Page 37 of Off the Post

“I think you’re better at personal conversation than you gave yourself credit for.” I wink and lean back against the chair.

His smile is blinding and swoonworthy.

He swallows thickly, pinning me with the intensity of his gaze. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

18

Soren

I should’ve kissed her.

Why the fuck didn’t I kiss her when I dropped her off at her building?

Because I’m anxious and I overthink everything in my life and my indecision has now left me panicky and with a sense of foreboding. Ali is never going to want to go out with me again.

I’ve been this way since I was a kid, and it only grew worse after first my parents and then Günther died. My brain just balls up and I get stuck in fears and worries about doing something wrong. My anxiety takes over, and I can’t move forward without some twitchy response.

The public thinks I’m broody and menacing, and I’ve gained a reputation of being a lone wolf, when in reality, I’m just fucked up and desperate to hide it.

My anxiety was on high today, starting from the moment I walked into Ali’s office, and quadrupled when she nearly got pegged off by the speeding vehicle. It all fed into me fidgeting without control at lunch. Ali was sweet when she mentioned it, but it was embarrassing as hell for me.

Now it’s all I can think about, and I’m reviewing every moment to figure out how Ali felt. Did she seem bothered or annoyed? Does she think I’m some sort of freak now?

By the time I dropped her outside her office, I was so in my head about how things were going that I left without kissing her or asking her out again. People were walking in and out of the building, bumping into us on the sidewalk—it all just made me more flustered, and soon enough, my concentration went to counting each person as they passed by.

One.

Two.

Three.

In fact, I’m not even sure I said a proper goodbye when I left. For all I know, I may have just turned around and walked off, leading her to undoubtedly believe I’m a complete asshole.

Fuck. I need to make this right.

I grab my phone and pull up the number she’d given me the day of the photoshoot. My plan is to text her, say thanks for putting up with me at lunch, and see how she responds. If she sounds open, I’ll let her know I want to see her again.

And if she doesn’t?

I consider this possibility as I walk to my car.

My car is one of the first big purchases I made when I initially signed my contract with the Vikings. The second was my house in Coal Harbour. It’s a three-story townhouse on Cordova Street that overlooks the waterfront. The building has amazing views of the marina, the park, and the mountains.

When the kids were here, they loved to ride my private elevator from my parking garage up to the rooftop deck. When I first bought the place, I wondered why someone needed an elevator for a house that’s only three stories, but it’s turned out to be pretty awesome when I’m sore after a game. I’ll admit, that is a really cool feature.

As I slide into my car and start the engine, I formulate how I’ll apologize in my text for my odd behavior when my phone alerts me of an incoming text.

To my surprise, it’s from Ali.

Ali: Thanks for lunch. It was fun hanging out with you.

Before I can respond, another one pops up.

Ali: I hope we can see each other again.

Ali: Maybe this weekend at Tanner’s BBQ?

I vaguely remember Tanner texting about a party he was planning to host at his place, but like I do with most texts, I scanned it, got sidetracked, and completely forgot about it.