Page 14 of Goal Line
“I just spent an hour getting ready,” I say, my voice teasing as I think about how long it took me to curl my hair and try on multiple different outfits before settling on this sundress I bought today. The scoop neck and empire waist keep the focus on my upper body, and the short skirt highlights my muscular legs. “And all I get isnice?”
He stands and takes two steps toward me, coming so close that I have to lean my head back to look at him. Instantly, I wish I hadn’t. He’s too damn perfect, with his light brown hair falling in effortless waves, bright blue eyes, flawless skin that always looks sun-kissed, and a mischievous smile.
Luke is too cute for his own good, too down to earth when he has every reason to be conceited, and too kind and thoughtful in an otherwise harsh and competitive world.
“Were you looking for a different response, Evie?” His voice is quiet, husky even, as he looks down at me.
He doesn’t sound likemyLuke. He sounds like the compulsive flirt I so often see when we’re out in large groups, and I have to remind myself that this is the version of him I’ll also see tonight...with other women. It’s a version I’m very familiar with, because Luke has a constant stream of women rotating in and out of his life, or more accurately, his bed. He claims he doesn’t date during the season, but in truth, he’s just never had a relationship last long enough to bother mentioning it to me.
I swat at his stomach with the back of my hand, pushing him away. “You flatter yourself.”
At this point, that phrase is like a safe word for me. When I get even the smallest inkling that Luke might be flirting with me, it immediately pops out. Self-preservation and all that.
“And ewww.” I roll my eyes for good measure, wondering if it’s the pregnancy hormones that have me wishing—for the first time in a long time—that he actuallywasflirting with me. “Don’t use that seductive voice you use withother women.”
He lets out a small, sharp laugh. “I don’t know what voice you’re talking about.”
Glancing up at him, I smirk and drop my voice low, letting it flow out like his, thick and smooth. “Were you looking for a different response, Evie?”
His laugh is genuine this time. “You do a terrible impression of me.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you sounded like, somaybe your game with women is just not as good as you think it is?”
“Or maybe,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “it was never as good asyouthought it was?”
I’m trying to figure out his meaning when he turns and grabs a hat from where it sits on the back of the chair and slips it on, brushing his hair off his face. His hair is his most notable feature, and when it isn’t falling on either side of his forehead, he looks like a different person—young and carefree without the weight of a Stanley Cup loss on his shoulders. I’m sure that’s the point. With the hat covering his hair and casting a shadow across his face, he’ll be less recognizable while we’re out tonight.
He steps closer, resting his hand on my lower back as he guides me toward the front door with a gruff, “Let’s go. Don’t want to keep the birthday girl waiting.”
The nighttime air is still warm when we exit his building, and my long hair hangs down my back, tickling my bare shoulder blades. Luke’s fingertips remain on my lower back, guiding me around people who aren’t going at the same fast pace as we walk the few blocks to the bar where we’re meeting Amy.
“So what’s our story for why you aren’t drinking?” he asks.
“I have to practice in the morning.” I glance up at him over my shoulder. “That’s believable, right?”
His jaw tics, but he nods, and I focus back on the sidewalk in front of me.
“You know you’re going to have to tell people eventually, right?” he asks. “Or they’ll start figuring it out.”
“How the hell would they figure it out? I’m not evenshowing,” I say, and when I look up at him, I can’t help but notice that his gaze is focused on my chest. Which, to be fair, is pretty hard to miss in my scoop-neck black tank dress. It’s not like he’s checkingmeout or anything.
As his eyes meet mine, he clears his throat. “But you will be soon. How many weeks are you now?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Holy shit, Evie.” The words are whispered. “Over halfway? Already?”
“Well, I didn’t figure it out until I was nineteen weeks along.” Because of my intense exercise and skating regimen and the strict diet I’m on during training, my period has never been regular. It wasn’t until I’d missed it for several months in a row that I got worried and took a pregnancy test.
He slips his hand around to my hip and snuggles me into his side. “I know. Guess I just forgot how far along you are, especially because you’re still not really showing.”
“You’re right, though,” I say as I lean my head to the side, resting it in the space between his chest and shoulder. “Now that I’m not training, and given how far along I am, it’ll become obvious soon. I’m already noticing the difference in how my clothes fit. My belly’s getting hard, and it’s definitely bigger. That’s why I had to go shopping today...to find things that fit but don’t make me look pregnant.”
“You did good with this dress,” he says, and he’s right. Because it’s tight on my chest and loose below it, the fabric hides my belly. “What else did you get?”
“Tons of stuff. You saw the shopping bags we unloaded from your car, right?” I’d brought them all with me instead ofhaving my dad take them home because I wasn’t sure what I’d want to wear tonight.
His chest shakes with laughter. “I thought those were all gifts for me.”
