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Awe floods my system as I take it all in.
“Do you come to many games?” Mack asks while the referee blows his whistle and drops the puck in the center of the rink, starting the first period.
I shake my head, too mesmerized by the players on the ice to give Mack my full attention. “A few but never this close.” Tugging my jacket tighter around me, I add, “It’s cooler down here than in the stands.”
“Yeah.” He glances at the ice thoughtfully. “I guess it is. Did you ever play sports when you were little?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I was always more of a book nerd kind of girl.”
“Yet I see you at the gym multiple times a week.”
“You can blame Blake for that one.” I hesitate. “Actually, scratch that. Pretty sure Ash is the culprit.”
He chuckles, his eyes on the game, but only out of obligation in case he sees a hit or something, making it clear I’m the main subject of his entertainment. “How so?”
“She’s the one who read up on anything and everything to do with…” I pause, nibbling on my lower lip, unsure what to say. It’s weird. Talking about this. Epilepsy. I’ve never been open about it, but with Mack? He kind of makes me want to be.
“She’s the one who read up on everything to do with my condition,” I finish, my tone stronger than before.
Mack cocks his head, well aware we’re talking about my least favorite subject on the planet. “And?”
“After the incident at the restaurant, Ash did a deep dive into everything and decided my morning walks should be a little more vigorous. So, Blake volunteered to help me step it up a bit.”
“And you agreed?”
With a smirk, I admit, “The girls can be pretty persuasive when they want to be.”
“Definitely,” he replies. “They can beverypersuasive when they want to be. Any seizures since?”
My anxiety spikes as the word slips past his lips, but I keep my eyes glued to the game in front of me, the players blurring into jumbled streaks of red, black, and white.
“Nope,” I answer.
I can feel him staring at me, but I don’t look at him. I’m too anxious. I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t. But it’s weird. Talking about epilepsy out in the open like this when I’ve spent who knows how many years avoiding it like the Plague, especially with a guy I’m kind of, sort of dating.
“Look at you, my prickly little porcupine,” Mack murmurs dryly.
I can hear the smile in his voice. The teasing lilt I’ve come to recognize. I look at him from the corner of my eye and take in the shit-eating grin I knew would be there.
“Look at what?” I mutter.
“You not biting off my head when I ask you questions about your epilepsy.”
“I’m thinking about it,” I grumble under my breath.
His chuckle turns my insides to goo as he wraps his arms around my waist, pressing my back to his front. “Do you wanna know whatI’mthinking about?”
“What?”
“How attractive you are when you’re fired up about something.”
“I think you take too much pride in ruffling my feathers,” I announce, turning back to the game in time to see Colt pass the puck to Theo, who slaps it toward the net, but he misses.
“I think the more we talk about epilepsy, the easier it becomes,” he tells me.
“And I think you’re delusional.”
“And I think I like you, my strong, stubborn, impenetrable Kate Winchester.”
