Page 87 of Risky Pucking Play

"Look," she says, wiping her hands on a napkin. "I can't tell you what to do. But I know you, Elena. You overthink everything. Sometimes you need to follow your heart instead of your head."

"Says the woman who's still single." I shoot her a teasing smile.

"Hey, I'm just very selective." She winks. "Speaking of which, I have an idea. Let's go to the Blades game tonight."

I nearly choke on my water. "What? You don’t even like hockey."

She shrugs with exaggerated casualness. "I might have a tiny crush on McCoy."

"Oh my god! Since when?"

"Since I ran into him at that charity thing a couple weeks ago. He's surprisingly funny." She blushes slightly. "And he fills out a suit in ways that should be illegal."

I laugh. “You know he’s a bit of a player, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say I want to marry him… I just think he’s hot.”

"So you want to use my emotional crisis as an excuse to ogle a cute hockey player?" I ask.

"No, I want to support my best friend while she figures out what she wants." She grins. "The ogling is just a bonus."

I consider it. Part of me wants to see Nate play live. And I know I can always get a couple of decent tickets through my dad.

"I don't know. I still need to think about all of this."

"So think. But maybe seeing him all sexy and sweaty in his element will help clarify things."

I hesitate, torn between wanting to see him and fearing the emotions that might surface.

"You don't have to decide about your relationship tonight," Reese adds, sensing my reluctance. "Just come watch the game with me."

"Fine," I relent. "But I'm not promising to talk to him afterwards."

"Fair enough. Now stop stewing and eat your pizza before it gets cold." She flashes me a smile and I realize I’m being just a little bit of a drama queen today.

As we finish our meal, I pull out my phone. I stare at it for a long moment, then type out a simple message to Nate: "Good luck at the game tonight."

I hit send before I can overthink it.

"There," I say, putting my phone down. "I told him I’d be in contact today and now I have."

Reese grins. "The journey of a thousand miles, and all that jazz."

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. Maybe she's right. Maybe I do overthink everything. Maybe sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and trust that you'll figure out how to land safely.

Later that night, the stadium thrums with energy, bodies pressed together in a sea of red and black. Dad scored us seats just eight rows up from the glass—close enough to feel the vibration when players slam into the boards. I’m settling into my seat, trying to look casual while my stomach ties itself in knots. I haven't been to a Blades game since I left the organization, and now here I am, about to watch the man I've been avoiding for twenty-four hours skate onto the ice.

"Stop fidgeting," Reese whispers, nudging me with her elbow. "You look like you're about to lose your shit."

"Maybe I am." I rub my hands against my thighs. "This was a terrible idea."

"This was a brilliant idea," she corrects, scanning the ice. "Oh my god, there he is."

"Nate?" I follow her gaze.

"No, McCoy." She sighs dramatically. "What a specimen…That man was built in a lab!"

I laugh despite myself. "You're ridiculous."

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