“Maybe.”
“Don’t argue with me, Cross. I know what I’m talking about.” Our eyes met, and the stale air around us pulled tight. “Your game was all anyone could talk about after, not that stupid picture.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Fuck that guy.” It was clear he’d been holding onto that this whole time, and the relief of finally releasing it bled through his response.
“Playoffs, five years ago,” I said, segueing like a pro as I dug through the crate. “I waited four hours for warmups because I was convinced if I was close enough and asked nicely, Hunter would toss me a puck. He was the substitute back then, and I figured he was more accessible than the rest of the stars.”
“Did you get it?”
“I got a half-full water bottle with the cap off, tangled in a sweaty towel,” I said, shaking with laughter. “And he told me to hit the merch stand after the game.”
“And he acts like he’s the ultimate nice guy.”
“He winked, which I guess softened the blow. But I was soaked. An usher offered me a poncho.”
His laughter bounced off the mountainous pile boxing us in. “Let me guess— You kept the bottle, towel, and poncho for your collection.”
“Tossed the bottle, framed the towel, and the poncho’s folded away in a cedar chest at the foot of my bed.”
“You’re insane.”
“I prefer passionate, thanks.”
We were both laughing now, forgetting the smell, forgetting the cramped space. I turned toward him mid-sentence and stopped short. He was closer than I expected. Close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jaw.
My fingers brushed the length of it before I knew what I was doing. “Surge vs Flames last year. You caught an elbow from their winger in a hit on the blue line.”
The laughter thinned. His hand lifted, hovering near my waist without quite landing, and I tilted my face as he dipped his. My lips parted with a breath of restrained anticipation, right before a loud scraping sound ripped through the tension.
Landon and I jumped apart, as far apart as the tight squeeze allowed, and we turned to find Holly standing in the doorway.
“Hey, this dump is mine now,” she said, triumph written all over her face. “You lovebirds have to canoodle in another room that smells like death.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
“Who even says canoodle?” Landon shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, the picture of cool.
10
Landon
“Oh, good. You’re still here.”
I froze in my doorway where Nicole had suddenly appeared wearing nothing but a towel cinched high. Little effort was made to stop my gaze from tracing the shape of her bare legs. It wasn’t as if I’d made her show up like this.
“Dare I ask?” My eyes were back on her face, and I’d caught the hint of a smile before she buried it.
“You dare, but it’s nothing interesting. Just urgent.”
She started to push past me, and I responded by blocking entry into my apartment. “What are you doing?”
“I just said it was urgent,” she huffed, looking at me as if I were the crazy one. “My water heater broke, and I really need to use your shower.”
“No,” I said with a shocked laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“Landon—”
“Shower at work.”
