Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Harrison watches me, chin propped on his hand. He looks… interested. Like the story is actually for him, not just space-filler.
“Retired from what?” he asks.
I almost laugh. Not what you think. “Owning the bar. My dad started The Sin Bin before I was born. Ran it for three decades, then decided he’d had enough. After I graduated from Arizona State last year, he sold me half of it and became my silent partner. Then he moved to Toledo Bend so he could go fishing every damn day.”
There’s pride in my voice, and I don’t bother to hide it.
He laughs, low and genuine. For a second, I can almost see what he must’ve looked like as a kid. Mischief, pure and undiluted.
“Were you always planning to take over?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not really. I thought I’d move to California and get a desk job.” I shrug. “But I missed Houston and The Sin Bin.”
Bev brings our food out a few minutes later. The burgers are the size of my fist, and the fries are hot enough to burn fingerprints off.
Harrison digs in like he hasn’t eaten in days. I pop a fry in my mouth and moan, just a little. Worth it.
The fan above us clatters like it’s trying to drown out the conversation. Harrison leans forward, eyes sharp.
He nods and lets the conversation roll. “You got a good crew?”
“Best. Marcy’s been my best friend since grade school. She teaches first grade during the week and works a few weekend shifts a month to help out. Almost everyone has been there since my dad ran the place.”
He grins, mouth full of fries. “Sounds like a family.”
“Sometimes it is.”
Another wave of silence, but it’s comfortable this time. The sort you lean into.
I try to shift focus. “What about you? Ever want to walk away from the ice?”
Harrison’s whole body stiffens, but only for a second. He wipes his hands on a napkin and looks at me, all pretense gone.
“Not yet,” he says. “I like what I do. But I’m not dumb. I know it doesn’t last. So, I have back-up plans just in case hockey falls through.”
I nod, thinking of the old regulars at my place who still talk about “their” glory days.
“What would you do instead?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He thinks about it, brows furrowed. “I invested in several gyms here and in Maine. Once my hockey career comes to an end, I’ll work in one of them or maybe coach high school. Something to keep me busy and out of trouble.”
I get that, more than I want to admit.
Our eyes meet, and there’s a jolt of something real. Like we’ve both stopped pretending for a split second.
I eat another fry, just for the distraction. It doesn’t help.
Harrison leans back, stretching so the vinyl creaks under his weight, and there’s a heat in his eyes, but it’s not just physical. It’s like he’s actually seeing me. Even the parts I don’t bother showing most people.
For a second, I have to look away.
Bev sweeps by and tops off my Coke, then does a double-take at Harrison’s empty pint glass. “You want another?” she asks, and still somehow manages not to make this sound like a kindness.
“No. Thank you,” he says.
We linger there, two grown adults picking at the scraps of fries and pretending we don’t have anywhere else to be. When Bev comes by with the check, I grab it and hand her my credit card. “I’m paying you back for all your hard work,” I tell Harrison before he can argue.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Thank you.”
I shrug, not wanting to make it a thing. “You earned it. Manual labor and all.”
He laughs, and it’s a little softer now. “Did I possibly earn a second date?”
The words hang between us, thicker than the diner air.
My heart is shouting, “Say yes, say yes,” but my mind is warning me that this is dangerous territory.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask him before I’m able to talk myself out of it.
“I have a game tomorrow night, then a three-day road stretch, but I’m free on Monday.”
“Could we do lunch again?” I stare into his eyes. “I don’t get many nights off.”
“That works for me.” His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.
I’m not going to lie. I’m looking forward to our date on Monday way more than I should.
CHAPTER FIVE
HARRISON
Monday takes its sweet ass time rolling around. I’ve been itching for this lunch since the second Daisy said yes. I swing into the lot behind The Sin Bin, tapping the steering wheel while I watch the side door. I’m early, but I couldn’t wait another fucking moment to see her.
At 11:57, the door cracks open, and Daisy steps out. She’s dressed in dark jeans, a pink tee, and her hair is twisted up in some kind of bun thing. I hop out of the truck and rush over to open the door for her.