I was half convinced he’d forget about it or never intended to follow through in the first place. Even so, my heart does the stupid little flutter thing every time I hear his name. Keeping my voice steady, casual, I ask, “Oh. That’s actually happening?”
“Of course,” she says. “Does that date work for you?”
I wipe my sweaty hands against my black slacks. The foolishly expensive slacks I bought for the bank meeting. “Does Cameronknowthe date’s actually happening?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t add on “and he’s so excited!” or “he can’t wait to try the food.” Not that I’m surprised. Cameron doesn’t do exuberance. He does broody and monosyllabic and occasionally, if a person is lucky, he’ll throw in a grunt that might be agreement.
The silence stretches, but before it can get too awkward, I ask, “Where’s the dinner again?”
“The Copper Lantern.”
I sit up a little straighter and rub the indentation the wheel left on my forehead. The Copper Lantern has a months-long waitlist, and their carrot cake is supposed to be some of the best in the city. If the cream cheese frosting is as good as people say… “Let me check my calendar.”
I tap on the calendar app again, quickly discovering that my Friday night is indeed free. My plan was to spend it looking over supplies for the new space, but now that the bank has rejected my loan, I’m more likely to be throwing myself a pity party and wallowing with a pint of ice cream while binge-watching reality TV.
Not that I tell Sloane any of that.
“Yeah, that works.”
“Great,” she chirps. “The driver will pick you up at six thirty. This is my personal number, so text if you have any questions. Have fun.”
The instant she hangs up, the urge to call her back to cancel hits me.What am I thinking?I can’t do dinner with Cameron. At an intimate table for two. Sharing a bottle of wine. Making small talk while trying not to drool because he’ll probably be wearing a button-down that’ll give me glimpses of the tattoos on his chest.
But I’ve already said yes. And the thought of calling back to cancel makes me cringe. What would I even say? “Sorry, I can’t follow through on my charitable contribution because I low-key think your goalie may spend the entire dinner plotting my demise?”
It’s just one dinner. A few hours. How hard could it be? People survive worse things all the time.
Though dinner with a grumpy hockey player who would rather get a root canal than spend an hour with me will be anything but pleasant.
Shit.
And here I thought today couldn’t get any worse.
CHAPTER FIVE
cameron
Another slapshot whistlespast my left ear and rattles the glass behind me. Every sound is amplified as I focus all my attention on what I’m doing.
“Try aiming for the net next time,” Cole shouts from the neutral zone.
“Never let them know your next move, Captain,” Logan yells as he skates past. “Gotta keep Davies on his toes.”
Jake groans, shaking his head. “Your next move shouldalwaysbe the goal, dumbass.”
Logan tosses me a wink, then skates past Jake, tapping his stick against his butt. “Should it, though?”
The guy is half man, half mascot, full-time shit-talker. It doesn’t matter if the shot makes it or not. Or if he’s even making sense.
“Ignore him,” I advise.
“Impossible.” Logan tosses his head back and laughs like a Disney villain, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. “I’m too good-looking to ignore.”
Coach blows his whistle, two short bursts that bounce around the arena, signaling us to restart the drill.
I tap my posts and reset my stance as the forwards regroup at center ice.
