“I might not get back up,” I laugh.
“Then don’t. Stay here tonight.”
I freeze. He says it so casually, as if having someone else sleeping in his apartment while he’s here is normal to him.
It’s not.
I’d put money on him never having had a sleepover.
“No, Cole. I can’t.”
“Why not? You’ll only get up and come back here first thing in the morning. Assuming your car is fixed, of course.”
“I thought you said you’d sort it.” I kick myself the second the words are out of my mouth. It isn’t his responsibility to get my car fixed. I’m beyond grateful that he willingly took the job off my hands. But I’m also aware that he’s been busy all day and that it was probably the last thing on his mind. As it should have been.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a mechanic. I know fuck all about cars and engines. I can only go on what I’m told.”
“And what were you told?”
“Your car’s fucked.”
My chest deflates. I knew it was coming. My old girl has been on her last legs for years. I’m impressed she lasted this long.
“So now I’m apartmentandcar shopping? So much for getting my life together.”
“Sometimes you gotta hit rock bottom before being able to rebuild. But don’t forget, you might not have either of those things right now, but you do have a kick-ass job.”
A smile curls at my lips as I make my way over to where he’s sitting, now turned away from the screen and giving me all of his attention. He’s wearing gray sweats and a black T-shirt, and I’m in leggings and an oversized sweater that falls from one shoulder. There’s no denying that I look as relaxed and at home as him as I concede and curl up on the other end of the couch.
“I can’t argue with that. My boss is pretty decent, too.”
“Pretty decent? Ouch,” he laughs.
“So, what’s the deal here?” I say, pointing at the TV.
“Well, they’re playing this game called ice hockey. You might have heard of it.”
Grabbing the closest cushion, I throw it at him.
“I know that. I meant the teams. Are they decent? Top of the league? Bottom? Is it even NHL?”
He laughs at me as he settles the cushion on his lap.
“Yes, it’s NHL,” he confirms before he embarks on teaching me a little about each team.
I nod along, following a lot more than I did only a few weeks ago.
“So you’re not worried about either of them?” I ask.
“I worry about every single team. Just because they’re not doing great now, doesn’t mean they won’t suddenly turn it around. A team we don’t worry about this season could be the one we face in the Stanley Cup Finals next season.”
“Already planning for how next season ends, huh?”
“What’s the point in anything if we don’t reach for the stars?” he counters.
I think about his words for a moment.
“Yeah, I guess. I’d need stars to reach for first.”
