Page 48 of In My Hockey Era
He grins.“No promises.”
I chew on my lip, unsure what to say.I’m still frustrated with him, still irritated by the way he brushed off that comment earlier.But I also know what it’s like to feel like you’re the one barely holding yourself together.And I know what it’s like when people don’t take you seriously.
Which, if I’m being honest, is exactly what I’ve been doing to him.Acting like he’s nothing more than some golden retriever in hockey skates, a guy who never thinks deeper than his next goal.
But that’s not true, is it?
I cast another glance his way and my resolve weakens.He’s giant…the small cot isn’t going to work.
“Forget it, Wilder.Just take the other side of the bed.”
His brows lift.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.Just stay on your side.”
A slow grin spreads across his face.“Quinn, are you saying you actually want me in bed with you?”
“I regret this already.”I grab a pillow and chuck it at him.He catches it easily, still grinning, still looking at me like I’m something warm, something good.
And maybe, just maybe, I don’t hate that as much as I should.
“Don’t try anything,” I warn, voice stern.
“Defineanything.”
“Bennett…” my voice comes out whisper soft and sheesh,what the heck is with me?!
“I promise not to touch you,” he says, his own voice dropping lower.“Unless you ask very,verynicely.”
Won’t be happening,I want to quip—but the words won’t come.I just stare at him, slightly tipsy from the whiskey cocktail and slightly warm from the wall of man standing a mere three feet from the bed we’re about to share.
God help me.
19
ONE BED, TWO PROBLEMS
Bennett
Ihear the bathroom door open, and I look up from my phone, fully prepared to keep my head down and stay in my lane.But then Lucy steps out, and—yeah.Any shot I had at playing it cool vanishes immediately.
She’s scrubbed off her makeup, leaving her face soft and fresh, and her hair is piled on top of her head in some messy knot that looks so effortlessly perfect it has to be witchcraft.But it’s not just that.It’s the pajamas.
Pink and soft-looking, with little strawberries on the shorts and an oversized top that’s slipping off her shoulder just enough to make me want to self-destruct.She’s barefoot, her toenails painted a dark purple, and I don’t know why that detail wrecks me, but it does.It’s the kind of look that should be innocent, something casual and thoughtless.But on her?It’s a fucking problem.
I grip my phone like a lifeline and clear my throat.“Nice pajamas.”
She hesitates for half a second before rolling her eyes and walking past the bed toward the nightstand.“Shut up, Wilder.”
God help me, even that’s cute.
Something about the way this girl puts me in my place just does it for me.
She’s still a little annoyed with me—I can tell by the way she doesn’t look directly at me, the way she keeps her movements a little too deliberate.I deserve it.I should’ve handled tonight better.Should’ve said the right thing instead of brushing her off like an idiot.
And the worst part?I get why she was upset.That guy’s comment didn’t mean anything to me, but to her, it was just another example of people doubting her, underestimating her.She’s spent her whole life proving she belongs, fighting to be taken seriously in a way I’ve never had to.And I just stood there like an idiot and laughed.I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now.
I want to tell her I’m sorry again.I want to make it up to her.
