Page 29 of Sure Shot
“He doesn’t like hockey.”
“Oh. Shit.” Tank shakes his head. “There’s no use spending any time on a guy who hates hockey. Shouldn’t you ask that question first? It’s a good way to weed out the losers.”
“This knife cuts both ways,” I point out. “I can’t advertise my access to the best seats in hockey.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll just attract guys who aren’t looking to date me. It’s bad enough that half the men on Tinder are just after sex.”
“Is that really so wrong?”
I make the mistake of glancing at Tank. He gives me a heated smile. And my ovaries stand up in their stadium seats and cheer.
Oh boy. Nothing good can come of this.
Wait. That’s not true. Nothinglastingcan come of this. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be good.
“I have a five-year plan.” I say it aloud more for my benefit than his. It’s me who needs the reminder.
“Sorry?”
“There’s no page for you in my five-year plan, Tank. I’m trying to meet someone who wants a relationship. And we both know you’re not that guy.”
“Yeah, well.” We stop at the curb, because the light turns red. “You’re right. I’m not that guy. I’m never getting married again. But I’m still a good time.”
“Is that why you’re following me home?”
“A nice guy always walks the single girl home.”
“Are you a nice guy?”
“Once in a while.”
I snort. The light changes again, and we cross the street, drawing closer to my front door. The point of no return is near. And it’s just so easy to rationalize this.He’s lonely. I’m lonely. Who does it hurt?
Me, that’s who. I shouldn’t do this. And yet every step brings us closer to my apartment building. “Did you really punch your co-captain in Dallas?” I ask suddenly.
“Been reading the hockey blogs, huh?” He sounds angry.
“It’s literally my job, Tank.”
“Yeah, I punched him. But don’t ask me why, because I’m not going to tell you.”
“Okay.” Now I feel like a heel for asking. It’s none of my business. I’d picked a fight with him, maybe because I was hoping he’d give up on walking me home.
I’ve failed to scare him off. He’s still here, matching my stride. We cross under the bridge, and now we’re in the home stretch. “Just in case you’re lost,” I tell him, pointing back the way we came, “your hotel is in the opposite direction.”
“I’m not lost. I’m following you home.”
“Why?”
“Why,” he scoffs. “Because neither one of us can stop thinking about it.” He stops, and when I stop, too, his piercing eyes take in my low-cut top and the flush on my neck. “You know you’ve been thinking about me. And I sure as hell can’t stop thinking about you.”
Oh. Wow. Those are the magic words.Can’t stop thinking about you. My little Cinderella heart swoons against the soot-covered hearthstones, even though Tank is no Prince Charming. He isn’t even trying to be. He’s raw and hungry. He takes what he wants. He makes no promises, and he tells me no lies.
It doesn’t matter. I march up to the front door of my building and pull out my key. “In you go,” I grumble, pulling the door open.
“Heck, I didn’t know it would be this easy. You’re inviting me up?”
