“Sorry.” He shrank into himself a little more.
“No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault the service isn’t great. It’s a Friday night. It’s fine. So, I saw your final preseason game against Washington?” I was sure it was Washington, but mostly I’d been watching Jari. “Podcasters are talking about your soft hands.”
See? I could talk hockey.
“Oh, they say that all the time,” Jari said, dismissing the words as if they were nothing.
The server arrived. I ordered a seasonal ale, pumpkin spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as two chili burgers with curly fries. Jari nodded at the order. Off she went into the crowds. We fell into light conversation, generally about our sports or charities. I chatted about Kind Bridge because they were having a fall fundraiser for Halloween. The more big-name jocks we could get signed up, the more funds would pour in, so I talked up the event quite a bit. Since his captain had already committed him, I wanted to reassure him that it would be fun. Our food arrived sans my beer. I asked the server where it was and got thatoopslook before the server disappeared again.
“You can have some of my soda,” Jari said before wrestling the biggest, messiest burger I had ever seen to his mouth.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve not been kissing anyone with a cold,” he tossed out with a playful wink that knocked me right out of my lucky socks.
Before I said something stupid about his prettiness, I stuffed my mouth full of fries. Little talking took place while we wolfed down our late-night meal. The food was incredible. The pumpkin ale? No clue, as it never materialized. I did end up washing down my final bite of burger with some orange soda. The crowd was growing louder and rowdier the more soused they became, so when the check came, I jumped on it. I wouldn’t dwell on how I had planned my night around Jari. Nope. Not going there.
“Let me pay half,” Jari yelled over an old Drake song that had the kids bumping and grinding even though there was no dance floor. Drake will do that to a person.
“Nah, I’ve got it, you can do next time.”
NINE
Jari
I steppedinto the meeting room already searching for an empty seat at this first planning meeting for Cam’s charity. Maybe a dozen people were scattered around the long table, coats draped over chairs, takeaway cups clustered near a cardboard box stamped with the charity’s logo. Conversation hummed under the scrape of chairs and the rustle of agenda packets; the kind of polite noise that made it clear everyone was still feeling each other out. My chest tightened, and my breathing was shallow, every sense dialed up too high, as if I were braced for impact. But everything eased as soon as I saw Cam.
He was leaning back in his chair, talking to Cap, and when his gaze flicked up and found me, his whole expression softened. It was just a small smile, but he seemed genuinely glad I’d made it. I smiled back before I could stop myself, quick and instinctive, and the tension loosened its grip a little. Not gone. But manageable.
I straightened my shoulders and took another step into the room.
I can do this.
I barely took two steps before someone stepped up behind me, close enough that their shoulder brushed my arm as they passed. I’d stalled without meaning to, turned myself into a human roadblock while I stood there trying to get my bearings. Heat crept up my neck as I half turned, already forming an apology, fingers lifting in a useless, belated gesture.
Tennant Rowe.
His presence filled the doorway in that effortless way some men had. Calm. Solid. Like he belonged anywhere he chose to be. He smiled immediately and stuck out his hand.
“Tennant Rowe,” he said as if I wouldn't know who he is. “Jari, right? Good to finally meet you.”
I froze for half a beat—then shook his hand. Fast. Too fast.
“Yeah. Jari, hi,” I muttered, already pulling back, gaze dropping. I disengaged almost before the contact registered, headed straight for the table, and took the chair beside Cap.
I should have known Tennant would be here, right? After all, he was one of the organizers of this charity with Cam.
He went to his seat halfway down the table, relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair. I couldn't look at him, so I kept my eyes on the agenda packet in front of me and still couldn’t focus on the words.
“Okay then,” Cam said, glancing down at his notes. “Before that, though, we still need to lock down the main event.”
“Casino night is always a draw,” someone further down the table offered. “Low barrier, good sponsor tie-ins.”
“High cost, though,” Layton countered. “Dealers, tables, insurance. And some fans don’t love the gambling angle.”
“What about a burlesque night?” another suggested, half-joking, half-serious. “Ticketed, flashy, easy publicity.”
Tennant leaned his forearms on the table. “Great energy, but we’d need to be careful about tone. This is still a mental healthfundraiser. We don’t want it to feel like we’re undercutting the message.”
