Page 4 of In It to Win It

“And my mom. But my mom was a hockey mom, driving Théo and me to practices and games at ungodly hours, lugging our equipment around, cheering us on at every game. So that counts, I guess.”

“And Chelsea married into a hockey family.”

“Right.”

“I have to admit I didn’t grow up watching hockey, but I got free tickets to a game once when I was about seventeen, and I loved it. It was so fast and fierce.”

“Yeah.” I like it that she enjoys hockey. “Do you play any sports?”

“I played volleyball in high school, and college.”

“Hey, no kidding. That’s awesome.”

“I still like to get together with friends on the beach and play some ball.”

Every nerve ending in my body goes on alert as I picture Taylor in a bikini, jumping up and down in the sand, setting and spiking the ball. “I’d love to do that.”

“Well, sure. There are volleyball nets right near where I live. Which is right by Lacey and Théo. We should do that sometime.”

Sparks crackle between us. I lean closer. “For sure. That would be fun.”

“You know how to play volleyball?”

“Yeah.” I shrug.

“You’re probably good at it.”

“Eh. Not as good as at hockey.”

“Volleyball’s not as rough as hockey.”

“I play a physical game,” I admit.

“Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been in a few. Not so much anymore. But sometimes I piss people off. And sometimes they pissmeoff.” I shrug. I’ve made some mistakes, but for some reason, I want her approval. When I meet her eyes I don’t see judgment or disapproval, though. I see warmth and curiosity, as if she wants to understand. “I’m trying to do better.”

“Aren’t we all,” she murmurs.

We share a long look of mutual interest that makes my chest fill with heat. “Okay, I know you like dogs and kids and volleyball. How about tattoos?”

She laughs. “Do I like them on other people? Or on myself?”

“Both.”

“I have no tattoos. But I like them on other people. Do you have any?”

“Yeah. Just one, one my back.” I pause, then lean closer to ask in a low voice, “What’s your opinion on porn?”

She bursts out laughing again. “Wow, we’re really getting to the good stuff.”

“Just curious.”

“Maybe we could talk about this later.” She glances around at the others at the table.

“Absolutely.” I don’t hesitate, because I’m perfectly willing to talk to Taylor about porn later . . . preferably up in my hotel room, where I’m staying for the weekend nuptials.

For a while we join in other conversation at our table, until we’re served a tiny slice of chocolate cake sitting in a pool of raspberry sauce.

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