“Never mind. I’ll just figure it out myself. I’ll just—”
“Hey.” He grabs my chair, turning me to him. “I didn’t say I wasn’t helping. I was thinking.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” Another lip twitch. He picks his pen up and begins flipping it through his fingers, and it’s as obnoxious as it is attractive.
God, get a grip, Summer. They’rehands.You have them too.
I do, but they’re so different from his with his long fingers that I bet would feel really, really good between my—No.
I cut that thought off right there.
I do absolutelynotneed to go there, especially after what happened the other day.
“What’s up?”
I lift my gaze to his. “Huh?”
“Your face. It just got all red.” He frowns. “You okay?”
Oh god. Am I blushing?
I nod, rubbing at my cheeks, trying to chase away the flush. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot.”
“Take your shirt off.”
I don’t know whose eyes widen first, but I do know we’re mirroring each other.
“Shit.” Ezra laughs, shifting uncomfortably as he scratches at the stubble lining his chin, the same scruff that felt so good against me the other day. “Uh, I definitely did not mean to say that. I meant your sweater. Take your sweater off.”
“Cardigan.”
“What?”
“It’s called a cardigan. And I’m okay, but thank you.”
He rises from his chair and walks over to the thermostat on the wall. He presses a few buttons, then resumes his spot, and I notice the wince as he settles back down.
Ezra must sense that I have questions, because he says, “You can ask.”
“Ask what?”
He tips his head to the side in a silentCome onsort of way.
“Okay.” I clear my throat and settle back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “What happened?”
“Hockey happened.” He grabs the pen once more, flipping it through his fingers effortlessly, and I wonder if it’s a nerves thing, if it helps keep him calm while talking about something that clearly bothers him. “More specifically, bad hockey happened. The first time, I went down weird and basically jammed my leg up. Labral tear. Had to get surgery and missed almost an entire season.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It was absolutely brutal, but it was nothing compared to coming back the next season, having the best one of my career—like we’re talking top of the league—then going down again in a conference final game and costing my team a shot at the Cup.”
He barely looks at me when he says it, but the shame in his eyes is still impossible to miss.
He blames himself for it all.
“Ezra, I—”
