Page 54 of Taking Sides
“Maybe they’re half-siblings. She doesn’t look like him, so that’s a plus.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” I huff a small laugh. “I don’t know much about the situation. Just that he’s her brother and she’s a Houston fan.”
He winces, sucking air in through his teeth. “We’ve all got flaws, I suppose.”
I make a throaty noise of agreement.
“Besides, it isn’t like you’re dating.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “Maybe I got it wrong, but it seems like you’re just hooking up. Have you gone on an actual date? Aside from the disaster one.”
“No, but . . .” I trail off. “The first time she invited me to her house because it was late, and most places were closed.”
“And the second time?”
“I think I suggested it, but she’d already been out that night with a friend and I didn’t think she’d want to meet me somewhere.”
He laughs quietly. “And you wanted to hook up.”
“Yeah.” I wince. I can’t deny that I was hoping it’d end with hooking up again. “But it isn’t that I don’t want to date her. It’s just easier when I don’t need to talk.”
His laughter grows louder. “You’re the only guy I know who could say that and I’d believe him. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
But I do worry about it. For the entirety of our trip, any time I’m not focused on hockey, I’m thinking about Whitney.
When I get back to Moonshot, I text her.
Me
Plans tonight?
Whitney
We have practice until six, but not after that. Do you want to come over?
Me
I was thinking I could take you to dinner, if you wanted.
Whitney
Oh. Okay. Sure.
Me
Great. Meet me at MVP at seven.
I’m waiting for her inside when Whitney walks through the doors at MVP. She’s casual in jeans and a cream-colored sweater. Her hair is down and curled, and her lips are shiny. It hits me that I haven’t seen her like this very often. She’s stunning no matter what she’s wearing or how she does her hair and makeup, but she knocks the wind out of me like this.
Which of course makes my words freeze somewhere between my brain and mouth.
The hostess leads us to a table. This one is thankfully not by my jersey hanging on the wall.
“Thank you,” Whitney says to the woman as she takes her seat.
I nod my thanks and curse my inability to not get tongue-tied around women. I came in my pants in front of her. You’d think talking would be no big deal after that.
