But when it faded, Nettie’s thoughts slid right back where they always went— to him.
Shannon was dazzling—everyone could see that. Golden skin, effortless charm, the kind of beauty that didn’t just turn heads but rearranged entire rooms. Gina was gorgeous, too—tall, striking, the human equivalent of a lit sparkler that refused to go out. Nettie loved them both, but sitting between them often left her feeling like one of those Norwegian troll dolls—wild hair, button nose, something quirky to be looked at, maybe smiled at, but never chosen.
She was… herself. Brown hair with a mind of its own, soft curves, quiet where others were bold. The kind of girl who blended into wallpaper until someone needed comfort, a listener, someone steady. Men didn’t crave steady. They craved excitement and fireworks.
TheywantedShannons.
Theychasedafter Ginas.
And theypassed overwomen like Nettie.
Except Tate.
The thought stabbed sharp and sweet at the same time, and Nettie nearly choked on her bite of bread. Tate, with his gruff voice and that maddening scowl he’d worn the day she’d run into him at the hobby store. She could still see the mangled skein in his big hand, his expression like he was glaring the whole world into submission—until that faint smile broke through.
That smile had no right haunting her the way it did. No right creeping into her dreams, softening all his sharp edges until he looked… dangerous in a different way. She didn’t want to think of him like that. Because thinking of him that way was the first step toward being crushed.
Again.
Hope was more dangerous than love, she thought. Hope was the thing that clawed into your chest and whisperedmaybe.People fell in and out of love every day—Shannon was living proof of it. But hope? Hope carved itself into bone, into your very soul. When you lost hope, when it left, what remained shattered you from the inside.
She wasn’t sure she could survive losing hope again.
“Soooo,” Shannon suddenly sing-songed, her mood bouncing back like a rubber ball. She leaned in, her grin wicked, her eyes sparkling like she’d just remembered her favorite topic. “Nettie, you got any strong ‘Baby Daddies’ hanging in the background? You know, there is nothing more fun than seeing a man melt when you call him‘Daddy’during a steamy kiss.”
“Eww!” Gina physically recoiled, shoving her chair back with a dramatic shiver. “I’m gonna pretend you didnotsay that,Loos-a-tainia… and go back to fantasizing about my handsome goalie.”
“Lusitania,” Shannon corrected, not even offended by the insult with a snort, clearly delighted. “That’s a good one. I’ll give you that. But I still have my ‘V’ card, thank you very much.”
Nettie blinked at her, stunned. Gina too. The two of them stared as Shannon folded her arms, frowning.
“I’m waiting for marriage,” Shannon huffed, a little too hotly. “I’m not a hoe.”
“You sure about that?” Gina shot back.
“I think it’s sweet,” Nettie murmured before she could stop herself, her voice quiet but sincere. “Being with someone is special, and you don’t want that moment to be with just anyone. I mean, what if they treat you badly, yell at you, or?—”
“Not everyone is Gina’s hot brother,” Shannon cut in with a laugh. “There are some winners out there. But there’s also a lot of losers… like her goalie. Ugh. Have you everdateda hockey player? That sweaty smell is not something you forget.One game, one kiss, and I was sooo done with that idea. Nice concept on paper, but in real life?” She pinched her nose with exaggerated disgust.
“Speak for yourself,” Gina sighed, dreamy as a lovesick poet. “I can just imagine after a game, him rushing to me, yanking off that helmet…”
“Which stinks,” Shannon interrupted.
“Seeing those wet golden locks, his glistening skin, as he spots me…” Gina pressed on, unbothered.
“Wet and glistening are just adjectives for buttloads of perspiration,” Shannon quipped.
But Nettie barely heard them. Her mind had wandered again.What would Tate look like coming off the ice?She’d never been to a game, not once, but she could see him—sweaty, disheveled, raw from the adrenaline, looking straight at her.
The thought made her throat tighten.
“And then my gorgeous goalie looks right through me and walks off,” Gina finished pitifully, slumping over the table. “So yeah, Shannon—tell us both exactly how hard it is to be gorgeous.”
“Guys don’t ask you out,” Shannon admitted, shrugging with surprising vulnerability. “They’re chicken. They think you’re already taken or too good for them. So they don’t ask. They don’t even try.”
“But you’re always dating,” Nettie blurted, frowning. “You always have someone.”
“I askthemout.” Shannon’s cheeks flushed as she admitted it, then she rolled her eyes at herself. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”
