Bree swats my arm. “Don’t worry. I know how much you hate this kind of stuff. I’ll only ask you to do the most important ones.”
She’s right, but when it comes to her, I’ll do anything that will make her happy. “Whatever you need, Bree. I’m your guy.”
The smile she beams at me as she tilts her head in that way she does to express her thanks deposits a familiar ache in my chest. I’m already hers. Have been for years. I just haven’t figured out how to tell her.
The old feelings are very much there, if not stronger. I knew that the minute I had her in my arms earlier, and I relished the feel of her against me. Sensing her distress stirred a primal desire to protect her, which brought to the surface everything I thought I’d buried. And then some.
How am I going to survive this? I can’t imagine my life without Bree, but somehow I have to be content with her being my best friend and nothing more.
Lost in thought, she chews and swallows. “Fans love meeting you guys in person, so I want to do something like that romcom ‘Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.’” She gestures in the air at an unseen headline. “Win a Date with a Hockey Player, or we could use your names like ‘Win a Date with Goaltender Wade Pierce.’”
I choke on the bite of pizza I was about to swallow and reach for one of the water bottles she thoughtfully put on the table to accompany our meal.
She jumps up, slapping my back like Nana would do whenever we choked on something, then resorts to rubbing her hand across my shoulders while her cornflower-blue eyes study me with concern. The warmth of her touch does crazy things to my pulse.
Once she’s certain I’m not going to keel over and die, she returns to her seat. “I’m only asking the single guys if they want to take part, but don’t feel you have to do it, okay? I mean, Rebecca may not even like the idea.”
She’s backpedaling because my reaction made her doubt her idea. And though I’m not keen on the thought of being fixed up on a date in such a public manner, if it helps a charity—and Bree—then I’ll do it.
“You just surprised me, that’s all. Like I said, I’m your guy.”
I’d love more than anything, maybe even more than hockey, to be hers in the most serious and intimate of ways. But Bree Sutton will never be mine. And I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.
Maybe this dating thing will not only benefit Bree but also help me get over her.
She’s my best friend, and that will have to be enough.
Chapter Six
BREE
Wade was right—had I slept on the couch, I would have bitten his head off for waking me up so early. By the time I wandered out of the bedroom the last two mornings, bleary-eyed and in need of a serious caffeine fix, he’d already gone for a jog, made himself some green smoothie concoction that smelled like hay, and was waiting for me to wake up so he could make me breakfast.
I told him not to waste his time—I never eat breakfast. But he was insistent that I start my day with a hefty dose of protein.
The man definitely likes his routines. And eating healthy, which I get. His body is key to his profession. Mine is my brain, and it prefers mac and cheese. I hid the packages I purchased yesterday in one of the packing boxes in the living room so I wouldn’t have to hear him razz me for dining on junk food. I know he’s right, but a girl has to have some kind of vice.
Nevertheless, when he slid the plate in front of me, noting that he had added extra cheese for my benefit, I relented and ate. I’ll admit, the man knows how to make a wicked omelet, hot sauce and all. But that may be what’s turning the butterfliesin my stomach into an angry swarm of bees as we leave his apartment today.
Or it could be the three cups of coffee loaded with a hefty dose of sugar fueling my first day at my new job jitters or this sense of impending doom that’s still hovering over me like a lingering dark cloud. Even though I haven’t heard a word from Chase and it’s only been a week since I blocked his number, that feeling of dread sits in the back of my mind like an unwelcome guest standing at the door with a questionable casserole in hand.
What are the chances that the three states sitting between us will serve as a deterrent and that I’ll never hear from him again? For once, I’d love to see things work out that easily in my life, so that the whole thing would magically go away.
Just call me an ostrich and show me the nearest pile of sand to hide my head.
From what I hear, Sarabella has lots of it—sand, that is. The nice powdery white kind, too. Maybe I can talk Wade into stopping at the beach on the way home tonight to see my first sunset here. Just the thought of walking by the water’s edge as the sun sets and the waves lap around my ankles settles the anxiety tangling my insides.
Since the U-Haul’s still hitched to my car, Wade suggested I ride to work with him—makes sense anyway since we’re both going to the same place—and then he’ll return the trailer for me after practice as I’ll still be at work. Then he’ll pick me up and take me home.
There he goes again, trying to make sure I’m okay. He hasn’t pushed me for more details about what really happened in Texas, and I’m all for ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ in this situation. The last thing I want is for Wade to see me as the fool that I am.
Blue sky and fluffy clouds reflect in the giant windows on the front of the arena as we approach the entrance. The way thesunlight glistens off the glass panes and the red metal trim of the building gives me an idea.
I stop on the sidewalk, shielding my face from the sun as I study my new workplace and its bare-minimum signage. “What do you call the arena?”
Wade glances up at the simple ‘arena’ sign and shoots me a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“Most arenas have corporate sponsors, except for Madison Square Garden, which is iconic. Just wondering what the deal is with this place.” I make a general sweep of my hand, imagining the team logo filling one of the massive windows above the entrance, and a more elaborate name representing the team’s home base.
