Page 89 of Off The Ice

“Yeah?” she said softly.

“I missed you too.”

I saw that light spark in her eyes, and it felt like the world was spinning a bit faster beneath us.

“You did?” she asked, as if somehow in disbelief.

As if it wasn’t written all over my face.

“Yeah,” I answered, voice thick. “I did.”

Her cheeks turned a shade of pink as she cleared her throat, taking a step backward. I hated the distance between us, but I knew it was probably for the best.

I knew if she stayed close to me, I would only last so long before grabbing her in my arms again, and who knew if I’d have the strength to let her go so easily the next time I had her there?

“So.” I looked around the space that used to be a generic guest room but was now anything but. “Are you going to tell me why I walked into what looked like your closet trying to eat you?”

“Oh.” She deflated, moving backward until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the mess. “It’s Spirit Week at school.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re the most spirited person in the fucking state.” I snorted.

She still frowned. “IloveSpirit Week. But I don’t have anything to wear because it’s stupid sports jersey day, and I own exactly zero articles of athletic gear. Unless you count my shirt that has Snoopy playing tennis on it.”

Again, that groan of frustration filled the room, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at how utterly defeated she looked.

“Why are you laughing?” She pouted.

“Because there’s the easiest solution in the world to this problem that you’re somehow overlooking.”

She shot me a look, waiting for me to go on.

“You do remember that you live with a hockey player, right?” I raised my brows at her.

“Uhhh,” she responded, biting her lip.

“Hockey players tend to have a jersey or two in their closet.” I filled in the blanks, biting back my own smile.

“No way can I wear your jersey!” she responded, looking appalled.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re important! And I work in a Kindergarten class with kids who blow their noses on me and run around with markers in their hands!”

“Have you heard of this thing called a washing machine?” I laughed at the incredulous look on her face.

“Liam.” She groaned, like it was some great moral dilemma instead of wearing a piece of fabric.

“Cassie,” I said pleadingly, “It’s not a big deal. I promise.”

But that was a lie. Itwasa big deal. And I wanted her in my jersey more than I wanted my next fucking breath.

I watched as she chewed her lip, wishing I could pull it free and throw the damn jersey over her head. But then, her shoulders relaxed, and a sigh of acceptance escaped from her lips, and I knew I’d won.

Because it wasn’t just my jersey she was going to be wearing. But my name, too.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cassie

---