“No,” I sigh, taking a long drink of my chocolate milkshake.
“Do you want to forget about it?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “There was a moment. There was definitely a moment, but he was vulnerable, and so was I and—”
“And Brinley has no idea?”
I drop my head on the table. I feel terrible not telling Brinley what almost happened, especially when I called Maia the second I got home.
But after I tried to bring it up to Declan, and he brushed it off, I assumed he wanted to forget it. So why tell Brinley about it when nothingactuallyhappened?
“How would I even start that conversation with her?” I question.
“I don’t think it’s as complicated as your making it.” Maia steals a fry off the plate. “I kind of think she wants the two of you together.”
“But you and I both know that Declan and I being together is bad news.”
“Is it?”
“Cam would kill him.”
“He’d get over it,” she replies. “If Cam’s the only reason you aren’t giving into these feelings, then—”
“The last time I got vulnerable like this with a hockey player, he betrayed me,” I whisper. “I won’t get myself in the same position twice.”
“You’ve said it yourself; he’s different. He’s not what you expected or who you thought he would be.”
“Neither was Tanner… and then he turned out to be exactly who I thought he was.”
And not even to mention that you don’t know what actually happened that night.
“I have faith that Declan is exactly who you think he is.” She pauses, reconsidering her response. “Well, exactly who you think he is now that you know him.”
“I don’t even know if you’re making sense anymore.” I groan, grabbing a fry off the plate and dipping it in my milkshake. “If he was interested, why wouldn’t he bring up the kiss?”
“Why haven’t you?” She crosses her arms and gives me that look.
“I tried to, and it got me nowhere. Plus, that’s different, and you know it.”
“Is it? Just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean he’s not afraid of rejection.”
“Declan has options,” I reply. “He could choose any girl he wants. I don’t have that luxury; I mean, guys aren’t exactly chasing after me.”
“Or they are, and you’re too scared to notice,” she continues.
“When did this become some sick therapy session. You’re supposed to agree with me, not give me advice.”
“I’m just saying, maybe talking to him about the almost kiss would be worth it.”
“I don’t know—”
“You could do it after the game tonight. First home game since the opener.”
“And there’s another one tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe I’ll talk to him then. I don’t want to cloud his head when he has another game tomorrow night too.”
Yep, that’s the only reason I’m waiting.
“You promise me you’ll talk to him after tomorrow night’s game?” she questions.
