Page 27 of Over the Moon

“She said to trust my gut on the running, but that a little ice time wouldn’t hurt, as long as I was out there with you. She thought it might give you a little pep in your step,” She chuckled.

“Pep in my step? Baby, I was born with pep in my step. You’ve seen my dance moves.” I barked out a laugh and then turned to look at her. “Thanks for doing that. Getting on the ice will be nice.”

“I’m still going to put you through hell this morning,” she said, jumping down from the table.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to have me spill my guts about my frustration and then not share anything with me. Come on, I told you my embarrassing shit. Tell me something. What’s the story with the notebook?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is your obsession with the notebook? Why do you care?”

“I don’t know, Weeze. But I’m curious. Maybe I have too much time on my hands because you won’t let me run.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re relentless.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Fine. The notebooks are sort of an anxiety thing for me, I think.” She looked away before turning back. Her dark eyes locked with mine. “My mom fought cancer for over a year when I was young. I’d sit with her every day after school, and those last few months were brutal. She was on hospice, and you know, I didn’t understand at the time, that the end was looming.”

“How old were you?” I asked. My chest squeezed at the pain I saw in her gaze.

“Ten years old. And my dad had to continue working because we needed the insurance, so it was Mom and me for hours after school every day. And that’s when the notebooks started. She’d have me write everything down for her. About things she wanted me to remember. Things she wanted me to hold on to. Some of it was her story, and some of it was her hopes and dreams for me.” She let out a labored breath and looked away. “It just became a way of remembering her, keeping her close, I guess. Maybe it was a form of control for me. But it makes me feel comforted to write things down. Like they won’t disappear if I do.”

I pushed to my feet and wrapped my arms around her because it was the only thing I could think to do. I was pretty good at reading people, and whether she admitted it or not, I knew she needed it.

Her head rested on my chest, and I just held her there. It was a full-bodied hug, and her hair tickled my nose, but I didn’t pull away.

I knew she didn’t have siblings because her father bragged about his only child any chance he got.

“I think it’s pretty cool that you shared that with her. And I forget shit all the time, so writing things down is a great idea.”

She chuckled and pulled back. “Don’t you dare get all sappy on me.”

“It’s a hug, relax. We can be friends, can’t we?”

She stepped away, putting distance there. It’s what she did often when we were working out and we’d share a laugh or say something that didn’t have anything to do with hockey.

“Not really, Clark. We all signed that contract to be on the team, but it’s different for me, you know? I’m a female working for a professional men’s hockey team. My father is the coach, so people already assume that I got the job because of him. So, if anyone thought there was anything unprofessional going on, even a friendship, it would be me who was fired. You’re the superstar. I’m replaceable.”

Shit. I never thought of it like that.

“Well, that sucks. But I think you’re being a little overly cautious. Randall and I are friends. The ethical contract is about being unprofessional in a romantic way. I’m friends with everyone on staff.”

“We can befriendly. But actually being friends would be crossing a line.”

“Well, you’re friends with Lulu and Henley now. You’re on the Chad-Six pickleball team.” I barked out a laugh. “Like it or not, Weeze, we’re friends.”

She arched a brow before walking over to the mat where she would force me to do awkward stretches. “It’s a professional friendship.”

“Fine.” I followed her to the mats. “But my mother is deeply offended that you haven’t come to Sunday dinner yet. Henley and Lulu keep talking about you, and she knows you’re helping me. She wants you to come this weekend.”

She pointed for me to sit down on the floor, and then she dropped to her knees and reached for my leg.

Why the fuck did my dick respond every time she dropped to her knees?

It had been a while, and I definitely needed to get laid.

I’ve been so focused on my training, but the last time I’d been out at the bar, I considered going home with a woman I’d hooked up with before. She made it clear that she wanted it to happen. But something stopped me.

Maybe it was because I saw Eloise there, out on the dance floor, hands in the air with her head tipped back in laughter.

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