Her mouth twitches. “Always give me the bad first.”
“You’re gonna have to send me a text before each game.”
“And the good?” She raises a brow.
“We won tonight.”
She lets out a huff of laughter. “Ah. Is this a weird hockey superstition thing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“No pressure or anything.” Her teeth catch on her bottom lip. “All right, I think I can handle that.”
I force my attention up to her eyes. “The Saints thank you for your service.”
She smiles again, and I wonder how many I can get out of her before we hang up. Not a normal thought. Not for me, at least.
I’m usually counting down the polite amount of time before I can wrap things up, but with Summer, I’m trying to find a way to keep her on the line.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Tell me about your first day.”
“Don’t you want to ride the high of the win?”
“I am.”
“By hearing about my bad day?”
I consider deflecting, but the truth comes out. “By hearing your voice.”
“Heck.” She giggles. “You’re smooth.”
I’d normally consider that true, but with her I feel anything but. I almost say so, but the words stay stuck in my throat. Better to let her believe I’m on the same page than admit how badly I’m not.
“So, your first day.” My voice drops. “How was it really?”
She sinks back against a pile of pillows. Her own bed, not mine. That’s definitelynotdisappointment. The neck of my sweatshirt bunches as she tucks her chin into it.
Fuck. I wonder if she’d look just as good in my jersey—who am I kidding? Of course she would.
“It was… a lot,” she admits. “Boone’s quiet, but in a way that makes you feel like every thought and action you have is being judged.”
My jaw tightens. “He gave you a hard time?”
“He didn’t love most of what I showed him.” She gives a tiny shrug. “Said I had ‘potential,’ which is just a fancy way of saying not there yet. He liked one page.”
“What was it?” I shift, pulling my laptop closer, like I can shorten the distance between us that way.
“Something I wrote a couple of days ago.” Her attention flicks away for a second, then returns to me.
I can’t help thinking about our night together, but I don’t let myself hope thatI’mwhat she wrote about.
A small grin tugs at her mouth.Two,I add another smile to the count. “You might be my good luck charm, too, you know.”
“Yeah?” I ask, a little too fast.
“I wrote that page after…” She trails off, then lets out a breath. “After a really good night.”
My pulse kicks. “Anything I can do to help?” I let the question hang there, not even sure myself what I’m offering.
