Page 33 of The Do-Over Girl

“Don’t cry about it, Kali.” I chuckle.

She swats my chest. “I’m not crying. I don’t believe you. You must have had more connecting you to the guys, at least a few of them, than hockey. Your Brawlers team looked very close. You did things together, you—”

“You followed the Brawlers, didn’t you? Because I played for them.” Shit, the sizzle that burns through my blood warms up all kinds of things—besides my dick—things that have no business warming up because I know I shouldn’t trust her. Because I know this is a passing thing right here between us, one season only, closing the loop between us so we can go our separate ways and move on.

“I always liked hockey. It wasn’t about you. Of course, I don’t expect you to believe that because you were—still are—the world’s most arrogant man.”

Her teasing barb stings, and the wild impulse strikes me to haul her in and kiss the fuck out of her mouth, to clear her mind of all the baggage from the past, to take what I need from her. But I don’t. Probably because it scares the shit out of me that I need anything from her—and that I have no idea what it is I need because I know it’s more than sex—despite what my dick is telling me right now.

Instead, I take a deep breath and rescue us both from drama déjà vu.

“I was somewhat of an outsider on the team, especially after I hit thirty. Almost all the guys—except a few young studs—are married family men with loads of kids. I always felt apart from them because I never settled down to have a family. When I was younger, it was no problem to hang out with the young single guys, but as time went on, they all married and had kids, and I’d be the odd uncle with a different girlfriend at every birthday party.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“For whatever reason, I was no good at playing the fun uncle. I never felt comfortable with it.”

“But you were invited to the birthday parties, so they included you. They must have thought of you as a friend?”

I shrug. “When I was on the team, I was one of them because of hockey. Now? Not so sure.”

“I see.” She says the words like she gets it. “Confession.” She pauses and lowers her voice, “I’ve been to a few kids’ birthday parties myself, and if you think you felt wistful, imagine how a woman—”

“I never said I felt wistful. Fuck, Kali.” I force a laugh. Fuck.

We reach the front walk of the inn. Soft light bathes the front porch, and I tug on her hand, leading her to the porch swing.

“You don’t have a husband and kids either.” I shake my head. “I won’t lie; I’m surprised.”

She turns away, looking down. Shit. Stupid thing to say to her. I pull her down on the swing next to me, and she lets me. I clear my throat. “So what brought you back here after all these years—besides the mission to rescue Andrews Point Academy?”

She looks at me and juts her chin. “What brought you here?”

“I had no idea what to do with himself after hockey.” I pause and inhale the salty sea air. “Especially after the break-up of my engagement.” I don’t tell her I broke it off because she didn’t want kids.

Her eyebrows rise. “Wait—you were engaged?”

“For a short time.” I shrug it off because it seems like eons ago that we broke up, and it was only six months ago. Right after I got injured. Kali’s a smart woman and chooses not to question further. I always liked that about her. She always gave me space to tell my troubles.

I give her a sideways glance. “How about you? Ever have a serious relationship?”

“You mean besides you?” she asks quietly, then looks away. “Sorry, I know we were only kids.” She sighs. “If you must know, I was engaged, too.” She shrugs. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why not? He deaf, dumb, and blind?” She laughs, and I want to wrap myself in the sound, make love to it, and never let it go. Fuck, I’m demented. It’s only a laugh.

One I missed like hell.

“We were…more than kids.” I say the words, and I don’t even know what I mean except that, for three years in high school, she was my life, my air, everything to me. And then all we had vanished in one night. “Until the last night. Then we both acted like the kids we were, like we didn’t know what to do with what we had.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

We swing in silence for a few beats, and my pulse drums louder—her closeness, scent, and the softness of her killer body beside mine raising my temperature. Until the need takes over, and it takes everything I have not to shift closer, to put my hands on her, and spoil every fucking good thing about this moment.

“Why did you break his heart?”

Her head shoots up from staring at her lap. “What makes you think I broke it off?”

“I just know. Why?”