Page 147 of On the Breakaway

For a while, we just talk about sports, which is surprisingly easy with Liam because he watches every sport in existence, including soccer. We compare playoff formats, complain about travel, and argue about whether hockey or soccer fans are more unhinged.

“Soccer fans,” I say immediately.

“Hockey fans literally throw the most ridiculous shit onto the ice when we win.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s excessive.”

He grins, pleased with himself.

“Who will you play in the conference finals?” I ask.

“It’s probably going to be New York unless Nashville makes one hell of a recovery.”

I hope like hell they do. The last thing I need is Grayson and Damon sharing a sheet of ice now that Grayson knows exactly how Damon treated me.

“You know a lot of guys on that team, right?” He asks.

“Sort of, yeah.”

Liam waits a beat. When I don’t say anything else, he shrugs and adds, “Because you dated Damon Woods.”

It feels like a loaded statement, as if there’s something he wants to ask, but won’t, except maybe that’s just my paranoia talking.

“Yes, I did.” I roll my eyes. “He’s a dick.”

Liam nods once, completely accepting that as a sufficient explanation. “Strong review. One star.”

“Maybe two. He bought decent birthday gifts.”

“That’s fair. We appreciate honesty in consumer feedback.”

And then he moves on. There’s no digging around in my emotional baggage looking for buried treasure.

Honestly, it’s refreshing.

He steals the last fry off my plate before I can stop him.

“That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

“And yet you’ve done nothing to stop me.”

“I’m gathering evidence.”

“For what?”

“My eventual murder trial.”

He snorts.

The waitress drops off the check, and neither of us makes a move for it.

“God, I forgot what normal conversation feels like without it being testosterone-fueled bro talk.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Seriously. I’ve spent the last three weeks trapped with only my teammates.” He shakes his head. “It’s ruining my sex life.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “Your sex life?”