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I hop in my truck and she ducks into her SUV. I honk and wave out the window as I pull away.
Best cup of coffee I've had in years.
Chapter Five
Hattie
I’d actually almost turned around and walked out of the coffee shop when I saw Connor there, having a completely ridiculous knee-jerk reaction of revulsion: he was following me, just like Josh. Then I realized how stupid I was being seeing as howhewas there first. I would technically have been the one following him. I don’t know why my mind takes things in weird contexts now after Josh’s behavior. It’s like he poisoned it somehow, like now instead of an innocent girl ringing my door bell trying to sell candy bars for a cheerleading fundraiser (that I very muchdowant to buy), my very first thought is “he’s here” and a cold fear skitters up my spine.
He never actuallydidanything to me technically, so my reactions aren’t completely logical, but…I can’t explain it. I just know he was getting close to snapping, that sooner rather than later, he was going to show up at my door—and not just to chat. There was just something in his eyes, something lurking just beneath the surface that honestly scared the hell out of me. Hence moving across the country to avoid that exact scenario.
Having coffee with Connor had turned out to be nice actually.Reallynice. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, very laid back with a good sense of humor. It was almost easy to forget how incredibly attractive he was.Almost. But the way he’d been with the fans, especially the kid, had kind of melted my heart a little.
I’d told him to text me when he got back, but I’ve already gone to the gym, gotten a ton of ideas worked up for upcoming events at the arena, scheduled a week’s worth of social media content, and binge-watchedCriminal Mindsfor a few hours. I’m bored and restless and I can’t get Connor out of my head. The way he’d smiled and laughed, a low, husky rumble that emanates from his chest. A chest that stretched his green henley tight in all the right ways. The green of the material made his eyes seem deeper, like the color of the moss on the trees after it rains. They were gorgeous and I could imagine if he looked at you the right way, they would promise all kinds of dark and sensual things.
I’d gotten the feeling that he’s a teddy bear before, but now I’m convinced that he’s a teddy bear in all aspects except for two: the ice and the bedroom. In those, I’m fairly sure he was very similar: intense; aggressive; unwavering; way too skilled. I shiver, letting that particular train of thought run right off the fucking rails, my eyes sliding shut as I imagine…
My eyes snap open.
“Get a fucking grip, McNamara,” I mutter to myself. I’ve established that I won’t be dating any hockey players, and that if and when Connor and I do hangout, it will be as friends. That’s what I need right now. A friend. Arealfriend. After I’d gotten away from Josh, I’d realized how many of my friends were actuallyhisfriends. I’d tried to talk to some of them after the breakup, but even after I’d told them all the things he’d been doing, the things he’d threatened in his drunken rants, none of them seemed to care all that much—or would turn around and tell him everything I was saying, which only led to even more drunken rants from him about me “spreading rumors” about him.
It all made me realize that they were never really my friends to begin with, and it wasn't until I got out of Texas that it really hit me how Josh had slowly found ways to cut my friends from college and back home out of my life. It got to the point where I just accepted not talking to someone instead of having to get in fights with him about it constantly. It's so fucked up now, looking back, and I feel like a completely shitty person because of it. I make a mental note to try to reach back out to friends, try to mend fences and hopefully rekindle some old relationships.
So, yeah, a friend would be awesome right about now, and Icouldbe friends with Connor, easily. He’d laughed and cut up with me during coffee, we had a good amount in common, and I just had that connection with him that isn’t really quantifiable. Plus, he has really big muscles, so if I find some new furniture for my place, I’m sure I can talk him into hauling it around for me.
So, here I am, about to text him. It wouldn’t be weird to go ahead and text him, would it? Friends text each other all the time. Though, we technically aren’t officially friends yet, are we? Work acquaintances I suppose. More than that. Work friends? I mean, he definitely made it seem like he wanted to hang out, so I don’t think he would think anything of it if I texted him…
“Oh my God, shut up,” I tell myself, shaking my head. I’m being annoying as hell.
I quickly type out a text and hit send before I can start this stupid round-about in my head all over again.
Hattie: Hey.
That’s the result of all of my worrying and overthinking?Hey?I roll my eyes and throw the phone into the couch pillow, getting up to throw another log on the fire. Other than the location, my two favorite things about this house are the built-in bookshelves in the living room, and the fireplace. It’s gorgeous dark gray stone, soaring up two stories, and burns real wood. The living room, kitchen, and dining area are all open with a balcony from the top floor overlooking the entire space. There’s a spare bedroom and an office upstairs, the master downstairs—with a second fireplace. It isn’t a large house, but it’s gorgeous and I’d immediately gotten that homey feeling.
I’d gotten extremely lucky that I found it when I did and that the owners were very motivated to sell. They were a lovely older couple who wanted to move to be closer to their grandbabies. The husband had built the house himself and there were so many beautiful custom touches that I instantly fell in love with it. Thankfully we closed extremely quickly—a perk of paying for it outright with all cash. My mom had left me a sizeable inheritance when she passed (and sizeable was really just being modest and tactful—it was a huge fortune to be quite honest) and I'd been smart with my money over the years. So, I had more than enough saved up to buy this place and still have plenty in savings.
My phone dings as I hold my hands out to the flames and I freeze. I force myself to walk calmly back over to it.
Connor: Hey, Mac.
My lips curl upward.
Hattie: Hockey players and your dang nicknames…
Not a second later, a facetime call is coming in. My heart thuds for a minute and I curse myself for barely even looking in the mirror since showering and deciding I was going to veg out the rest of the day, but then I remind myself that we’re just friends—or working towards that anyway—so it really doesn't matter what I look like.
“What’s wrong with nicknames?” he asks as soon as the call connects. I laugh a bit.
“Nothin’, but speaking of: do you like being called Shep?” I ask, finally voicing the question that’s been bugging me for weeks.
“Sure I do,” he shrugs.
“I mean off the ice. Is that what your friends call you?” I realize then that most of his friends are probably other hockey players, so maybe it’s not really a fair question. “I mean, is that what you wantmeto call you?” I ask, finally getting around to my real question.
He considers that for a long minute, before saying, “Sure. It’s what most of my friends do call me, on or off the ice, so you’re welcome to use it too.”
I nod. That takes care of that. “So, uh, good flight?”
