Page 39 of Bleacher Report
She mentioned during the interview that she wants a dog but doesn’t have the time right now. That hit. It reminded me of all the years I begged for a black lab as a kid—something loyal,something constant. But with my insane practice schedule and my mom teaching full time, taking odd jobs to help pay for my practice gear and summer camps, the answer was always no. That conversation with Peyton felt like the first time we had something in common that had nothing to do with our careers or this fake dating thing.
I load everything into the back of the truck and climb into the driver’s seat, firing up the GPS. A quick search pulls up a Thai place nearby with more than a thousand five-star reviews. That’s good enough for me. I call and place an order for a handful of dishes that sound halfway decent—pad see ew, yellow curry, chicken satay. She’s bound to like at least one of them.
The smell hits me before I’m even out of the truck—ginger, basil, and something spicy and rich.
I step inside the restaurant, grab the paper bag, and tip the girl behind the counter more than I need to. I’m not taking any chances tonight.
Good karma, all the way around.
Back in the driver’s seat, I rest the food on the passenger side and glance at the rearview mirror. My hair’s a mess. Hoodie wrinkled. And my nerves are doing a weird kind of twisty thing I haven’t felt since my first NHL game.
This isn’t a date.
It’s damage control.
So why the hell do I care this much if she smiles when I walk in?
I pull up in front of her townhouse just as the streetlights flicker on. It’s past dusk but not completely dark yet. My headlights sweep across the front of her garage as I roll into the driveway and cut the engine.
For a second, I just sit there.
Hands still on the wheel.
The smell of Thai food wafting through the cabin.
I think about the look on her face when I walked out of her studio. About the way her voice cracked just before I slammed the door. About the silence since.
This has to go right.
Because like Slade said—I never back out of a deal. She’s been holding up her end and I need to do my part too.
I grab the food and the bags of snacks, tuck the box of tampons under one arm, and head to the door.
Time to fix what I broke.
Chapter Nine
Peyton
I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch with a half-eaten bag of popcorn beside me and my laptop open to a timeline I’ve been staring at for over an hour. I tried editing the interview with Hunter, hoping to salvage something usable. But every time I hear him snap back at me or watch the moment his body language shifts from casual to cold, my stomach tightens. The whole thing feels tainted.
After pausing for what must be the twentieth time, I gave up and clicked out of the project, opting for a brain break. That break turned into a social media rabbit hole, and now I’m watching a tiny, crocheted jellyfish bounce across a desk, wearing a mini bowtie. I don’t know how I got here.
I texted Hunter back forty-five minutes ago but my stomach grumbles in betrayal just as I hear the front door open.
Hunter walks in carrying grocery bags in one hand, and a large takeout bag in the other. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing muscled forearms with the faint edge of a tattoo peeking out, and his hair is wet from the misty Seattle weather.
The savory scent of Thai food wafts up as he cracks open the takeout bag. I moan loudly and without shame at the smell. “Oh my God. That smells like heaven.”
He gestures toward the grocery bag. “Did the best I could.”
I walk around to help unpack. First, I pull out a bag of peanut M&M’s. Then I see two pints of ice cream and a slice of cake. A pack of Midol and the exact box of tampons I asked for.
“You really did it,” I say, setting the box between us on the granite island. “You actually bought tampons.”
He shrugs as he continues to pull out the take-out containers, busting at the seams. “You said you were out. It’s not a big deal.”
Not a big deal? It’s a big deal to me. After the last few years of bad first dates and even worse short-term relationships, a man picking up tampons for me without complaining is a big deal.
