Page 23 of A Little Too Forward

She sticks her tongue out at me, crossing her arms over her chest at the same time. I try to ignore the fact she’s just lifted her tits in front of me.

“Secondly, you’re right. The first two years, I was distant from my family. But that doesn’t mean I just abandoned them. I couldn’t make it home a lot with the game schedule, and I was still getting used to the intensity of playing in the NHL. But I did everything I could to stay in touch.”

As I’m saying this out loud to her, it dawns on me that there might be another layer of hurt on her end. Not for my family but for her. I didn’t stay in touch with her either.

When she had learned about my signing, Sabrina had ranted that she didn’t want to hear from me and to fuck off. I should have known better than to believe her words. Hadn’t we been saying the same thing to each other most of our adolescent lives?

It was the one constant I could always count on: that Sabrina and I would bicker, fight, end our friendship and then days later be back to best friends. There was always a tension between us. It had just shifted for me without any warning.

But that’s a confession for another time.

Reaching out, I place a hand on her shoulder. Her green eyes shift back to me, a shininess in them that makes me want to tug her whole body into my arms.

“I’m sorry, Sabrina. I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with you. I just truly believed…”

“That I never wanted to talk to you again.” She lets out a long, deep sigh. “That fight was a bit different than all our other teenage rage-fests.” A little laugh escapes her.

“It was, but I still should have tried.”

She nods again, looking away in thought.

A long moment passes in silence. Sabrina takes a sip of her tea. I’m on pins and needles about whether we’re cool now or if more needs to be hashed out.

“Okay,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “Let’s leave the past in the past and start fresh. Do you want to go over the production schedule and quickly go over what you do and don’t want to talk about on camera?”

Back to business mode.

“Yeah, that works for me.”

For the next half hour, we chat about what’s coming next. Sabrina takes notes on her phone, planning out how she’s going to approach some of the days and the themes the studio has requested we touch on.

I’ve let SNN and Sabrina know the lines of conversation I don’t want to go down. Mainly a rumoured rivalry —which is a hundred percent accurate—that picked up media attention last year and my eldest brother’s messy divorce to a Broadway star. Anything else I’m happy to chat about.

“Okay, that’s a good place to start. I’m sure Bruna and Ricky will have input, but I’ll worry about that later.” Sabrina smiles, clicking her phone off to a blank screen. Untucking her legs from the comfortable position she’d been sitting in, she rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Damn, why am I so tired today?”

“It’s the adrenaline from the new project. I feel it too,” I say, fighting back a yawn.

So distracted by my tiredness, I almost miss the soft expression Sabrina gives me. By the time it registers in my brain, the look is gone.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For thinking of me for this series. I was at a bit of a stalemate, and this got me back on track.”

“You would have gotten something amazing on your own soon.”

“Oh, I know,” she proudly boasts. “But what you did…I could never repay—”

I cut her off, not wanting to hear anything about repayment or the like. I know, deep within my heart, that if I was ever in a tough situation, Sabrina would do whatever she could to help. I merely put her name in the producer’s ears and let the weight of my influence do the rest.

“I honestly couldn’t imagine doing something like that with anyone else. I know you’ll show me in the perfect light,” I joke with her.

Nodding in agreement, she raises a brow. “It is a weird full-circle moment.”

Our gaze locks, but this time, something is different. The way she’s looking at me feels almost heated. Not fury or anger…but more. I feel the pull.

Before my body is able to follow the feeling, Sabrina is springing to her feet.

“Well, I should be going,” she says louder than needed. She immediately starts heading for the door.

Taken by surprise, I almost trip over my own feet as I follow her to the door. Where the hell has my agility and grace gone?

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