Page 83 of Slap Shot Scandal
My dad reminded me not to distract you from winning
If I see you again, I’ll fall even more and we really, really shouldn’t be doing this
Yeah, no. I couldn’t very well send any of those texts. Instead, I typed:
Harbor: See you at8
Now I’m standing outside the Rusty Anchor at exactly 7:59 PM with a yawning pit of anxiety in my stomach.
Stay strong. You’ve literally been single for years. Now’s not the time to break your streak.
I shove through the doors and peer around the dim space, searching for Weston.
“Table for one?” The hostess grabs a sticky plastic menu, her jaw working hard on a massive pink wad of chewing gum.
“No. I’m meeting someone. Last name Steele.”
“Oh.” She gives me a quick once-over, taking in my light-yellow maxi dress and sandals, and my cheeks burn. After a long second, she spins and leads me through the restaurant. The bar’s packed, every seat taken, and most of the tables are filled as well.
“Is it always this crowded?” I ask the hostess.
“During the summer, yeah. It’s peak tourist season. Your date’s outside.”
“Oh. He’s not…we’re not on a date,” I stammer as she pushes the patio door open, holding it for me.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
Shit.Even the hostess sees what I’m trying to deny. There’s more to this than work, personal feelings mixed up with my professional reputation, and we both know it.
She points me across the cobblestone patio toward Weston, not bothering to leave the comfort of the restaurant’s AC to take me all the way to the table.
My heart hammers hard, palms sweaty in the thick Florida humidity as I make my way over to him. String lights illuminate the space and the whole vibe is romantic.
Dammit.
This is supposed to be a work meeting, not a dinnerdate. So why’s my stomach churning with butterflies on speed as I slide into the metal chair across from Weston?
“Hey.”
Fuck me.
He’s gorgeous in the bright moonlight, jaw shadowed with dark stubble. Dressed casually, he’s in a dark blue T-shirt that brings out the deep flecks of navy in his eyes.
“Hey.” I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry.
“Thanks for coming.” He tips his chin at me and my heart skips a beat.
Keep it professional, Harbor. A quick meeting, in and out.
“Sure. I want this charity rollout to go well, too.”
His jaw ticks and disappointment flashes over his face, then disappears just as quickly.
“Same.” His voice is gruff and low, blending with the distant crashing of waves on the beach.
I peer over my shoulder, noting all the empty tables around us. “I’m surprised no one’s out on the patio tonight.”
Weston shrugs. “I rented out the entire space.”
