Garrett goes quiet for a beat, then looks over thoughtfully. “Is she worth all this, bro?”
I don’t ask who “she” is. I simply nod.
“It’s not just for the sex?”
My smile is rueful. “We haven’t had sex yet.”
Surprise flickers through his eyes. “For real? I assumed you fucked her back in April.”
“Nope.”
The corners of his mouth tug upward. Either I’m imagining it, or he actually looks proud of me. “Well, then that just answered my question about her being worth it.” He thumps me on the shoulder, then reaches for the door handle. “Good luck.”
Truth be told, I’m not sure I need luck. Every time I delivered one of my cringingly romantic gifts to Grace’s door, I was rewarded with a brilliant smile that lit up her entire face. And either I was imagining it, or she kept staring at my mouth, so damn intently, as if she was dying to kiss me. I didn’t make a move, though. Didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. But I have a feeling I might be getting that kiss tonight.
I knock on Grace’s door twenty minutes later, ordering myself to keep the gloating to a minimum. But damn, I’m feeling pretty fucking gloaty about the way I’ve successfully fulfilled all of her demands. It really is a shame that people don’t grasp what a stubborn motherfucker I am.
Grace doesn’t look surprised to see me when she opens the door. Probably because I texted to let her know I was coming by. I didn’t tell her why, but she takes one look at my face and sucks in a breath. “You didn’t…”
I hold out my cell in triumph. “Your celebrity endorsement, my lady.”
“Okay, get in here. I have to see this.” One hand snatches the phone while the other tugs me into the room.
Her roommate Daisy is cross-legged on the bed, and she grins when she spots me. “If it isn’t Mr. Romance himself. What have you got for us tonight, big boy?”
I grin back. “Nothing special. Just—”
“Hey, Grace,” a voice drawls out of the phone speaker. Grace has loaded the video and pressed play with impressive speed, and her roommate freezes at the sound of the cheerful male greeting.
“Shane Lukov here,” the dark-haired guy on the screen continues.
“Holy shit!” Daisy screeches. She dives off the bed and races over to Grace, while I stand in front of them smirking the smirk of all smirks.
“Coming to you from Wilmington with an important message,” announces the second-year Bruins star. Lukov took the league by storm with his explosive rookie year, and people are salivating to see what he does this upcoming season. The twenty-year-old is already being compared to Sidney Crosby, and honestly, I don’t think it’s that far off the mark.
“I’ve known Logan a long time.” Lukov winks at the camera. “And by long time, I mean five whole minutes, but what is time, really? From what I can tell, he’s a good guy. Easy on the eyes. Rumor has it he’s a total bruiser on the ice. That’s all I really need to know to give him my endorsement. So go out with him, sweetheart.” A wide grin fills the screen. “My name is Shane Lukov and I approve this message.”
The video ends. Daisy is busy picking her jaw off the floor. Grace is staring at me as if she’s never seen me before in her life.
“So.” I blink innocently. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow night?”
25
Grace
Hastings has several nice restaurants, but if you’re looking for fancy, then Ferro’s is the way to go. The Italian bistro is gorgeous—dark oak-paneled walls, secluded booths, blood-red linen tablecloths. And candlelight. Lots and lots of candlelight.
It requires a reservation at least a week in advance, and yet Logan somehow snags a table in less than twenty-four hours. When he told me where we were going, I thought maybe he’d made a reservation last week in anticipation of completing the items on my list, but on the drive over he admits to calling in a favor to get us a table.
Did I mention he’s wearing a suit?
He looks spectacular in a suit. The crisp black jacket stretches across his wide shoulders, and he decided to forgo a tie, so I have the most delicious view of his strong throat peeking from the open top button of his white dress shirt.
The waiter leads us to our booth, and Logan waits for me to slide in first, then sits right beside me.
“We’re same-siding?” I squeak. “That’s…” Intimate. It’s the kind of seating arrangement reserved for super-in-love couples who can’t keep their hands off each other.
Logan casually stretches his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers resting on my bare shoulder. He strokes lightly. Teasingly.
“That’s…?” he prompts.
“Perfectly fine by me,” I finish, and he gives a knowing chuckle.
His thigh is pressed up against mine, a hard slab of flesh that demonstrates how ripped he is. My short black dress has ridden up a bit, and I hope he doesn’t notice the goose bumps rising on my bare legs. I’m not cold. Just the opposite, in fact. His nearness, and the heat of his body, makes me feverish.
“Can I ask you something?” he hedges, after the waiter recites the specials and pours us two glasses of sparkling water.
“Sure.” I angle my body so we can actually look at each other. This same-side thing was not designed for eye contact.
“How come you don’t ask me about hockey?”
I freeze, which he obviously mistakes for discomfort, because he hurries on almost apologetically. “Not that I mind. It’s actually kind of refreshing. Most girls ask me about nothing but hockey, like they think it’s the only topic I’m capable of talking about. It’s just strange that you’ve never brought it up, not even once.”
I reach for my water glass and take a very, very long sip. Not the most brilliant stalling tactic, but it’s the only one I can think of. I knew this would come up eventually. If anything, I’m surprised it didn’t come up sooner. But that doesn’t mean I was looking forward to it.
“Well. Um. The thing is…” I inhale, then continue with rapid-fire speed. “Imnotahockeyfan.”
A wrinkle appears in his forehead. “What?”
I repeat myself, slowly this time, with actual pauses between each word. “I’m not a hockey fan.”
Then I hold my breath and await his reaction.
He blinks. Blinks again. And again. His expression is a mixture of shock and horror. “You don’t like hockey?”
I regretfully shake my head.
“Not even a little bit?”
Now I shrug. “I don’t mind it as background noise—”
“Background noise?”
“—but I won’t pay attention to it if it’s on.” I bite my lip. I’m already in this deep—might as well deliver the final blow. “I come from a football family.”
“Football,” he says dully.
“Yeah, my dad and I are huge Pats fans. And my grandfather was an offensive lineman for the Bears back in the day.”
“Football.” He grabs his water and takes a deep swig, as if he needs to rehydrate after that bombshell.
I smother a laugh. “I think it’s awesome that you’re so good at it, though. And congrats on the Frozen Four win.”
Logan stares at me. “You couldn’t have told me this before I asked you out? What are we even doing here, Grace? I can never marry you now—it would be blasphemous.”
His twitching lips make it clear that he’s joking, and the laughter I’ve been fighting spills over. “Hey, don’t go canceling the wedding just yet. The success rate for inter-sport marriages is a lot higher than you think. We could be a Pats-Bruins family.” I pause. “But no Celtics. I hate basketball.”
“Well, at least we have that in common.” He shuffles closer and presses a kiss to my cheek. “It’s all right. We’ll work through this, gorgeous. Might need couples counseling at some point, but once I teach you to love hockey, it’ll be smooth sailing for us.”
“You won’t succeed,” I warn him. “Ramona spent years trying to force me to like it. Didn’t work.”
“She gave up too easily then. I, on the other hand, never give up.”
No, he certainly doesn’t. If he did, we wouldn’t be in this incredibly romantic restaurant right now, nestled together on the same side of the booth.
“Hey, speaking of Ramona.” His expression darkens slightly. “What’s going on with you two?”
Tension trickles down my spine. “You mean since she went behind my back and offered to comfort you after V-Day?”
He grins. “You call it V-Day? I’ve been calling it V-Night.”
We burst out laughing, and a part of me finds peculiar solace in that, being able to laugh about a night that left me feeling so humiliated. So rejected. But it’s in the past. Logan has gone above and beyond to prove how much he regrets what happened and how sincere he is about starting over. And I wasn’t lying that day in the park when I told him I don’t hold grudges. Both my parents drilled the importance of forgiveness into me, of expelling the bitterness and anger instead of letting those negative emotions consume me.
“I met up with her the day I saw you at the Coffee Hut,” I admit. “We talked, she apologized. I told her I was willing to give the friendship another chance, but that I want to do it at my own pace, and she agreed.”