Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Masochistic,” Stephanie supplies. “And you could be right, but it might be worth a serious conversation, you know? Just to clear the air and get some clarity on where you both stand?”
I pull a face. “Ugh. Serious conversations give me hives.”
“But sometimes they’re necessary.” Tank leans forward, fixing me with that intense stare that intimidated me a little bit when I first met him, back when we were rookies together in Seattle. “Have you ever told her how you feel?”
I roll my eyes. “I mean, no, not flat out. But I haven’t exactly tried to hide it, either. It’s there, right in front of her face, if she had any interest in seeing it.”
“So, you’re expecting her to read your mind,” he says, arching a judgmental brow. “Sounds like she’s not the only one who’s scared.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I protest. “She’s made it clear since day one that all she wants is casual sex. No strings attached. She spelled it out for me in big, bold letters. Dumping feelings on her when I knew exactly what I was getting into and agreed to the terms ahead of time would be a dick move.”
“Would it?” Stephanie asks. “Or is it more of a dick move to hide how you feel and pretend fuck buddies is still enough for you when it clearly isn’t?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Fuck, you ask hard questions.” I glare Tank’s way. “You, too. She’s rubbing off on you.”
Tank’s lips hook up on one side. “I hope so. She’s smart. And perceptive.”
“And I’m perceiving now that you need a swim break,” Stephanie says, granting me a much-needed reprieve. “Just think on the hard questions. And know we only push because we care and think you’re great.”
Tank grunts. “I don’t know about that. A great guy would have brought more than one floatie.”
I grin. “Go look in the men’s bathroom, smartass. I just put them in there so they wouldn’t blow off the roof if the wind picked up. There’s a lobster for you and a frog for me, and I’m going to give Steph my flamingo because she’s the nicest and the prettiest and deserves a floatie with no bathroom germs on it.”
“Aw, you’re the sweetest,” Steph says, rising to her feet. “I’m headed for my flamingo, then. It’s getting hot.”
After grabbing our pool toys, Tank and I join her in a long float. The conversation shifts to safer topics like training camp and whether the new Bucky the Badger retro merch line is cool or creepy. (I say, both.) But my mind keeps circling back to Tank’s accusation.
Have I been expecting Remy to read my mind?
I mean, I think I’ve been pretty obvious about how important she is to me, how much I care, but maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe she thinks I’m like that with all my casual lady friends, and she’s nothing special.
But she is.
But what if I’m not special to her? What if I come clean and she winces and lets me down easy, ending this on-again-off-again thing between us for good?
For the first time in my life, the prospect of rejection is enough to stop me in my tracks. I’ve always gone after the things I wanted, full throttle, but Remy isn’t a thing and this whole situation is so fucking complicated.
By the time Tank and Steph head out, the sun is beginning to set. I take Barb, the best chihuahua in the whole world and my sweet baby fur princess, out for her evening walk and feed her before sinking into a lounger on my private deck. As the evening light above the city skyline turns from pink and gold to a darker orange, I do some serious soul searching.
For as long as I can remember, hockey has been my number one. Every decision, every sacrifice, every relationship or lack thereof—all of it has been in service to the game. Now, with retirement looming on the horizon after this season, I’m facing a future without the one thing that’s given me purpose and focus for so long.
But watching Tank and Stephanie today, seeing the way they look at each other, the future they’re building together...
I want something like that. I want it as much as I did at the beginning of the summer, when I decided it was time to push Remy for what ended up being our one-and-only disastrous date. And yes, it was scary, almost getting caught by my teammates, but there will come a time when that won’t matter. In nine short months, I won’t be a Badger or one of her dad’s players anymore.
Would that make a difference to Remy? If I dare to point it out?
I’m still sitting there in my now-dry suit, marinating in indecision, when my phone buzzes on the small table beside my lounger.