Page 8

“That’s it! Good timing, Bennett! Do it again!” Coach Ryan’s voice echoed off the boards.

Circling back, my skates cut grooves in the freshly surfaced ice. Across the rink, Kevin caught my eye. A fleeting glance before we focused on the next drill, but enough to send a jolt straight through me.

In the couple of days since we’d been back, trying to play it cool on the ice was turning into an Olympic sport.

Hyper-aware. That was the only way to describe it. Every time he moved into position, every sharp stop spraying ice, every crisp pass—I noticed. He looked my way again, a ghost of a smile touching his lips before his game face slid into place.

For the rest of practice, I focused on executing the drills with all I had. Henderson noticed, as captains always do. During a water break, he glided over, bumping my shoulder.

“Someone’s fired up today.” His eyes crinkled under his helmet.

I forced a grin, tipping my water bottle back for a long pull. “Just feeling good. Everything’s clicking.”

He nodded, already skating backward. “Maybe getting stuck in Detroit was good for you.”

If only he knew. The memory—Kevin’s mouth, his hands on me, the low groan against my lips—hit me hard. I shook my head sharply. This wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.

* * *

After practice, and back home, the silence of my condo pressed in. Normally, I didn’t mind the quiet, needed it even. Since I got back, though, it was lacking.

Standing in the kitchen, I debated. Give Kevin space? Let him set the pace? That was the smart play.

Patience wasn’t my strongest stat, though.

Before the rational part of my brain could stage a comeback, my phone was in my hand, thumbs flying across the screen.

Tyler: Any dinner plans tonight? Join me for stir fry?

I put my phone on the counter face down. I refused to watch it. Opening the fridge, I surveyed the contents, forcing my mind onto chicken, vegetables, sauce. The chicken needed marinating first.

Buzz.

My hand snatched the phone before the vibration stopped.

Kevin: No plans. Your place?

Relief hit me. I couldn’t fight the grin playing at my lips.

Tyler: 7 PM? I’ll text the address.

Kevin: See you then.

Okay. I took a deep breath to try to not go out of my mind before he got here.

The next couple of hours were a blur of activity fueled by nervous energy. Straightening cushions. Chopping onions with maybe a little too much force. Marinating chicken, setting the table. Changing the sheets. Not assuming anything. Just being prepared. Checking the phone. Still an hour. Pacing the living room. Checking the phone again.

By six forty-five, I’d showered, changed into dark jeans and the blue henley, and worked on dinner so it would be ready shortly after he arrived. I checked my reflection. Hair okay? Casual enough? Not trying too hard?

The clock ticked, each second stretching.

The doorbell chimed two minutes early. My heart kicked against my ribs. Taking a breath, I pulled open the door.

Kevin stood there. Charcoal sweater that made his eyes look impossibly dark, jeans that fit just right. Hair slightly styled. A bottle of wine in one hand. He looked... devastating.

“Hey.” His gaze swept over me, appreciative, sending a jolt straight down my spine.

“Hey yourself.” I stepped back so he could enter. “Come on in.”