Page 164 of Stick It
“Talked.”
The way he says it—the obvious connotation. I roll my eyes.
“It wasn’t…like that.”
“So, no shirtless cuddling? No spooning with benefits?”
Thankfully, there’s a softdingfollowed by the opening ofthe elevator doors saving me from having to answer that. While there were nobenefits, considering I woke up wrapped up in Ethan, there was definitely cuddling and spooning.
It’s early morning in November, and the city’s just starting to stir as we step out onto the street. A cool breeze nips at my cheeks, and golden sunlight stretches long across the sidewalk. The trees are on fire with color, red and oranges and dusky golds that shimmer in the breeze. A couple of joggers pass us, earbuds in. A man with a shopping bag and a coffee gives us a nod as we walk by.
My hand is safely tucked in Jax’s, our shoulders brushing as we walk side by side down the sidewalk. It’s peaceful. Normal. In a routine where hockey trumps all and any moment we’re not on the ice or in the gym is spent cramming or studying, there’s very little time for chilled Saturday morning walks.
“So, where are we going?” I ask when we’re a couple of blocks from the hotel.
He glances down at me and winks. “You’ll see.”
“So cryptic,” I murmur, making him chuckle.
“Not a fan of surprises, huh?”
I shrug. “I don’t mind surprises. I guess I’m just more like Ethan—I prefer to be in control.”
“I get that,” he says, voice softer now. “Growing up, control was something I never really had. I was at the mercy of someone else’s decisions—bounced between my aunt and uncle, whichever one was willing to deal with me that year. Shuffled between houses without any say in whatIwanted.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. How lonely. “I guess I got used to the chaos. Learned to roll with it. It taught me to let go a little. Not everything has to be planned or perfect—although don’t tell Ethan that, he might have an aneurysm.” He huffs a laugh, and I smile in reply. Holdingmy gaze, he finishes, “Sometimes the unknown is where the good stuff happens.”
I can feel my cheeks heat. “I can’t say I disagree with that. I thought I had everything worked out when I moved here.” I make a gesture with my hands. “Hockey was the focus. Theonlyfocus. No relationships. No boys. No distractions.”
He smirks. “That’s because you like your lines clear. Your decisions measured.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m uptight?” I shove his shoulder, quirking a brow at him.
“No,” he says with a slow grin. “It’s my way of saying you’re brave enough to try and steer the storm. Me? I just lean into it.”
As we walk past a cute corner café, the scent of fresh coffee curls out into the morning air, and I moan aloud, making him laugh. “Need your morning fix?”
“Please.” I practically groan as he tugs me inside. We order our drinks, and not long later, we’re back on the sidewalk, warm drinks in hand as steam curls into the crisp air. I can’t keep the smile off my face, and tilting my head toward the sky, I let myself enjoy this—just being with him. No drama. No rushing. Just us. Our footsteps in sync, and his fingers laced through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Eventually, we stop in front of a quaint little boutique with display shelves full of handmade pottery and delicate ceramics.
“A pottery shop?” Confusion colors my voice as I glance up at him.
“C’mon.” He drags me inside before I can question him further. We’re met with soft music and shelves upon shelves of silty-toned mugs, quirky bowls, and tiny ceramic creatures line the walls. It smells like clay and something earthy, and a friendly woman waves from behind the counter.
“Just let me know if you need anything.”
We wander the shelves for a few minutes. I run my fingersalong a glossy, deep blue mug with little gold flecks. Jax picks up one shaped like a fox’s face.
I raise a brow at him. “This is adorable but…why are we in a pottery shop?”
Setting the mug carefully back in its place, he turns to face me. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks…nervous. My head cocks as I watch him, trying to understand why he seems so uncertain all of a sudden.
He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flitting to the window. “I just… I had this idea that we could keep your dad’s tradition going.”
I freeze. My heart skips, and my ears ring.
He pushes on, voice even more hesitant and slightly panicked sounding. “Not the same, obviously. But, like…our own version. You and me. Every away game, we pick out a mug together. Something dumb or weird or cool. Keep the memory of your dad alive but…but make it ours too.”
I stare at him, emotions a chaotic storm in my chest. My throat tightens. I don’t even know what to say. If I can even speak.
