Page 15 of A Little Too Forward

I don’t know how long I walk before calm spreads through my body, but it must have been a while. It’s no surprise that my feet have taken me down Front Street and to Toronto’s Hockey Hall of Fame.

As I pause to admire the historical building, a smile spreads across my face. Memories of coming here as a child flood my senses. How I would press my face against every glass display and gaze at the memorabilia. My dad would laugh but listen intently as I read the plaques out to him.

This was the place that sparked my desire to work in sports media. I wasn’t an athlete by any sense of the word when I was a kid or even now. I appreciated physical exercise but wasn’t dedicated enough to anything to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to practice.

Yet it was here that I learned there were many avenues I could take if I wanted a career in sports. I didn’t need to be able to shoot a puck or catch a ball to live and breathe the action.

A contented sigh escapes me. I fucking loved this place.

Thinking that a nice walk around the museum would be a fun escape, I make my way to the entrance, only to stop in my tracks when I see it.

“He’s haunting me,” I curse, shaking my head as I stare up at the massive banner of Max and two other teammates that I don’t dare look at. Max’s gaze penetrates me like he’s looking deep into my soul, his green eyes daring me to make a move.

I hate that his stupid handsome face is hanging here. No matter where I go in the city, there is some reminder of him.

Two weeks ago, before we came face to face at the party, I barely thought of the man. His image didn’t cause me to hesitate or lose my train of thought. Heck, I could even talk about him quickly as I was reporting and not lose a beat.

Now, I can’t get through an afternoon without being confronted by his image, his voice, or even his jersey. He is everywhere. When did this happen?

We don’t have the best history, but surely after his betrayal, I didn’t develop some superhuman ability to block him out…right? Because if so, where are those powers now? Had his touch broken the spell?

“You know what? No.” Again, I’m talking to myself out loud, but I don’t care. I can’t deal with this,him, right now. It’s another reminder of the part of me I’m missing.

Sports reporting.

Not Max.

No, never him. I don’t miss him.

Turning away from the one place I thought would always be my safe haven, I try to fight the feeling in the pit of my stomach that feels a lot like yearning.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MAX

“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

“Son of a bi—” I cry, losing my footing on the treadmill and careening to the side. My hands fly out to the sides just in time to catch the handrails before I tumble off the machine. I jump my feet out to the edges, and once I’m stable, I hit the emergency stop button.

“What the hell, Mable? You can’t sneak up on someone like that. I could have died!”

“You were fine,” she replies with a wave of her hand. Mable’s gaze isn’t even on me at the moment; it’s on her phone. The sly smile on her face, though, lets me know she saw my panic and is enjoying it. “It’s karma for you not calling me back.”

“It’s not karma,” I mutter, grabbing the towel I’d thrown over the railing and wiping the sweat from my eyes. “It’s evil.”

Her dark brown eyes flick up to me, making me stop in my tracks. Mable could make grown men cry and other women cheer for her on the sidelines. She is a fierce woman, a no-nonsense leader and the best sports agent in North America.

When I met Mable at the sweet and naive age of twenty, I was playing in the Canadian Junior League. She didn’t ask if she could represent me; she just told me she was. I’d known who she was long before she’d strutted up to me after a home game and passed me her card. I’d been so stunned and impressed I hadn’t contradicted her.

And honestly, I would have been too scared to try.

Even now, nine years later, she still makes my hands sweat with nerves when she stares at me withthat look. The look she’s giving me right now.

“Why have you been avoiding my calls?” I open my mouth, not sure what I’m about to say, but she cuts me off before any lies can trickle out. “And I want the truth, Max. Don’t bullshit me with how busy you’ve been. I know your schedule, and you’ve had plenty of time hot shot.”

I pause for a needed second, my breathing and heartbeat still heavy from the near-death experience. Even that short reprieve pisses Mable off.

“I needed some time to think. About all the sponsorship deals that are coming in. It’s a lot to process when you add in the start of the season, team dynamics, family stuff, whatever is happening with Sabrina, and the sponsors I already have.”

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