Page 78 of Mr. Swoony

She laughs and places her hand on my arm. “Don’t look so scared. All I’m saying is that it’s not for you to decide when and if she’s ready. Only she can make that decision. And it’s your job to trust that she’s making the right decision for her.”

My shoulders sag as I nod. I fucked up.

“You athletes crack me up. I think because you’re embarking on something you don’t have control over, you think it has to be hard, and you somehow have to be the one to take charge because that’s what you do in your sport. Think about it. You’re too slow, you practice to get faster. You’re not stopping the pucks enough, you see a coach to help you. You need more stamina, you work on your cardio and diet. You guys know how to navigate your career, but no one knows how to navigate love because it takes blind trust.”

I chuckle. “I can see why you write romance.”

She laughs and shakes her head, eyeing something or someone over my shoulder. “I think it’s my years of experience more than my writing skills. Plus, I’m married to a complicated man who took years to figure out what he lost before he came to his senses.”

“When I found you again, I didn’t give up though, did I?” Jagger comes around us and kisses his wife. “All done fixing my player?”

Quinn smiles at me. “He didn’t need much help, but I think he’s sorted.”

“Good. We can’t have the best goalie in the league fucked in the head over a girl.”

Quinn lightly smacks his stomach.

“You have ten minutes before I’m starting my speech, so go.” Jagger points. “You’ve taken enough of my wife’s time.” He steps between us, giving me his back.

I peek my head around his arm. “Thanks, Quinn.”

She winks. “Anytime.”

I leave them on the balcony, enter the ballroom, and scan the room until I find Eloise with a glass of wine in her hand. Talking to Rigby fucking Calloway.

Thirty-One

Eloise

“They say I’m going to win the Hart Award this year. It’s like the most valuable player award. I almost got it last year, but I’ve been working my ass off this summer to make sure I get it next.”

Rigby, I think he said his name was, has barely let me get a word in since he introduced himself.

“You said your name is Eloise, right?”

“Yeah.” I sip my wine.

“Family name, I presume?”

“Yes, my gr?—”

“My name is a family name too. Technically, I’m a third, but that sounds so pretentious, you know? My grandpa wasn’t happy, said I should be proud to be a third. I’m not sure if I told you, but I’m from the South. Where did you say you’re from?”

“Chica—”

“Chicago. Do you like it there? I play in Nashville. I’m not sure I could handle the weather in the Windy City.” He sips his drink.

“I should go.” I thumb toward the room, not motioning to anything specific, but it hits a hard chest.

I turn to look over my shoulder, and Conor wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side.

“Rigby,” he says, extending his free arm for a handshake.

“Nilsen.” Rigby shakes Conor’s hand, but his gaze veers to where Conor’s fingers wrap around my hip.

Oh god, does Conor really think I’d go for this guy?

“I see you met Eloise,” Conor says, voice neutral.

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