Page 81 of The Overtime Kiss

Tyler looks like he’s about to choke on air. “I’m not?—”

“Good. You shouldn’t be,” she cuts in smoothly, patting his shoulder. “She should get out there and meet someone, don’t you think?”

I freeze.

Tyler blinks, looking like he’s swallowed something sour, but then—too casually, too easily—he says, “Yeah. She should get out there and meet someone.”

I grip the plates hard. His tone is light. Unbothered. Like the idea means nothing to him.

The lack of hesitation settles wrong in my gut.

He wants me to date. Would that make things easier for him?

A little later, after inviting his mom to stay for dinner, Tyler has shed his suit jacket and changed into jeans and a T-shirt that definitely shows off his arms. His arms, his thick beard, his unruly hair. He makes caveman look so good, even though he’s a gentle giant underneath it all. I wish he weren’texactlymy type.

His mom, still on her matchmaking streak, says, “So I’m going to send her potential matches. I’ve been listening to that matchmaking podcast and talking to your grandmother about it, and I have some great ideas. I just want to make sure you’re being a reasonable employer.”

Tyler’s expression is blank for a moment, but then he turns stoic. “Of course.”

Lauren smiles, like she’s just won something.

I’m so thrown off, I don’t even know what to make of it. Except…the obvious.

He’s doubling down on the wholeit can’t happen again.And the best way to make sure it doesn’t? For me to be with someone else.

That shouldn’t sting—but it does. Like salt rubbed into a raw wound.

But maybe he’s right. Maybe Ishoulddate. It’d be the fastest way to get over this stupid, going-nowhere crush on my boss.

22

THE SABRINA ZONE

Tyler

It’s not my place to tell her what to do. It’s definitely not my place.

I repeat that over and over all day long.

Two nights later, I’m back on the ice, and frustration chases me as I slam an opponent into the boards, playing rough, aggressive—because fuck anyone who gets in my way.

Like Chicago’s center, barreling down the ice. Not on my watch.

But I get tangled up in a battle along the boards. Before I know it, I’m called out on a penalty.

Miles tugs me away from the Chicago player. “Chill, man,” he says. My brother hardly ever loses his cool.

I mutter a curse and skate toward the box, jaw tight as I sit and stew. Chilling feels impossible. I should be getting my head on straight. Instead, the idea of Sabrina dating is lodging deeper in my skull.

By the time I’m back on the ice, we’re down by one. And Iplay like an asshole. A few minutes later, Miles is yanking me away again, telling me tochillagain. And I’m back in the box.Again.

Chicago scores on the power play. Serves me right. But this screws the team. By the third period, we’re scrambling.

But the worst part?

We lose, and as I skate off the ice, when I should be thinking about the game and what to do differently next time—I’m still mulling over Sabrina’s love life.

I look up toward the family suite, forcing myself to wave at my kids, to blow them a kiss, to make a heart sign. It makes me feel better. They always do.

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