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“It’s fine.” He waves it off.
“Let me help you clean this up,” I say of the containers of food.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
“Okay thanks. I should get home.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he states.
“Don’t worry, I gave it to the valet,” I assure him.
“Okay.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jogging pants.
“Thanks for tonight, it was fun,” I say, and for a moment I feel like I want to kiss Evan. He smells glorious and looks too good in that black fitted T-shirt that hugs his arms and chest just right. I blink.Don’t be crazy, Patty.Evan is my friend, and a kiss is not what he or I need right now.
I head to the door and slide on my runners since I showed up in a pair of leggings and a Henley. When I straighten, I’m not sure what the protocol should be, so I lean in for a half hug that throws him a little off guard. He quickly recovers and hugs me back, and again I’m met with his magnificent scent.
I pull away.
“Have a good night.”
His right hand comes up as his fingers run through his brown hair and his hand rubs the back of his neck. He gives me a look that’s between bashful and panty-dropping.
“Have a good night, Patty.”
With those last words, I leave his apartment and head to the elevator. I look over at Liam’s door, thinking I need to be in touch with Skylar very soon because I miss her and Crew so much.
As the elevator descends, I try to figure out why I’m reacting to Evan the way I am. It seems off for me. We have clearly friend zoned each other. I’ve never ever dated anyone I’ve been friends with. Not that I’ve had many guy friends. I haven’t. It’s usually me and the girls. That’s how it’s always been. As I get into my Audi, I’m shrouded in a cloud of conflict that I don’t understand. I just spent months in Europe. I met amazing people along the way. I met handsome men who wanted to take me out and I’m sure it would’ve been a good time, yet I chose to spend my free time talking on the phone with my friend Evan. I give my head a shake. I don’t know what is going on with me, but I’m not going to read into it either. The preseason is about to begin, and my job has to come above all else. I try to believe that lie and then lock those thoughts down because that’s what I do best.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Patty
We’re a good month and a half into the official season when I get a visit from our new goalie. He looks hesitant as he shows up early in the morning to our therapy room.
“How can I help you, Connor?” I ask, leaning back in the chair at my desk.
“You probably aren’t the right person to come to,” he says, and I can tell he looks nervous.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, placing my paperwork down. I give him my full attention.
“I need to make it through the season without getting injured,” he states, giving me a sheepish smile.
“That’s what we all hope for,” I retort.
“That’s not what I mean.” He shakes his head. “You know the GM took a big chance on me,” he begins. He isn’t wrong. Our long-time goalie, Sven Bachowski, was traded to Seattle when it looked like he wasn’t healing fast enough. Connor was brought in from a team in Canada where he was the backup goalie. This is a huge jump for him to be our main goaltender. “I need you to give me workouts or whatever to ensure I’m not going to get hurt out here. I’ve got a little girl to take care of. I took a big risk coming out here,” he confesses. Whoa. “Please don’t share that with the coaches. I figured this conversation is confidential, but maybe I had that wrong.” He rubs at the scruff on his chin.
“I can definitely hook you up with necessary workouts and training, and I do not need to share your concerns with the coaches,” I confirm. “How old is your daughter?” Connor seems very young and I’m trying to lighten the conversation.
“She’s six and a handful.” He snickers. “I’m raising her on my own.”
“Sorry. That must be hard. A good friend of mine was also raising a son on her own. He’s five and a half. That age can be a lot. We used to live together but they moved out recently,” I babble. My gut tells me Connor is on his own in New York City with his daughter and needs a friend more than anything.
“So, you know how hard it can be,” he says. “I want to give Syd the best of everything, but my job is demanding.”
“I get it. I mean,” I stutter. “I know how hard it can be to raise a kid on your own. Not that I have any kids.”
“Right,” he replies awkwardly. “So, do you think we can set up some training sessions? I have a lot riding on the line with being a single dad.”
