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“Yeah, is that how you feel about the dude that messed with you?” he asks, throwing me a curve ball. I do not talk about that situation with anyone. The fact I even mentioned it to Evan is huge, but to have him bring it up again is too much. I’ve buried it so deep in the chest of things that are never to be discussed.
“In a way, maybe.” I feel myself flailing. Andrew is an off-limits conversation.
“That wasn’t an answer, beautiful,” he says, looking at me with so much emotion it makes my stomach dip and turn, and not necessarily in a bad way. I turn away.
With his index finger and thumb, he guides my gaze back to his. “After all this time you still don’t want to talk about it,” he observes. It’s a statement not a question. “What happened?” he presses.
He’s met with silence as I look into his eyes. I’m guessing the look in my eyes must be worth a thousand words.
“Okay, you don’t want to talk. I get it,” he says, and he pulls away.
I exhale the breath I must have been holding, as old memories of a past I’ve tried to forget fight to remain at the forefront of my mind. I push them away and lock them back up where they belong.
The phone rings. It’s the doorperson announcing the arrival of our food.
Saved by the bell.
Evan stands from the couch and heads toward the door, getting a tip ready to hand over to the delivery guy. We sit at Evan’s dining room table. Since it’s so long we choose two seats next to each other.
“I feel like I killed our good time,” Evan says.
“You didn’t,” I assure him because it isn’t him that’s the problem, it’s me and my inability to talk about my past with anyone.
“I got the chicken and the salmon. I figured we could share. That way it’s the best of both worlds,” he says as he opens the packages of steamy food.
“That’s a solid plan,” I retort. “I’m starving and it smells delicious.”
We dig into our meal, and then Evan convinces me I have to try dessert. He isn’t wrong. The peach cobbler is still warm, and the crumble cheesecake is fresh and delicious.
“So, tell me more about the work you did in the children’s hospitals,” he prods.
“It was nothing, I spent a good part of my days in the hospitals helping rehab kids who needed it. Some areas that are more remote sometimes have a shortage of physical therapists,” I explain.
“So, you like working with kids,” he says.
“I do,” I reply. Because I always thought I wouldn’t have any. So, I liked helping children. And I was around a lot to help Skylar raise Crew. It was small things I did to fulfill a part of me that wanted kids but wasn’t brave enough to go down that path ever again.
“So why did you choose sports therapy?” Evan inquires.
“Because I like training and working with athletes. I’ve always been involved with hockey in one way or another. Between Dad and Kevin, hockey is a big part of me.”
“Right, I have to remind myself I’m sitting with hockey royalty right now,” he says, waggling his brows and laughing.
“You’re an idiot,” I fire back, shaking my head and laughing too.
“Well, I feel like I forgot. You’re easy to talk to. Being friends has seriously helped me through a tough time these last few months.”
“Look at you getting all sentimental,” I say with sarcasm.
“I’m serious,” Evan retorts, giving me a pointed look. His brown eyes are so sexy, and he has the best eyelashes. So thick and full. I blink to remind myself that friends don’t get caught up on mundane things such as searing brown eyes.
“What is Coach going to say about us being friends? I’m kind of freaked. He warned the entire team to treat you with the utmost respect. I don’t want to get on Coach’s bad side,” he worries.
“I don’t think there are any rules that state we can’t be friends. Besides, you’ve been very respectful. Especially when you were freaking out about me walking home from that pub in Scotland. That was funny. Overprotective much?”
Evan shrugs, giving me a sweet smile.
A loud yawn escapes me, and I cover my mouth, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m jet lagged.”
