Page 47 of The Romance Line
Flynn’s face lights up. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve been wanting to.”
“I know. This seemed like the perfect time,” he says.
Flynn turns to me. “We’ll catch up later.”
Max chuckles. “We’ll be pretty busy,” he says, then parks his elbow and waits for Flynn to leave the stands and head around to the ice.
He flashes me one more smile—the kind that saysI won. This man is like a dog sometimes. Shame I like dogs so much.
When the kids finish a little later, Flynn is finishing up on the ice, having done nothing but move a few cones around. But Max keeps him busy putting cones away. Becca gathers her things, then says goodbye to me, adding, “I was just teasing. But if you did have a crush on Max, I’d understand.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “It’s strictly professional.”
“Of course.”
She sounds like she’s placating me, but there’s no point arguing with her so I smile weakly as she disappears inside the rink. Coach Gupta is gone too. And Flynn’s disappeared as well.
Then, it’s just Max and me. He’s standing at the boards, resting his elbows on them, smiling smugly my way. “It’s so professional, and I definitely don’t know about your…bralettes.” He says it like they’re sexy magic. Well, they are. He lifts a curious brow. “Are you wearing one today? Or maybe a lavender bra like you did at sushi?”
Does he have eagle ears as well as eagle eyes? “You remember the bra I was wearing?” I ask, when the real question should behow does he know which one I was wearing?
“Fuck yes,” he says, unapologetic.
“H-how?”
“Is that a real question?” His eyes are heated as they roam up and down me. “I remember my favorite things.”
Likemylingerie? Oralllingerie? But those aren’t questions I can ask. “I meant how did you know what bra I was wearing?” Then I hold up a hand. I shouldn’t go fishing for this intel. I shouldn’t know if he’s wanting me the way I want him. It’s better if I don’t figure it out. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Relax, sunshine. Your shirt sloped down your shoulder for a hot second when we got sushi. I caught a glimpse of the strap—that was all.” After a moment, he adds, “Your right shoulder.”
He knows the left one is the one I touch sometimes. He doesn’t know it has the scar though. But he seems to have sensed I’m cautious about it. “Oh. Okay,” I say, unsteady and I'm not sure why, but I feel like I’m walking across a ship’s deck in choppy waters.
“It was nice,” he adds, butnicecomes out likehot. Or maybe likeI want to fuck you.Or maybe that’s where my brain keeps going lately with him. I do my best to shake off this haze of lust. Trying to get my bearings, I focus onwhy I’m here and lift my phone. “She said there’s a no picture rule. Becca did,” I add.
“That’s true.”
Which means I’m even more confused. I cut to the chase. “Why did you invite me?”
“You didn’t like it?” He sounds genuinely hurt.
“I did. I loved it,” I say, truthfully. “I just…” I shrug. “I’m thrown off. I thought you were showing me something we could…” But I swallow the worduse.It feels wrong to say that right now.
“To use?” he supplies, a hint of irritation in his tone.
“I want to help you with this project,” I say, pleading somewhat. Sure, he’s infuriating, but I truly want to improve his image. “That’s the point.”
“I want you to,” he says, curling his big hands over the boards. “That’s why I brought you here.”
I raise my hands, helpless. “I’m not getting it.”
He drags a hand through that wild, messy hair. “You asked me who I really am. I said I’d show you. So I brought you here,” he says, his tone stripped bare. He blows out a breath then glances around, gesturing to the space. “This is who I really am, but I don’t want this to be something you use. I want this to be something I keep for myself. I don’t do this to fix my image. I do this for those kids,” he says, glancing toward the exits, even though the children are long gone. When he returns his gaze to me, his blue eyes hold a new vulnerability. “I know what it’s like to be those kids whose parents worry about how to pay for a sport. I don’t have those worries anymore. So I do this.” He pauses for a few seconds, then adds in a quieter voice, “I know I need to be open and shit. To let people see who I am. And I get it. I dug this hole and all. I have the shitty likability quotient. And I have to fix it, soI’m trying. But this is the one thing that’s mine. That isn’t up for negotiation. This is for the kids.”
I do understand why he brought me here. He wanted me to know this part of him. The part he’s not going to share with the world. My heart feels squishy in a way it hasn’t in a long time. I hold up the phone and one by one delete the pics, but stop at the last one. It’s a little boy skating backward, looking up at the star goalie as if to say,Am I doing it right?
I show it to Max. “Can I keep this for myself?”
“For when I’m a dick and you need a reminder I’m not?”