Page 35 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“No,” she mutters.

“Hot date then, with this mystery boyfriend?”

She rolls her eyes as she hovers at the edge of the kitchen. “No,” she huffs. “If you must know, I was gonna watch a movie.”

“Great. I love movies.”

She laughs quietly. “Probably not this one.”

“Why? Is it K-Pop or something?”

“Or something,” she counters, shuffling a little closer to get a better look at the food. “How much do you eat?”

“Enough to keep me full and hit my macros for the day.”

“It’s more than I eat in a day,” she reasons.

“Well, you’re not a six-foot professional athlete,” he deadpans. “Go and sit down, I’ll bring it over.”

She hesitates, but eventually does as she’s told.

“Good girl,” I mutter under my breath, but from the way her steps falter, I’m pretty sure she hears. She doesn’t comment on it, though.

A few minutes later, I carry the same tray as I did this morning toward her. “I also got you another smoothie and some other electrolyte drinks so you don’t get dehydrated.”

When she looks at me this time, there’s a softness in her expression that didn’t exist before.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, d-baby.”

She frowns as I trip over my words. But I can’t risk her figuring out who I am. Not yet. And not like this.

It would be so easy to tell her, to remind her of what we found together all those years ago. It might have been only a short time, but it’s stayed with me all this time. I lived in hope that she was out there somewhere, still thinking about me. It hurts that it doesn’t seem to be the case. But I live in hope that her memories aren’t hidden that far beneath the surface. If I said something, she’d probably kick herself for not realizing.

But seeing as she doesn’t know, there’s a part of me that wants to see if she’ll still like me as a man, just like she seemed to when I was just a boy.

Back then, I thought she was the one. I had all these wild ideas that one day, we’d walk into each other’s lives again, and the second she looked into my eyes, she’d fall into my arms and confess that she thinks about me just as much as I do her.

I thought it was going to happen.

When I locked eyes with her in that club, I thought the time had come. I was convinced it was about to happen. I thought that any minute, recognition would spark and she’d run into my arms.

But nope.

She saw me just like every other woman does. She saw Calvin “Killer” Keller, the hockey player. She didn’t see Vinny from the ranch where she spent the most incredible two weeks over a decade ago.

Forcing lightness into my tone that I don’t feel, I ask, “So, what are we watching?”

She glances over at me, her mouth working, but no words come.

“Just spit it out.”

She rolls her eyes again—a move that makes my teeth grind. I fucking love that sassy side of her.

“Fine,” she huffs. “Bring It On.”

“The cheerleading one?”