“What a weird coincidence,” Liz says serenely.
Could it be that simple? A stolen moment in public, hidden in plain sight. My pulse beats faster still, excitement layered on top of fear. Both co-existing.
“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “This is fine. But I want to hide the back of my jersey in a booth, if you don’t mind.”
Merry waves us off. “I’ll bring your drinks over to you.”
We head to a big round corner booth. Sloane and Liz slide into the middle, and I sit on the edge, my back firmly against the vinyl, my eyes glued to the entrance, although with LA traffic, it might be ages before they actually walk in the door.
“Oh, wow.” Sloane nudges me. “Apparently a hockey player slept with one of his teammate’s mom.”
“What?”
She shoves her phone in front of my face. It’s a hockey gossip blog account, suggested to her by Instagram as a new follow.
I scan the salaciously worded graphic quickly. “That was just an online rumour that sprouted legs.”
“Apparently it happenedagain.”
I push her phone away. “Don’t believe stuff like that.”
And then against my better judgement, I tell her the entire back story about why that rumour took off, and how people want to assume the worst of a player, because he’s done other bad stuff regularly…
“I had no idea there was so much lore. Okay, I’m following that page for sure.”
“That’s not the takeaway I was suggesting.”
“Mmm.” She nods and keeps scrolling.
I shake my head and look across to Liz, who is watching Merry put the finishing touches on our drinks with a lovesick look on her face.
Crap, that’s totally how I’m going to look as soon as Logan arrives.
Sure enough, when the door opens forty-five minutes later and more than a dozen giant men fill the space, I immediately find him in the middle of the pack. He’s changed into jeans and a light blue buttoned down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Our eyes meet across the room. The impact is visceral and steals my breath. He’s affected, too. His jaw tightens, and for half a second, his stride falters. Then someone claps him on the shoulder and he forces a lazy grin as he responds to whatever they’re saying.
His gaze doesn’t leave me, though.
I press my back harder against the booth.
“Holy shit,” Sloane breathes. “They’re all so big.”
“That’s what she said,” Liz murmurs, and I would laugh if my heart wasn’t trying to escape my chest.
The team spreads out toward the bar. Merry greets them, then gestures to the double-wide glass doors, where string lights illuminate the narrow private patio at the side of the building.
I read their lips as they debate where they want to sit. Or stand.
“Here’s good.”
“Sitting under a palm tree sounds good, too, though.”
“Yeah, let’s go outside.”
“Let me just look at this menu first.”
Logan doesn’t weigh in. He feigns scanning the room in casual curiosity. Three, two, one… Eye contact again.
