Page 84 of Trust Me

I fold my lips together, then take a deep breath. Elio’s become one of my best friends too, which makes it easy to open up to him. “I saw it, my dream career all inside that corner lot. I could see every minuscule detail, could feel the excitement of it in my bones as if it actually happened already. I’d open my own bakery there.”

With my admission comes an ache in my chest at the fact that it probably won’t happen.

“It’ll happen if you want it to, dolcezza. It’s your choice. Your page has grown, tripling your previous income. By the time you graduate, you’ll have enough to buy it on your own,” he encourages me. Elio peers past me, looking at the corner lot, writing something down on his phone quickly before stashing it away.

“I have something I want to show you,” he tells me before I can question him. He exits the SUV and rounds it, coming to open my door for me. Before I step out, he leans in, pressing his lips to mine, and I kiss him back just as lovingly, whimpering in protest when he pulls back from me.

“We need to be careful. Paparazzi aren’t common because it’s a small town, but still,” he tells me, opening the back seat to grab my winter jacket and a beanie.

I put my jacket on, Elio tugging the beanie over my head as I slide my sunglasses on.

He shuts the back door, moving to the trunk from where he emerges with a hockey bag.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“You mentioned having never seen me play a game before, so we’re fixing that.”

“But, babe, what about your leg? I don’t want you to get hurt.” I frown at him, the mental image of it making my insides twist in agony.

He closes the distance between us, his hockey bag over one shoulder as he cups my chin with one hand. “I’ll be fine, dolcezza. It’s a pick-up game that me and some guys from high school do every Thanksgiving. It’s nothing serious, and I can still skate. The risks with playing in the NHL were too high, that’s all.”

“Okay, but be careful, please,” I plead, my eyes bouncing between his.

“It’s cute when you’re being protective of me. I like it,” he muses, leading the way as we walk toward the outdoor hockey arena.

There’s a bunch of guys on the benches once we get closer, all of them turning to us.

“Elio fucking Mazzo!” one guy cheers, the rest following suit with their own greetings as they all shake hands with him, some hugging him.

Elio greets them, then looks back at me. “This is Jasmine, a friend from school.”

I know he’s doing it to protect us because if one of these guys wanted to sell the story to a tabloid, they could.

They all wave, smiling at me, except for one, who looks at me more intently than the others. His brown hair is curled around his beanie. Light blue eyes flick up and down my body. “Well, hello there,” he drawls.

“Don’t even think about it unless you want to be checked into the boards so hard you miss your dinner, Patrick.” Elio stands up taller, his tone clipped.

Patrick waves him off. “‘Friends’ my ass.”

I chuckle while Elio places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward a bench so I can watch them play.

“Where are their spouses?” I ask, noticing I’m the only person here.

“We make it a rule that no spouses or kids can attend, but you’re the exception this year.” He smiles brightly at me, pulling my beanie down to cover my ears.

He sits down beside me instead of with his friends, putting his skates and his helmet on.

“You ready to be entertained?” he asks, standing taller than before as the skates give him extra height.

I fake a yawn, patting my hand over my mouth. “You know, I should’ve brought my notes with me to study if I’d known you were going to be playing.”

He rolls his eyes, a deep laugh leaving his throat. It’s my favorite side of Elio to see, the playful and happy one.

He skates out onto the ice, joining his friends, who are picking teams. Minutes later, they’re facing off, Elio at the forefront, his stick ready as he’s bent into position.

He gets the puck and passes it to his teammate. I’m mesmerized by watching how effortlessly he moves on the ice. He’s graceful yet rough as he shoves his friends to beat them to the puck. He’s faster than any of them, even with his injury, and he proves his scoring skills by making three goals within the first five minutes.

I’d be lying if I said I was

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