Page 35 of In My Hockey Era
“I want to see you.”
A hot shiver runs through me.
“What’d you have in mind?”
“Come over,” he says, his voice deep and rough.
Another warm shiver.But I hesitate.“I need to walk Max first.”
“Right.”He pauses, then says, “I’ll meet you at your place.We’ll walk Max, and then we can hang out over at my place.”
“Okay,” I say.“See you soon.”
• • •
I make it downstairs with Max secured to his leash just as Bennett is climbing out of a silver BMW SUV.
He’s dressed in a pair of black joggers with a black hoodie, tennis shoes, and a pink baseball cap turned backwards.Casual, but he still manages to look devastatingly handsome.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a wave.
His gaze roams over me—I’m wearing a pair of formfitting jeans that are ripped at the knees with a chunky cable knit cream sweater that’s currently falling off one shoulder.The mild Dallas temps mean I skipped a coat, and by the way he’s looking at me, Bennett likes what he sees.
“Hey,” he says, eyes still on mine as he reaches down to pat Max’s head.“How was work?”
“Bananas,” I admit, lifting one shoulder.
“Let me know if you need another massage,” he offers.
“Uh…always.”I laugh.
We start off, and Max trots ahead, his fluffy tail bouncing with each step as he sniffs every tree, lamppost, and patch of grass like it’s his personal duty to investigate the entire neighborhood.The sky is painted in streaks of pink and gold, the last bit of daylight stretching across the quiet streets.
Bennett walks beside me, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulder brushing mine now and then.It’s a cool evening, but not cold enough for coats, just the kind of crisp air that wakes you up after a long day.
“He’s got an agenda, doesn’t he?”Bennett nods toward Max, who is now determinedly leading us toward a fire hydrant.
“Always,” I say.“He takes this walk very seriously.”
Bennett smirks.“I respect that.A guy should have a mission.”
I glance over at him, at the easy way he moves, like he’s completely at home here on these quiet streets with me and my overenthusiastic dog.It’s… nice.Sorta domestic.
Definitely not what I expected.In fact, any expectations I had about how a professional athlete who is probably worth millions would behave has sorta been blown out of the water.
Max pauses to sniff a particularly interesting bush, and I use the moment to subtly study Bennett.His profile is sharp, strong—jawline unfairly chiseled, lips that I now know are just as soft as they look.My stomach does something stupid at the memory.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence.“I listened to your latest podcast.”
I groan.“Oh.Which part?”
He grins, tilting his head toward me.“The part where you tried to dodge that question about me and completely failed.”
My cheeks go hot.“I did not fail.”
“You absolutely did.The stammering?The nervous laugh?Classic giveaway.”
I press my lips together, shaking my head.“You know, I used to be so good at this.”
