Lots of...hot men.Some half-dressed in hockey gear, others still in their sweats.
They all freeze and stare.I swear the music stops, but that could be the ringing in my ears getting louder.
I tap my fingers against my bag.“I'm, uh, here for Jay Cross.”
They're still staring.
“I'm a physical therapy grad student,” I add, because I feel like they all want to know my life story.
Finally, they look away.Well, most of them do.There are still two guys watching me.One is freakishly tall, though that might be because of the skates and goalie gear give him a grizzly bear vibe.The other one has a black eye that seems way too hardcore for hockey alone, but what do I know?I've never actually watched the sport.
“Thank God you're here,” the one with the black eye says as he shoves some chest pads over his head.“Cross has been whining like a toddler all week.'Coach, let me play.I've learned my lesson.No more reckless plays, I pinky swear.'It's a lie and everyone knows it.”
“Wow.An athlete who wants to play through injury.What's new?”
He grins, pointing at me.“I like you.I'm Cade Bright, by the way.”Then he holds his hand out to me, and even though I accept it, I glare at it with disdain.
“Ally Hart.”
“Nice to meet you, Ally.”He pulls his hand away, only to wrap his arm around the extra-tall, grumbling dude.“This is my best friend Dash Bridges.Have you met?”
The guy under the mask grunts.“No.We haven't.”
“Well, I think you'd like him.Our goalie takes his stretching very seriously.So seriously, in fact, that he named his foam roller Bertha.”
“Cade.”The warning is so clear, I can hear it through the growl.
“Let me finish,” Cade says before turning back to me.“Since you're both so into stretching, I thought you two might get along.”
Dash elbows Cade, shaking his head.“I do not need help finding dates, Cade.”
“You sure?You haven't dated anyone since high school, and I feel like you need a girl to loosen you up.”He glances back to me.“Metaphorically speaking, of course.Watching Dash stretch is unsettling.He bends in ways that should require a waiver and a priest.He can even do the splits.”Then he winks.
I roll my eyes.
Athletes… It doesn't matter what sport they play, they're all the same.
“Are you boys talking shit about me again?”
I shiver.
That voice.
Shit, I've only heard it a few times since that fateful night, but I hate how it always immediately makes me feel something deep in my chest.
Jay Cross waltzes into the locker room late.Shirtless.Sweaty.Completely unapologetic.His hair is perfectly messy, his jaw is sharp, and his abs have abs.
Ugh.I hate him.
His eyes find mine immediately, and that insufferable grin spreads across his face like he's been waiting for this moment.
“Well, well, well.”He crosses his arms over his chest, and his biceps flex, which I pretend to ignore.“Ally Hart.In the flesh.”
He takes me in with a small smile on his face.
My stomach drops.
He remembers me.
