Page 33 of Romancing My Grumpy Goalie

“Hey, man,” Jace says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We can’t win them all. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

I grunt in return and head to the showers. Jace catches up next to me. “I saw Anabelle was here with her kid and family tonight. You invited them?”

And paid for their tickets. I like her parents. They made me feel welcome.

Her dad was a little quiet at first, but I can’t fault the man for it. He did warm up to me by the end of the night—asked me about the Forge, about Nolan’s progress, even about my knee.

Not that I’m great at talking. I just . . . showed up. And I guess that was enough.

“Yeah.”

“So does this mean you’re getting serious with Anabelle?” Jace presses.

I grab my soap and head to shower before I have to answer.

The thing is . . . it’s been, what? Four weeks since I started mentoring Nolan? And somehow, somewhere between soccer drills and porch repairs, I began looking forward to seeing her.

That should probably scare me more than it does.

After I’m toweled off and dressed, Jace resumes his interrogation. “If you’re not sure, you must be at least considering it. Because if you weren’t, you would have shut it down.”

“You’re thinking too hard about this,” I mutter.

“You deserve to be happy.” Jace wads up his towel and shoves it into a Forge-logo duffel. “Even if it comes wrapped in boutique-owner chaos.”

“I am happy.”

“Riiight,” Jace says. “That’s why you’re always smiling and laughing.”

“Some people express their joy differently.” I shrug a shoulder. My phone buzzes. I’m meeting Anabelle after this for food. I asked her yesterday when I gave her the tickets. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about her ever since we almost kissed. I have to see her again. She’s haunted my dreams and every moment when life slows to nothing.

Anabelle: Where should we meet?

I give her some specific directions to the hall outside the locker room, and something brushes my ear. I swat at it and hit someone in the face.

“Oof, what was that for?” Jace asks.

“Why are you reading over my shoulder?” I ask, glaring at him accusingly.

“You’re meeting up with Anabelle tonight? You dirty scoundrel, you are involved with her! I knew it!”

“It’s not what you think. And mind your own business,” I growl.

“You should take her up to that overlook where you go all the time,” Jace suggests. “You’ll definitely get some action if you do that.”

I sigh. “You’re exhausting.” And so is this night. Honestly, I don’t have the energy for the overlook. It’s my favorite place to sit and think, but I’d like to go home and ice my knee. With Anabelle along. And some delicious take out we don’t have to cook.

I leave the locker room, and Anabelle is right where I directed her to meet me.

She’s wearing a black Forge jersey with her hair up in a ponytail, skinny jeans, and bright pink athletic shoes that match her lipstick and fingernails. Yes, I’m taking in every detail because I can’t help myself. I’m studying her like I’m preparing for my next game. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. She’s making me crazy with those pink lips of hers. My fingers ache to reach up and slip the band from her ponytail so her hair cascades around her shoulders.

“You were amazing,” she gushes as soon as she sees me. “Seeing you in action like that . . .”

She’s not about to start fanning herself, is she?

She blushes. “I’m sorry, you’re probably used to women falling all over you after a game.”

Actually, I’m not. That ship sailed back when I tore my ACL a year ago. “You’re fine,” I rumble. Her behavior was the last thing I expected after making the team lose.

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