Page 48 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
CHAPTER 17
MARCY
My frown has nothing to do with what Clément just said, not even because Carson and Bailey just plowed through like a comedy duo.
This frown is a deep disappointment with myself. I just let myself almost kiss a hockey player. A suaveFrenchhockey player who has all the moves to get me alone and under the stars.
Three strikes. He’s got to be OUT.
I take a mini step back and pretend I’m adjusting my bracelet. I’m really adjusting my expectations.
How did that happen?
I know better. I wrote the rulebook. I filed it in triplicate. It says: no more charming athletes, no more emotional detours, no more getting swept up in temporary chemistry disguised as fate.
And yet… I was starting to believe he was opening up to me.
I glance over at him, prepared to find him basking in his own romantic prowess, but he’s not. He’s weirdly still.
His brow is faintly damp, like maybe he’s nervous or maybe someone opened a vent too close to the thermostat. His jaw is set, no smirk. No playful gleam.
He’s just quiet.
It throws me.
This is a man who winked at a cow and made it seem normal. He navigates social media like an adored celebrity.
But now he looks like someone waiting to be called into a meeting where he already knows he’s getting fired.
“You okay?”
He looks over, startled, like I caught him mid-thought. “Me?Oui, of course.”
He sounds less sure than usual.
I look away, close my eyes, and breathe in the cool autumn air. Because if I don’t, I’ll forget who I am, what I’m doing, and why kissing a hockey player with an accent and emotional depth is a very, very bad idea.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the arena. “I should check in with Ms. Thompkins. You know, make sure I’ve been properly seen before I disappear like a social delinquent.”
Clément blinks, still a little glassy-eyed. “You’re leaving?”
“I told Angel I’d finish cross-checking receipts tonight. There’s this whole question about goat vaccinations versus hay costs and whether both count as line-item livestock care…” His expression softens, but I keep going. “Anyway. You get it. For the kids. Happy Horizons doesn’t run itself.”
I try for a smile, but I suspect I look more guilty than anything else.
He nods slowly, and then his mouth opens and closes with nothing but air and maybe a vowel.
Silence falls, heavy with all the things we’re both not saying.
“Clément!” Angel’s voice rings out, warm and delighted, just before she barrels into view with the energy of a comet. Scotty follows at a slower pace, favoring his left side.
Clément straightens, and his whole face brightens in that effortless way of his. He hugs Angel tightly, then turns to Scotty and throws his arms around him, too.
Scotty grunts. “Careful, Rivière. I’m too old for these linebacker hugs.”
Clément immediately pulls back. “Oh la la, I forgot. Your back?—”
“It’s fine. Mostly.” Scotty winces. “Unless you plan on tackling me again. Then I’m dead.”
