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“Don’t worry, I will.”
“And then I want you to delete the app.”
Her brows lift. “Why would I do that? I promised my friend I’d beta test it for her.”
“And you have. Job done,” I point out. “Why would you put yourself through that again?”
She stiffens in my arms. “Because maybe I want to make a connection. It’s almost impossible in New York and it’s even more impossible here. Tonight’s the first time I’ve been out to dinner since I got here.”
“You didn’t get to dinner,” I point out, and it doesn’t seem to help.
She huffs and steps back from my hold. Then she huffs again, but this time, I think, because she’s realizing how cold it is.
“No I didn’t,” she says, looking hurt. “And I want to. I really want to. I want somebody to take me to dinner. And not because I might invest in their stupid business idea, or even because they think I might put out on the first date. I want them to do it because they like me. Because they want to spend time with me. Because they know they’ll have a good time doing it.”
There’s something about her voice that makes my chest ache. “I get that.”
“Do you?” She blinks, sounding almost hopeful.
I nod my head. “Yeah, I do. I was the same, when I was playing for the Razors. You have no idea how hard it is to find somebody who’s actually interested in you, the person, not you the hockey player. Somebody who wants to hear what you think, not just take selfies and post them to Instagram because it might boost their profile.”
She runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “Did you get that a lot?”
“Yeah. And I guess at first it’s fun. In your twenties when you don’t want to settle down and you think you’re gonna rule the world.”
“And now?”
I give her a half smile. “Now it’s not fun. And it doesn’t happen as much anymore. As much as I love the Mavericks, they don’t have the same effect as an NHL team.”
She gives a little laugh. “You’re losing your touch.”
“So it would seem.”
Her hair shines beneath the bright lights of the stadium. Her eyes are bright, her lips and chin pink from the cold.
The cold. She needs to get out of here.
“Come on, let’s go,” I say, inclining my head at the tunnel. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“You have this annoying habit of thinking you know me better than I do,” she complains.
“I don’t know you better,” I tell her, hustling her away from the rink. “I know bodies better. And they don’t react well to hypothermia.”
“I won’t catch hypothermia in here. It’s not even freezing.” She frowns. “Why is that? How does the ice freeze when the air is above freezing?”
I push down a smile. Does she know how fucking adorable she is? “The air is cooler near the surface of the ice,” I tell her, relieved because we’ve made it to the tunnel and the air is much warmer in here. “The ice temperature is below freezing. About twenty-four degrees. Wait here,” I tell her and run into the locker room. The door – as fucking always – almost whips my ass it’s so eager to close.
I walk over to my locker and grab one of the three clean hoodies stashed in there. When I turn to walk back out to the tunnel, I jump like a damn kangaroo because she followed me inside.
I’ve never seen anybody look so out of place in a locker room. She’s put her shoes back on and is standing in the center of the painted M.
“You’ve mastered the door,” I say softly.
Her lips quirk. “I’m a quick learner.” She glances at the hoodie in my hands. “I guess you’re cold too, huh?”
