Page 49 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
“I will resist,” Clément says solemnly, hands up like he’s promising not to commit a crime. “But only because I like you.”
Angel beams. “You boys are ridiculous.”
One thing I’ve learned about Angel and Scotty, they have the combined subtlety of a marching band. They are also—unfortunately—hopeless romantics.
I’ve got to get out of here while I can.
“I really have to go.” I glance toward the arena again, already half-pivoting.
“Just a few more minutes—” Angel starts.
“You know how I am. Quiet exit, no fanfare. I just need to find Ms. Thompkins, thank her for the invite, and head home.”
Clément reaches out and brushes my arm. “Will you be at the game?” he asks, his voice soft and unsure.
Find an excuse, find an excuse.“The first one?”
He nods. “Next week. It’s at home.”
I open my mouth, intending to speak some vague diplomatic phrase about wishing them luck, but Angel cuts in.
“Of course she’s going,” she says. “With everything theIce Breakers are doing to support Maple Falls during… well, all of this.” She waves her hand absentmindedly in the direction of town hall. “She would want to be there.”
Clément watches me with something achingly hopeful in his expression.
I flash a quick, uncomfortable smile, trying not to notice the joy that lights up his stupidly handsome face when I say, “Of course. Of course I’ll be there.”
Game day. The arena looms in front of me with a whole different vibe from the inaugural bash just a few days ago.
It’s the embodiment of an overzealous sports metaphor. Vendors shout about snacks. Kids in tiny jerseys dart between legs, half of them holding foam fingers bigger than their actual limbs.
It’s a spectacle.
I stand just outside the gates, close enough to feel the cold air wafting from the open doors. I could still turn around. Ishouldturn around. There are at least six thousand things that could go wrong in there:
I could see him.
I could not see him and be disappointed.
I could panic and drop my popcorn on someone’s lap.
I could remember too much about my complicated past with hockey.
I could simply feel too much.
I shift from foot to foot, checking the time. No one would notice if I disappeared. I could blame it on work. Or a goat emergency.
I turn to leave, tugging my coat tighter around me. But then?—
His face.
The way his voice dipped when he talked about not liking the noise and fanfare. The way he touched my arm.
I close my eyes and sigh. Loudly.
I’m going to this game.
I spin on my heel to go back—and collide directly into a solid shoulder.
