Page 12 of Breakaway Hearts

Everything flows easier after that, and we round out our practice on a high note. Noah skates up next to me while we make our way off the ice, sweat glistening on his forehead beneath his helmet.

“Way to go, man,” he says. He heads through the gate first and grabs his skate guards. I do the same. “You played really well today.”

“You think so? I was feeling a bit distracted.”

“Maybe at the beginning, but you really picked things up after talking with Dunaway.”

“Thanks.”

I grin as we make our way to the locker room with the rest of the team, who are chatting and bantering among themselves. Noah glances at me as we reach our lockers, raising an eyebrow as if expecting me to say more, but I offer nothing.

The guys haven’t asked me anything about last night and how Callie and I were far more touchy-feely with each other than usual, but I can tell they want to. They won’t be getting anything from me until she and I talk, though.

I shower off the sweat from practice, and I’m just pulling my t-shirt over my head when my phone pings with a message. Tugging my shirt the rest of the way down, I scramble to grab my phone from my bag, swiping the screen to pull up the message.

It’s from her.

CALLIE: Okay, Sutton. I’ll do it.

CALLIE: But you’re going to owe me big time. WAY more than Blanton’s. You hear me?

My heart jumps. I tap out a quick response, my thumbs flying over the screen.

ME: Callie! Are you serious right now?

She reads the message almost immediately, which must mean the kids are at lunch or recess, since I’m certain she’s at school.

CALLIE: I don’t joke.

ME: That’s a straight lie.

CALLIE: Okay, that was a lie. But I AM serious about this. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.

ME: Anything you want, it’s yours. You can call it in anytime, the biggest favor ever. Whatever it is, I’ve got you.

CALLIE: You’d better.

ME: I’m excited.

CALLIE: Reel it in. We have a lot to talk about. We need to set some ground rules and get our stories straight so we don’t have a fuck-up like last night. Are you free later? When I’m out of school?

Ah, Callie, always brilliant. It’s not that I wouldn’t have thought of coming up with those things. It probably just would’ve come at the last minute. This is why she and I make the perfect pair for this.

I grab my bag and stride through the corridors toward the staff parking lot, barely watching where I’m going as I tap out another message.

ME: Definitely. Just shoot me a text when you’re finished up.

She sends a thumbs-up back a moment later, and I slide into my car and drop my phone into my cup holder before pulling out of the parking lot to head home. We’ve still got a couple hours before school is over, which means I have time to kill and a house to clean.

Truthfully, my house is spotless. But there’s nothing that relaxes me more than tidying up here and there, along with random home renovation projects like building bookcases or making aesthetic changes around the house. I’m no interior designer or anything like that, but I’m a sucker for a cozy atmosphere, and I’m willing to spend a decent chunk of change to make the cosmetic changes to my living space.

I’ve already painted several accent walls and updated the countertops to petrified wood in the kitchen. I’ve been thinking about renovating some of the doorways into arches, but that’s probably a project for the offseason.

I arrive at home quickly enough. Living a bit farther away from the arena than the rest of the guys, most of whom chose high-end condos downtown, has its drawbacks and benefits. My main benefit is an actual house.

After pulling into the garage, I cut the engine. I still have three hours until I need to go pick up Callie, which means I can probably at least rearrange my bookshelves. I saw someone online the other day organize their books by color, and I’ve been obsessed with the idea ever since, however impractical it may be.

I go inside and get to work. Before I know it, I’m holdingA Song of Ice and Fireby George R.R. Martin and agonizing over the fact that the series won’t be grouped together because of this very aesthetically pleasing but impractical organizing method. It’s a temperate day today, in the mid-40s despite being early January, and streaming sunlight peeks through the front windows into the living room where most of my books live. I find myself humming a song that Callie and I used to sing around the fire at camp when we were counselors together, but I can’t recall the name of it for the life of me.

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