Page 14 of If You Love Me

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you? You really have your shit together,” Dred says.

I laugh. “Is that how it looks? Sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.” Should I have said that out loud? Usually I have a decent handle on things. I live for hockey. Getting what I want out of a player, what the team needs out of a player, feels damn good. But right now...everything seems unsteady.

“I think we all feel like that at some point.” She props her cheek on her fist. “This might sound super woo-woo, but we’re drawn to places and people for a reason, right?”

“That doesn’t sound woo-woo.”

She motions to the table and drops her voice. “I think you belong here, Lexi. These women, this team? They’re the most amazing family, and I get to be part of it. If you want it, you can be, too.”

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Family feels like a pretty bedtime story. What she’s describing is nothing I’ve had before. For the past year it’s been me and my sisters, and before then, I still didn’t truly feel like I quite fit anywhere. I loved my mom, but she and I had our struggles. And my dad loves me, but he’s married to his job. I know what it is to feel alone. To belong? I crave it, but it seems impossible.

“Shit. I’m making you emotional.” Dred gives me a side hug. “Subject change. What’s your favorite board game?”

I laugh. “What?”

“Favorite board game. Everyone needs to have one. What’s yours?”

“Mastermind.”

“Hell yes.” She cups her hands and shouts. “Flip, I have a new board-game bestie. Lexi and I are Mastermind soul mates.”

“Finally, you can beat someone else at that fucking game!” he calls back.

The server delivers platters of nachos and appetizers. We eat and laugh and talk, and I find myself yearning for more of this easy friendship.

When Ophelia messages with dinner requests, I excuse myself to place a to-go order.

“You’re a new face.” A businessman nursing a lowball glass of amber liquid flashes a dimpled smile my way. “You with the team?” He inclines his head across the bar to where Roman and the guys are chatting and watching sports highlights.

“I am, yeah.”

Roman’s shrewd gaze meets mine for a moment before it shifts to the guy beside me. As soon as I avert my eyes, I feel Roman looking at me. I’m suddenly hot, and anxious, as if I’m doing something wrong. Which is ridiculous. I’m just making polite conversation with another man. Roman and I can’t be anything to each other. I can’t ever be his perfect, naughty angel again. I’m his coach, and he’s a player. That’s where it starts and ends.

Thankfully, the server comes over. I place my order and return to the table. I swear I still feel Roman’s eyes on me, the weight of them pinning me in place. And sure enough, when I glance in his direction, he’s looking. Unease slithers down my spine. These tentative friendships are on shaky ground until Roman and I discuss our past. I’m the outsider, he’s not.

He and I have unfinished business and ignoring it won’t help. I didn’t get where I am in life by avoiding conflict.

It’s closing in on six by the time my takeout is ready. And it’s pouring rain now. Me and my to-go order will be soaked in seconds.

Roman approaches our table as I’m being hugged goodbye by the girls. He waits until they’re done before he inclines his head toward the door. “I can drive you home.” It’s not a question.

The desire to do whatever he wants is immediate and inconvenient. So of course I do the opposite. “The subway is only two blocks.”

His eyes are as stormy as the sky outside. “My car is parked around the corner. The closest station is at least a five-minute walk, unless you want to catch your death.”

My snarky response shocks even me. “What are you? A hundred-year-old woman?”

His eye twitches. “Channeling my inner grandma. But seriously, it’s cold and rainy.”

Arguing with him is pointless. Especially since he’s not wrong about the weather. And this way I can address the elephant in the room. I message Fee that I’ll be home soon. Roman kisses Hammer on the cheek. I ignore the way my heart squeezes at the affection. He passes me his jacket.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s pouring.”

“You’ll get soaked.”

“I’ve survived worse.” He nods to the bag. “Better soggy me than soggy dinner, don’t you think, Coach Forrester?”

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