Page 38 of Puck Sweat Love

“I do,” I tease. “But feel free to keep telling me.”

He smiles before sobering. “I’m serious. Most people hear about my history and they… Well, let’s just say Hartley isn’t alone in believing once a loser, always a loser.”

“I’m not most people.” I lean in closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “And you’re definitely not a loser.”

“No?” His voice drops to that gravelly register that makes my toes curl.

“No. I think you’re a survivor, forged in fire, and a more compassionate person than you would have been if your life had always been easy. You bring good things to the table, and you deserve to be judged on your present not your past. Anyone who doesn’t realize that is a poop face.”

His lips twitch. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends shivers racing down my spine. “Seriously, thank you,” he whispers against my skin. “I don’t know what I did to deserve woman like you in my life, but I’m not going to fuck it up, Teach. I promise.”

I meet his gaze and something electric passes between us. Something that makes my heart race and my breath catch.

And then he’s kissing me, deep and sexy and sweet, like he’s trying to pour everything words can’t say into the press of his lips against mine. I wind my arms around his neck, melting into him as the shadows lengthen and night falls, feeling beautiful and appreciated and…home.

That’s not a thing that’s happened to me with a man before, especially not one I’ve been dating for less than a week, but I’m a person who believes in miracles.

In magic.

In cosmic connections and Fate and things that have been written in the stars.

And I’m starting to think this man might be written in mine.

CHAPTER 10

TANK

After I get home from the rink on Saturday morning, I spend way too long staring at my reflection, feeling like a teenager prepping for his first date. Which is ridiculous. I’m not the kind of man who gives much of a shit about my appearance. I’m a jeans, tee shirt, roll on some deodorant and make sure I don’t have shit in my teeth before I roll out the door kind of guy.

I’ve also been on plenty of dates.

Just not lately…

And not with someone I like as much as I already like Stephanie.

She’s incredible. From her fucking gorgeous exterior to her even prettier heart. And I’m suddenly the kind of sappy motherfucker who thinks things like that about a woman I barely know.

“Get it together, LiBassi,” I mutter as I spray some sea salt shit Stone said would “ease my frizz” into the front of my shaggy cut and poke at the resulting waves.

My reflection scowls back at me, but even my cranky face isn’t as cranky as usual.

I look like a man who has a reason to be excited about the future. And I do. I moved all my coaching sessions to early this morning and have the rest of the weekend off.

With a little luck, I’ll get to spend at least half of it with Steph.

I hope the break-dancing festival is still as cool as I remember. I haven’t been since I was fourteen, back before hockey ate up so much of my time, there wasn’t any leftover for hanging out under the overpass, working on my tricks with Yoda and our crew. But in junior high, the Rose City Rejects had been my family, a source of connection and support when my real family was spiraling down the drain.

My dad hated it, of course. Called it a waste of time, said I was an idiot for risking an injury that could take me off the ice. But as a kid too young to drive and too old to ignore the shouting coming from my parents’ room, that sweat-stained carboard gave me a desperately needed escape.

Since then, a part of me has associated dancing with dark times. With sneaking into the house late at night, creeping past my father’s passed out form on the couch, hoping he wouldn’t wake up and decide to slap me around for violating the curfew he only enforced when he wanted an excuse to beat the shit out of me.

I let him taint the memories of dancing with my friends the way he tainted so many things about my childhood.

But maybe it’s time to take back that part of myself with someone who loves dancing almost as much as she loves yoga and her snuffly pup.

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