“Can I tell you something?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I had a serious girlfriend after college,” he says. “Right after I got drafted.”
I go still.
Not because I’m threatened. Because he’s choosing honesty.
“It was real,” he continues. “We talked about the future. Marriage. Kids. All of it.”
I keep my expression neutral.
“She was close with her family. Like, Sunday dinners, cousins live down the street kind of close.” He smiles faintly. “She wanted roots.”
“And you couldn’t promise that.”
He nods. “Trades happen. Seasons change. You don’t always get a say.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice. Just acceptance.
“I didn’t blame her,” he says. “We just wanted different lives at the time.”
That maturity lands harder than jealousy ever could.
“After that… a couple longer things. Some flings. Mostly hockey.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t closed off. Just selective.”
Then he looks at me.
Really looks.
“I haven’t liked someone this much in a long time,” he says quietly. “I like you, Sloane.”
My stomach flips, quick and unwelcome, like my body reacted before I could stop it.
I love hearing it, though.
But that realization scares me immediately.
So I do what I always do.
I smile.
“Well,” I say lightly. “I’m extremely likable.”
He laughs. The moment loosens.
“Yeah, you are,” he says, a slow smile forming at his mouth. “Got a little spark to you. I like that.”
"Thanks."
I take a sip of coffee I don’t need and pivot before my feelings can catch up.
“You should see Raina’s numbers this morning,” I say, already reaching for my phone. “They’re insane.”
I slide it across to him.
New follows. New tags. Clips from last night.
