Page 45 of Hockey Nanny

“Oh, we really are just friends.”

Marlena shot me a knowing wink. “Sure you are, honey. I’ll go get you some beers.”

The faintest smile on Carissa’s face lingered a while after we’d been left alone, unmistakable although she tried to hide it, fingering a peeling corner of the specials menu.

“We’re painfully overdressed for this place,” she said after some time. “People are staring.”

“That’s just the effect you have on a room.”

Her eyes shot up, and only then did I realize I’d spoken the words out loud. Which, all things considered, was less than ideal.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t say that, or blame my bowtie for choking the filter out of my brain.”

“Personally, I never cared much for pretending,” she said, her smile softening as she held my gaze. “And I kind of like your brain without a filter.”

“You do?”

She gave the slightest nod. Barely there. The air between us had pulled taut, practically cracking with electricity.

“We’ve only just walked in, but already you look more relaxed than I’ve seen you all… ever.”

Marlena slid two bottles onto the table with a look that promised commentary later and vanished again. Condensation slicked the glass, pooling against my knuckles when I pulledone closer. The booth felt tucked away from the rest of the bar, vinyl warm from earlier bodies, the music duller back here. Manageable. Human-sized.

Carissa curled her fingers around the neck of her beer and tipped it toward me. “To bailing on parties with stuffy dress codes.”

I clinked mine against it. “To surviving the fallout.”

She laughed and took a drink, eyes bright, shoulders easing out of the awkward tension they’d been holding. This place did that to people. It stripped the shine, and left the bones. A sanctuary in every meaning of the word.

We talked about nothing at first. The drive. The cool sign outside. How good it felt to leave the flashing lights behind for a bit. Once the conversation flowed to talking about the weather, the heat under my collar was out of control. I stuck with it though, following her lead and keeping things one hundred percent platonic. I had no idea of how things stood between Boone and her, and so had no business pushing for anything else. Our stories braided without effort. When there was a pause, it didn’t scrape.

Everything just felt… easy.

Marlena passed again, eyebrow lifting. “You good back here?”

“Perfect,” I said, with no need to lie.

Carissa watched her go. “She’s like a mother hen. Adorable.”

“She is,” I said. “Kept me fed when my fridge was nothing more than a science project. Kept my head on straight in the time my name wasn’t on anyone’s radar.”

“A good woman.”

I drank to that. The beer was cold and unpretentious. It tasted like Friday nights before everything came with pressure and expectations. I felt my shoulders drop another inch.

Songs switched in the jukebox. Something familiar. A beat that lived in the hips. A couple near the bar started moving, laughter spilling. Carissa glanced that way, then back at me, eyes asking without really asking.

“I’ve seen you shred the ice, but do you dance?”

I choked on my sip of beer, and set the bottle down with a spluttering cough. “Only in places with low light, where two left feet go unnoticed.”

She slid out of the booth and took my hand. “This qualifies.”

The floor was crowded but forgiving. Her hand was still in mine, which felt dangerous, so I focused on the music instead. On the way her body moved with mine, confident and unguarded. Her smile kept finding me, and I stopped pretending I didn’t notice how it was specifically meant for me.

When the song ended, she didn’t let go right away. Neither did I. We walked back to the booth together, the air warmer than ever now. Or maybe it was just me.

“I hope you’re in the mood for a trip.” Marlena stood at our booth, waiting, and I instantly recognized the book she was hugging close to her chest.