“Buffalo chicken.”
“Bold choice.”
“For better or worse, I’m a bold girl.”
“Never for the worse.”
She scoffs, then slips off her chair and heads tothe living room. There’s just one lamp switched on in the corner. The room is dark and cozy. Izzy sinks onto the green velvet couch with a small sigh and grabs the blanket beside her book.
“My mom had me at seventeen. I bounced around between living with her and my grandparents. Never knew my dad. I have two half sisters, Riley and Peyton. Riley is still in high school, and Peyton is a year younger than Annie. I went to community college to become an English teacher. How’s that?”
“SparkNotes, Izzy?”
“You want the long version?”
I sit opposite her, throwing my arm across the back of the couch. “Always.”
She smiles to herself, snuggling tighter under the blankets. “You’re relentless. This nice, flirty boy act.”
“Who said anything about it being an act?”
She stares at me, unimpressed. “You’re the life of the party. The fun. The trouble. And you have a real problem keeping your hands to yourself on the ice.”
I tilt my head. “The fans like me enough.”
She pivots, stretching out to nudge my thigh with her toes. “What about you though?” Her eyes soften, sticking a beat too long on my mouth. “You adore your family, which is why you’re even here in the first place. They love you.”
“Family is important, yeah.”
“I’ve seen your Instagram. You go on fancy vacations during the offseason and have a nice penthouse in Boston. You live and breathe hockey. And when you aren’t playing, you’re… well, you have a type, and I’m definitely not it.” She pauses long enough for that barb to wedge itself uncomfortably in my chest. “You have your life, and I have mine. We don’t need to mix them up any more than we already have.”
I straighten, feeling the wall dropping between us.
“What if I want to get to know you?”
Chapter 10
Izzy
Jack curls his hand over my foot and squeezes playfully before letting go and meeting my stare.
I let his words fall around us like the rain pounding against my window, the ghost of his thumb still burning against the top of my foot.
Me?
“No, you don’t want?—”
“Hey,” he says softly. Jack shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t look for reasons that aren’t true.”
I can’t really argue with him. I slowly draw my foot back over the velvet cushion, studying him. In the room’s dim light, he’s all hard edges and shadows. There’s still a stubborn bruise under his left eye above a freckle I’ve never noticed before.
I shouldn’t notice a freckle.
He shouldn’t be on my couch with me. Or in my house. I definitely shouldn’t be letting him flirt with me. Or worse, be earnest.
“Stupid habit,” I finally confess. That much is true, at least.
“I’d tell you if I didn’t want to know you. I mean…” I love the way the light catches in his hair, how it curls a bit by his ears. “I would just show you. Guys aren’t that complicated.”
