Page 101

Do Not Disturb

Quinn came to our last home game, sitting in the box two levels up in a seat provided by her dad and surrounded by enough people who knew both of us that looking at her felt like a bad idea.

I scored in the second period and had to stop myself from looking up there afterward. I made it all the way back to the bench before I gave in.

She was already watching me.

And damn if that didn’t warm me from the inside out.

We barely got to talk after. Between my media obligations, her dad, and both of us having shit going on, finding time alone has been almost impossible.

I was already in my Porsche by the time I saw her crossing the parking lot with Riley.

So I texted her.

Wyatt:

Are you free Saturday? Actually free. No rink, no dad, no interruptions.

Quinn:

Yes.

I take that as a mandate.

Which is why I bribe Jordan with pizza and the explicit promise that he’ll never have to hear about my personal life again. We both know that’s a lie I’m unlikely to keep, but Jordan still shows up for Pickles before six.

“The whole night,” Jordan says, leash in one hand while Pickles tries to drag him toward the elevator like the building’s on fire. “Not just the evening. You said whole night twice in that text.”

“I wanted to be clear.”

“Yeah. I think I got it.”

“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you, Jordan. I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Thankfully, he leaves it there. Mostly because I don’t trust my face not to give away exactly how much I’m looking forward to tonight.

Jordan heads off with Pickles trotting proudly beside him, and I stand in my doorway for a second after the elevator closes.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

I’m reminded why I got Pickles in the first place. I don’t like the quiet.

I check the time. Six-oh-four.

Quinn isn’t coming until seven.

The candles on the counter look stupid.

I move them to the table.

Still stupid.

I move them back to the counter, stare at them for a few seconds, then pick them up again.

Pickles would be judging the shit out of me right now.