Page 23 of In My Hockey Era
I fold my arms.“I know what a drink is, Wilder.I just don’t know why you’re askingme.”
He shrugs, easy as anything.“Maybe because it turns out I don’t totally hate talking to you.”
I narrow my eyes.“Is this some kind of ploy to make me admit I liked the book?”
“Nope.This is a ploy to get you to have a drink with me.”
I hesitate, which is ridiculous, because I should say no.Ishould.But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, like he’s already expecting me to turn him down but hoping I don’t.
I sigh.“Fine.One drink.”
He grins like he just won something.“I’ll take it.”
We step out into the cool night air, and he gestures toward the parking lot.“There’s a place a few blocks from here—quiet, good drinks, terrible karaoke on Thursdays.You’ll love it.”
I roll my eyes.“You don’t know what I love.”
“Sure I do.You love hockey, trash-talking, and apparently, getting proven wrong about romance novels.”
I shove him lightly as we walk.“Careful, Wilder.You’re dangerously close to making me regret this.”
But as we head toward the bar, I can’t ignore the tiny thrill in my stomach—the one that has absolutely nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with the man beside me.
9
UNCHARTED TERRITORY
Bennett
The bar is quieter than I expected for a Thursday night.Low lighting, soft music playing in the background, a few clusters of people chatting over drinks.No screaming fans, no flashing cameras—just normal people living normal lives.It’s nice.And it’s perfect for this.
Lucy follows me inside, her eyes flicking around like she’s assessing the place, making sure it meets her standards before she fully commits.I have a feeling that’s just how she operates—always measuring, always deciding.
“Good choice,” she finally says, like she’s doing me a favor by approving.
“Glad it meets your high expectations,” I say, holding back a grin.
We slide into a booth in the corner, across from each other.As she unbuttons her coat and drapes it over the seat, I take in the fitted black dress hugging her curves—trim waist, ample chest, long legs emphasized by those tall boots.Given that I’ve only seen her in Stampede hoodies, it’s definitely not what I expected, but I’m not complaining.
I smirk.“Didn’t peg you for the ‘dress up for a book club’ type.”
She rolls her eyes.“Don’t read into it.It’s comfortable.”
A waitress swings by, and Lucy orders a whiskey, neat.I lift my brows at that but don’t comment.I get a beer, and when the drinks come, we both take a second to settle in, the moment stretching between us.
For the first time since I met her, she looks a little unsure.I’m used to the sharp, confident, firecracker version of this girl—the one who challenges me, calls me out, and doesn’t hesitate to tell me exactly what she thinks.But now, as she swirls the whiskey in her glass, there’s something more careful about her.
I decide to make the first move.“So, what made you decide to become a paramedic?”
Her head tilts slightly, like she wasn’t expecting the question.“Wow.Straight into the deep questions, huh?”
I shrug.“Just trying to figure you out, Quinn.”
She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head.“Good luck with that.”
I wait, letting the silence do the work, and eventually, she sighs, leaning back against the booth.
“I like being the one who stays calm when everything else is falling apart,” she finally says.“I like knowing I can walk into a situation and actually help.Make a difference.Some people freeze up when things go bad.I don’t.”
