to life.

“Success!” I say, grinning.

We’re standing close. Inches, maybe less, and his exhale brushes across my cheek, warm and startling.

I should step away, but I don’t. I give in for one tiny sliver of a moment. It may be a mistake, but I don’t care right now.

His gaze locks on mine, and something in his eyes softens—melts even, like he’s letting me in for the briefest second.

“Maple Creek is starting to grow on me,” he breathes.

My breath stutters, and I can barely stand because my knees are fighting to buckle like they’ve forgotten how to hold me up.

His hands come up—slow, hesitant, like he’s checking for permission—and cup my face. His thumbs brush along my cheeks, and I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

I want him to kiss me—I ache for it. But then the doubts crash in. I haven’t kissed anyone since Jeremy left, and I might not remember how to kiss someone who isn’t my husband. I have no idea what I’m doing.

All I know is, I’m desperate for his kiss. I need to know what his lips will feel like on mine. Will they be soft and gentle or firm and demanding?

He leans toward me, and his forehead touches mine just barely, our breath mingling as the air sizzles between us.

Right before his lips brush mine?—

My phone rings. Loud. Sharp. Jarring.

Nolan’s face lights up the screen.

“Oh.” My voice cracks. “I should probably get that.”

He steps away from me, taking that delicious kiss with him.

TEN

LUCAS

I jogacross the stadium field, as the stands empty after the disappointing loss for the Forge. The final point was scored because I couldn’t block the ball quickly enough. My knee has been screaming in pain the entire game. When I get into the locker room, Coach is speaking to everyone.

“Hensley,” he says to me. “If you can’t give it one hundred percent, you shouldn’t be here.”

I nod. “Understood, Coach.” I keep my expression neutral, but inside, my shame burns as much as my knee. I let the entire team down. No matter what I do, it’s not enough. The game had been going well until that final moment when the strain of playing so hard finally caught up to me.

A few of the other players are throwing me dirty looks, but I ignore them.

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