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“He is.” I glanced over at the Steele brothers, that silly flutter in my heart reminding me that I wasn’t only here for Scottie.
Damn him.
Mason was under my skin. He kept pushing me away and then reeling me back, and I was trying so hard not to let myself get caught up in the small acts of kindness he’d shown me.
But it was hard.
And part of me was so desperate to believe that it was all leading somewhere. Because no matter how much he hurt me or pushed me away, I was a romantic at heart—a girl waiting for her happy ending.
After all, I deserved one, didn’t I?
After everything my father had put me through, I deserved someone who would put me first. Someone who loved me for me, and in spite of everything I wasn’t.
I wasn’t sure Mason was that person. But I’d still never felt this way about a guy before. Which only made me wonder if coming out with him and his family was a bad idea.
Especially, when I was trying not to be that girl.
“Harper, you’d tell me right? If there was any—”
“Shortcake.” Noah appeared, hooking his arm around Rory’s neck and dropping a kiss on her head. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
She gave me an apologetic smile and let her boyfriend tug her toward the plush leather booth the server had picked out for us.
“This looks lovely,” Mrs. Steele said, her eyes finding mine as I slid in beside Rory. “I’m so glad you could all join us.”
Scottie had been so keen to introduce us at the arena, and she hadn’t made it awkward at all. But the way she looked at me made me a little uncomfortable. Like she could see right past my façade.
“The pleasure sure is ours, Mrs. Steele.”
“Noah, I’ve known you going on a year. For the love of God, please call me Melinda.”
“Well, Melinda, dinner is my treat. So you and little man pick whatever you want.”
“You do know I’m almost a teenager, Noah Holden?” Scottie stated in that deadpan way of his.
“Mase might have mentioned it. What do you want for your birthday?”
“Dad is going to get me a brand-new PlayStation.”
Mrs. Steele’s expression guttered at the mention of their father.
“Mom wanted to buy it for me, but we can’t afford it. Dad said he owed me one for being an asshole.”
“Scottie, bud, that’s not—”
“Sorry, Mom.” Scottie dropped his head, but she leaned in, whispering something to him. He nodded, his fidgeting becoming increasingly marked.
“Hey, Scottie,” I said, hoping my plan to distract him—and lessen the pressure—would work. “What was your favorite part of the game?”
He looked up, his brows furrowing a little as he considered my question. “When the goalie came out of the crease and saved Helinksi’s slapshot. The chances of saving a shot that fast and that on target are virtually impossible. But he did it.”
“Because Austin is a fu—” Noah caught himself. “Austin is the main man.”
“Mom says fuck isn’t appropriate language for an almost-teenager.” Scottie gave a small half-shrug as if he hadn’t just dropped the f-bomb in the middle of one of Lakeshore’s more upmarket restaurants.
“Mom said it isn’t appropriate for anyone, especially not in the middle of dinner.”
“Sorry,” he grumbled.
