Page 59 of The Do-Over Girl

“I’m excited about APA’s first game in two days, but I can’t lie,” Archie says to Nash, “I’m out of my mind over the benefit game. It’s not every day a guy like me gets to coach NHL players.”

“I’m excited, too,” Nikki says, “for the right reasons. I think Nash playing in the game will help with ticket sales.”

Archie asks me, “When will we announce the roster?”

“I’m putting the finishing touches on it. We should be able to announce it at the game on Tuesday.”

I can tell Nash is excited by the way his energy animates him. But I’m not sure if it’s because of the APA season opener in two days or because he’ll be playing in the benefit game with his old NHL pals.

Archie grins at Nash. “You in shape, buddy boy? So far, I’m not seeing the speed at practice—”

Nash flips him his middle finger. “We still have a couple of months. I’ll be good to go.”

“Make sure you’re in top condition, but be careful,” Nikki says. “I don’t want anything… going wrong.”

Nash laughs. “What could go wrong? The worst thing has already happened.” He tries for a smile, but I see the pain. He’s lost the thing he loved most—his NHL career. Even though it was going to end at some point, the abruptness of the injury ending it for him clearly took a toll. He wasn’t prepared. Which is why he’s here now.

I clear my throat, but the bubble of worry doesn’t go away. “I thought I read that your doctor said that if you re-injure your shoulder, you might have permanent limited use of that arm. I thought that’s why you retired early.”

“Hell, and I thought you retired because you were old,” Archie says.

We laugh, and Nash avoids my gaze, giving Archie the finger yet again, grinning and acting the way he did in high school.

“Shit,” Nikki says under her breath. “Don’t look now, but one of our students and his parents just walked in—one of the well-off types we need to keep enrolled.”

A family of five comes over to our booth, and Nikki greets them by name. One of the boys I recognize from school. The mom smiles at us all, and Nikki introduces us, but Nash has his hand on my thigh under the table, so my attention is, at best, divided.

Until the mom says, “I saw the photos and commentary on Instagram that Barbara Smith posted. It’s shameful how she’s gossiping about our graduation dance seventeen years ago.”

Nash stiffens. Crap. I remove his hand and pay full attention. The woman’s name is Cheryl, and I think I remember her from high school as one of the girls who had a legit crush on Nash and used to flirt with him all the time. She looks at Nash now like she knows him, and maybe she does. She may or may not remember me, but I remember her.

I dredge up my professional poise like a champ and tell her, “Thank you for saying that, Cheryl.” I’m sincerely grateful she’s not buying into Barbara’s melodrama—and grateful that, unlike Barbara, she appears to be over her girlhood crush.

Cheryl nods. “Barbara is making it all sound like it was such a tragedy. But look at you two now. Clearly, that night was all a foolish misunderstanding. Not such a big deal after all.”

She smiles big, and Nikki, darting an uneasy glance at me, thanks Cheryl for her support. Archie says he hopes to see them at the game. The entire family assures us they’ll be there rooting for APA all the way.

Nash and I remain silent. As soon as they leave, the knot of tension releases. Nikki blows out a breath but doesn’t comment. Maybe it’s because of the look I give her. I don’t want to dwell on the gossip problem. I relax as we finish the pizza—or as Nash and Archie finish every crumb of the two pizzas we ordered. Clearly, whatever tension Nash felt is gone, and he didn’t let it affect his appetite.

“Maybe we should have ordered a third pizza,” Nikki says, her usual sarcasm dripping.

“This was plenty,” Nash says. He looks at his wrist as if he’s wearing a watch. “Time to go.”

He suddenly seems in a hurry and looks at me for confirmation.

Our exit from the restaurant was a lot quicker than our entrance and with a lot less fanfare. Nikki and Archie go out the back door to the parking lot, and Nash and I go out the front door to Main Street.

Night is falling when we hit the street for our walk back to the inn, and I feel at ease, at peace with the world at large’s confirmation that we’re past the past, the objective observation holding more weight than my jaded internal viewpoint. Still, I wonder what will happen when we get back to the inn, home.

What do you want to happen, Kali? Whatever it is, I know I need to go for it, not wait for Nash to lead the way, because it’s time for me to send a clear signal.

“I’m glad an old high school friend cleared the air for us.”

He snorts. “True. The air is clear as ice as far as I’m concerned.” He stops and faces me, holding one arm around me. He whispers, “I want you in my bed, in the here and now, Kali. No past, no strings.”

“I’m yours.”

He grins. I grin back, and my lust-system is revved and ready to go like he’s hit the ignition switch in me, the one only he owns.