One corner of his mouth lifts—barely, but enough. And then he ducks into the car.
Liam huffs out a laugh beside me. “Well. That’s one way to make an impression.”
“Please don’t make this a thing,” I mutter.
“Oh, it’s already a thing.”
“I know where your bodies are buried, Liam.” I point a finger at him. “Stop talking, or I start.”
I turn before he can say anything else, stepping back onto the sidewalk, reclaiming what’s left of my day. Honestly, doesn’t everyone’s Monday start with kissing a man who’s technically a stranger—but not really—and also happens to be a very good-looking hockey player?
I square my shoulders and keep walking. It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
I’ve got a book to finish, a quiet afternoon to salvage, and absolutely no intention of thinking about?—
I stop mid-step, pressing my lips together as I glance back. Just once.
When I do, I’m not at all surprised to find him watching me from the front seat of Liam’s car. Liam’s talking, but Ty isn’t listening.
He’s looking at me.
And there’s something there—something I can’t quite name yet, but I feel it all the way down to my toes.
I turn away before I can think too hard about it.
Because that?
That feels like the beginning of something.
And it isnotfungal.
CHAPTER 2
TY
Iplay a game guessing who’s a tourist and who’s a local as we drive along, making snap judgments based on shoes, clothing choices, and whether someone looks even remotely aware of where they’re going. It passes the time, gives my brain something harmless to do. It’s the kind of afternoon that feels routine. Predictable.
I like predictable. In fact, I love predictable. Give me a predictable-I-know-what’s-coming kind of summer day, any day of the week. Please and thank you.
“Take a left up here,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.
Liam glances over at me, one hand loose on the steering wheel. “A left?”
“Yes.”
Liam doesn’t question it, easing the car into the turn as the street narrows slightly, rows of brick buildings stretching ahead of us.
Offseason has its advantages. There’s no game tonight. No morning skate. No media waiting to ask the same five questions in different ways. I’ve got a couple months of workouts, training,and?—
Liam hums, interrupting my thoughts. “So, where are we going?”
I give him the address. There’s a beat as he processes it.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “And what’s at that address?”
“An appointment.”
