Page 36 of Off the Post

“Mostly old-school stuff. Dragon Ball Z. Demon Slayer. Gorgeous animation. Oh, and my ultimate favorite, Attack on Titan.” I gesture with a chef’s kiss. “Absolutely love it. The writing is phenomenal.”

His mouth drops open. “That show is so brutal and violent. No disrespect, but you don’t seem like the typical action anime enthusiast.”

“What can I say? I’m a rebel.”

“I like that about you, Ali.” His voice has dropped low and the syllables of my name roll off his tongue with featherlike softness.

“On the other hand,” I add, tapping the tip of my finger against my lips. Soren’s eyes track my movement and linger on my mouth. Now we’re getting somewhere. The vibe has changed and the flash of intrigue is back in his eyes. “I cry at emotional movies, especially ones where there’s some total heartbreaker of a moment. The scene in Hope Floats, when the dad drives off and leaves his little girl behind?” I clutch my chest in anguish. “That near killed me.”

Soren chuckles, casting his eyes down but looking up through those beautiful lashes. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I don’t watch a lot of movies anymore.”

I sit up straighter and chortle. “What? Why not? I thought you liked the classics?”

His gaze shifts off to the side and then he taps his forehead. “No attention span. I can’t sit through a movie without feeling like I’m going to explode.”

“ADHD?”

“Maybe? Probably,” he acknowledges, blinking a few times. He glides a hand through his shaggy blond locks, and I pull my lip between my teeth at the sexiness of it. “I have some issues.”

I lift my brows. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

For a moment I think I have made a serious faux pas by joking about it because there’s a long pause before he finally responds. But when he laughs, I know I’ve hit the mark.

I nod my chin toward the bottles. “Maybe a touch of generalized anxiety?”

He draws his hand away from mine and looks down at the table. “I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day, but I’m too nervous to find out.”

I snatch his wrist back, clasping my fingers around it, and gently roll my thumb back and forth over the heat of his skin.

“It’s what makes you who you are. And it doesn’t make you any less attractive to me. Just saying.”

Threading his fingers through mine, the corners of his mouth quirks up into a warm smile that melts me like butter.

“Danke, Ali. You are beautiful, too.”

Our orders arrive, and Soren snakes his hand away as we scan over each other’s lunch plates. The scents make me salivate, and I quickly place my napkin on my lap and pick up my fork. Soren does the same, except he goes through a few additional steps in preparation. I take my first bite, moaning over the savory taste. Soren’s mouth slants, and I see his eyes darken and smolder.

We eat in a comfortable silence for a bit, and it feels nice.

About halfway through my lunch, after I take a sip of some water, I decide I want to hear from him about his career. And not just what I’ve read about online.

“Why did you become a goalie and not a different position?”

A thoughtful look passes over his face and he sets his utensil down, blotting his mouth with his napkin and offering me an amused look. “Both my brother and I played hockey, and our coach thought being between the pipes might offer me a stronger sense of purpose, I guess, and provide a way for me to control my need for constant movement. Skating was a good outlet, but defending the net took more focus.”

“That makes sense,” I say with a nod, sweeping a piece of hair back behind my ear. “Tanner’s mom got him involved to help him burn energy. He was a devil child and always in trouble. You know Tanner. When he’s bored, he gets annoying.”

“Just when he’s bored?” Soren quips, and we both laugh at my brother’s expense.

There’s a moment of silence as we stare into each other’s eyes, a shared commonality between us, and it’s pure gold. It gives me hope that Soren feels more comfortable around me and enjoys my company as much as I like hanging with him.

And maybe he’ll want to pursue it further than lunch.

Placing one palm flat on the table, I lean forward and crook one finger to draw him closer.

“Can I tell you something?” I whisper, cupping my hand over my mouth.

“Ja?”