“No way, is that Clark Culpepper?”
I tense immediately. April notices, her smile faltering slightly.
Two women approach our table, both probably in their early twenties, wearing Knights jerseys with my number. One is filming on her phone.
“Hi, I’m actually—” I start to tell them that this isn’t an opportune time, but they interrupt.
“Can we get a picture?” one of them asks, already moving to my side of the booth.
“I’d really rather not?—”
“It’ll just take a second!”
April has gone very still, very quiet. I can see her retreating into herself, becoming smaller.
“Ladies,” I say, standing up and creating distance. Most fans are respectful, but every once in a while, they can be oblivious and demanding. I gesture to April. “We’re here together.”
They both deflate slightly. “Oh. Right. I saw the Love at First Wag campaign. Didn’t realize it was, you know, still a thing.”
I want to sayThis is April. She’s not just my girlfriend—she’s my best friend and the most important person in my life.But I hold back. I’m afraid to define it. What if she wants to take things slow? Being at home felt like a dream and now that we’re dropped back into reality—with the demands of hockey and her trying to launch a business—I don’t want to scare her off. For there to be too much too soon.
“Thought it was for publicity,” the second says.
April visibly flinches.
My smile falters. “Now, if you’ll excuseus,” I say.
The women apologize and leave, and we sit back down. But the moment is like a quickly splitting sheet of ice.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” But her voice is tight.
“April—”
“It’s nothing, really. I just ... I’m not used to that kind of attention now that we’re?—”
Noticing she doesn’t say it either, I let out a heavy breath. “It comes with the territory sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She forces a smile. “It’s part of an NHL player’s life, right? I need to get used to it.”
But there’s something off in her tone that makes my chest crater because what if she decides that she prefers her quiet life?
We finish our food in near silence, and we don’t joke or laugh or play word games on the drive to her place. April stares out the window, and I can practically hear her overthinking.
When I pull up outside her apartment building, she starts gathering her things immediately.
“April, wait?—”
She turns, and without hesitating, I pull her in for a kiss.
24
CLARK
My hand cupsApril’s face, angling her just right, and when our lips meet, everything else falls away. I mean for it to be quick—a simple goodbye—but the moment we connect, all my good intentions evaporate.
I slant my mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, and her small gasp of surprise makes my pulse rocket, breaking through the planet’s upper atmosphere. My fingers thread through her curls, soft and wild.
