Page 9 of Shot on Goal at a Second Chance
“Let’s sit over there.” I step out from behind my new—and ant-free—desk, holding out my hand toward the small L-shaped sofa and coffee table at the other end of the room, additional pieces I purchased to make my office more comfortable.
I’m waiting for him to sit down so I can pick a spot with plenty of space between us. After he sets the bag on the coffee table, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over the arm of the couch, and as I suspected, the sleeves of his white button-down tug on well-defined biceps.
He sits right in the middle of the sectional, which means it doesn’t matter which side I pick. We’ll wind up sitting in closer proximity than I’d like.
“I brought lunch from a local place, the Turtle Tide. Have you tried it yet?” He pulls out containers from the bag and places them on the coffee table.
“No, I haven’t had much time to explore Sarabella since I moved here.”
“Good, then I’m introducing you to some of the bestseafood I’ve ever had.” He opens a container, revealing plump shrimp and linguini drizzled with butter and bits of garlic. “Still your favorite?”
He remembered my favorite dish? I settle onto the couch, wedging my back against the arm but keeping my legs to the side—the only way I can keep my knee from touching his thigh.
“Yes.”
A satisfied chuckle slips from his defined lips as he hands me the container. “Some things don’t change.”
His words make me bristle, making me wish I could change my answer. I’m not the same girl he knew back then. Quite the contrary, actually. When I remember how infatuated I was with him, I see it for what it really was—just a crush.
I spread a napkin over my linen pants. “Oh, more than you’d think.”
His gaze flashes with something familiar. “You’re still as beautiful as ever, Rebecca.”
Ignoring the flutter moving from my chest to my stomach, I stop twirling noodles around my fork. “You said you needed some quotes for your article?”
“Yes, of course.” His expression unreadable, he pushes his food to the side and pulls out his phone to record my answers. “Your father was a legend in the game. How much of your decision to buy the Sun Kings was about honoring his legacy versus forging your own path?”
I drop my fork. “Why can’t it be both?”
He gives an affirming nod. “Great answer.”
A thrill shoots throughme to hear his approval, but why should I care what he thinks of my reply? I’m long past that, aren’t I?
When I finally take a bite of the buttery noodles with a piece of garlicky shrimp, I groan. “This is amazing.”
He grins. “I had a feeling you’d like it.”
The way he’s watching me enjoy my food as if he wants to devour me, makes my face heat, and I’m fairly certain it’s not a hot flash. Thank you, perimenopause.
His gaze turns penetrating. “If you could go back twenty-three years and tell your younger self something, what would it be?”
I almost choke. “Is that a question for the article or for you?”
“Why can’t it be both?” One side of his mouth ticks up, letting me know he’s perfectly aware he just threw my words back at me.
“No comment.”
The challenging glint in his eyes dims a smidge. “Okay, then, how about this one? You need a new coach. Any plans in the works there?”
I shake my head, remembering the list Jack made of candidates—all of whom aren’t quite what this team needs if we’re hoping to make a comeback. “Still looking. I want someone fresh who can give this team more than what’s in a playbook.”
Saying nothing, he turns off his phone recorder.
Did I sound daft, as if I don’t know what I’m talking about? Because I do. I believe we could do something amazing here with the right coach who can help these guys be great on and off the ice. I feel it in my gut, and meeting the team confirmed it.
“Done already?”
“This part’s off the record.” He leans his head to the side, appearing thoughtful.
