Page 60 of Empty Net

I drag my finger over the spines of the few books he has decorating his shelves. “You read?”

He sighs. “I try.”

I tip my head at the obvious frustration in his voice. “Try?”

“I, uh, I don’t read very quickly.” A shrug. “Just always how it’s been for me. It takes me a long time to concentrate and absorb what’s on the page. It can sometimes take me a month to finish a book most people can finish in a day, so school was reallyhard regarding reading assignments. Now, as an adult, I tend to do audiobooks more than paperbacks. It’s easier.”

His confession tugs at my heart. Not because I pity him—nothing he said deserves my pity—but because it’s clear this is something about himself that bothers him. I love that he doesn’t give up despite his struggle and keeps trying. He doesn’t let it deter him. He just finds a way to adapt. It’s admirable.

“Want to see my bedroom?” he blurts out.

I pause. He pauses.

Silence. Complete and utter silence, which is really unhelpful considering all the images currently filtering through my mind, like howwe’dlook there, his sheets nothing but a tangle around us. I wish I could say it’s my first time having those thoughts, but that’d be a lie. I’ve thought about it far too often over the last few days, especially since his game.

I’m unsure if Fox realizes the arena broadcasts the warmups on the screens throughout the concourse. He probably wouldn’t have made a joke about me missing his goalie stretches the other night if he did, since I didn’t actually miss them. I saw them, and I watched every last second. In fact, I was so engrossed I didn’t even notice that the concession stand worker put fire sauce on my nachos instead of mild, which definitely had me sweating the whole night.

It was worth it, though, to see his moves. I know those stretches help them, but damn if they don’t look wildly sexual, especially when you know just how good of a kisser one of the guys doing them is. I was hot and bothered long before I tried the fire sauce, and I’m hot and bothered right now, and it has nothing to do with the mug of jalapeño lime lemonade in my hand.

I squeeze my thighs together as subtly as I can, trying to chase away the ache between them that’s been steadily growing.Fox laughs, breaking the tension, then runs his hand over his jawline again, a nervous tic I find all too endearing.

“That came out way more sexual than I intended,” he says, the tips of his ears red.

I laugh, too, pretending I amnotthinking about everything I’d like to do with him in said bedroom.

Nope. Not thinking of that at all.

“Come on.” He brushes by me, careful to avoid touching me, then leads me down the short hallway with three doors.

He points out the bathroom first, then his bedroom at the end. When he pushes the door open, I’m hit with that same warm-mahogany-and-Irish Spring scent I’ve come to associate with him. I don’t know what cologne he uses, but it’s officially become my favorite.

A crisp black blanket covers his neatly made bed, and I wonder if he made it because he knew I was coming over or if he’s simply that neat. Given the state of the rest of his apartment, I’m betting on the latter. I tear my eyes away from it as quickly as I look at it, trying not to focus on it too much, fearing those images might pop right back to the forefront of my mind, and I focus on the rest of the room: clean and organized, which is exactly what I expected.

When we backtrack down the hall, he passes by the remaining door in the hall on the way out, and I stop.

I point to it. “Will this take me to Narnia, where I’ll find a lion and witch?”

He chuckles. “Uh, no. That’s just m-my…office. Nothing really to s-see in there.”

My eyes fall to slits at the shakiness in his voice. “Fox, you just showed me your bedroom where all we did was stand in the doorway without a fun sexual innuendo or you trying to take advantage of me. Now you want to pass by your ‘office’ because there’s nothing to see in there? Not a chance.”

I grab the handle, pushing the door open, and he lunges at me.

“No! Wait! I?—”

But his protests are futile. I’ve already opened the door and found that Fox—the sweet, Southern gentleman I’m pretty sure would never hurt a fly—lied to me.

“Now,thisis a secret,” I say, stepping into the room that isn’t an office. No. It’s more like a shrine mixed with an office. Or, from the looks of his setup, a gaming room. “What is all this? Are you worried I’ll think you’re a nerd for gaming?”

“You know that’s a gaming computer?”

“I’m full of secrets, Artie.” I shoot him a wink, which makes his blush deepen even more.

“Look,” he says, following me into the room, “I know this probably looks really weird, but I swear there’s a good reason for it all.”

I quirk a brow at him. “Really? Because I’d love to hear it.”

“Well…”

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