Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
But I counter at the same time. “Yes.”
Mom’s brows shoot up. “I see.”
I suppress a laugh as Ava’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink.
“We met recently,” she clarifies.
Mom doesn’t push for more info, but I can tell she’s dying to. Instead, she turns back to the kids. “Well, I should get them home. Theo’s got a birthday party later this afternoon.”
I stand, giving my siblings a quick hug and then hugging my mom too.
“Thanks for taking them.” She glances at the three of them. “Seems like they had a great time.”
“They did.”
With a smile, she leans in to whisper, “Text me later. I want all the details.”
I roll my eyes as she herds the kids out of the restaurant. The second they’re gone, the silence between Ava and me grows heavier. As much as I want to spend more time with her, I’ve probably pushed the envelope enough for one day.
“Ready to head out?” I ask.
With a nod, she rises to her feet and grabs her jacket. After taking care of the check, we walk back to the truck.
As we approach, I quicken my steps to open the passenger door.
Her brow arches as she smirks. “Chivalry, huh?”
I grin. “You just met my mom. Do you really think I’d survive in that house without at least learning a few manners?”
She laughs, the sound light and warm. “Fair point.”
Once she’s settled, I jog around to the driver’s side and hop in, starting up the truck.
Without Ollie, Theo, and Kia acting as a buffer with their incessant chatter, thick tension crackles in the air between us. I rack my brain for something to say. Something that will get us back to where we were earlier at the restaurant when our conversation flowed with ease.
Instead, my mind remains frustratingly blank. Every time something pops into my head as a possible topic, I disregard it.
When have I ever had this much trouble talking with a chick?
The answer is never.
As we drive back to campus, I can’t stop replaying the way her hand had settled over mine at the diner.
The way she’d softened, even if it was just for a moment.
We’re halfway back to the arena when her phone buzzes. She pulls it from her pocket and glances at the screen. Fear flashes across her expression before it’s quickly masked as tension seeps into her shoulders.
I don’t want to pry, but it’s hard to ignore the way her entire demeanor has changed. “Is everything okay?”
She swallows, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “Just someone from my past who refuses to stay there.”
It’s so tempting to ask for more details, but I know better than to push.
Whatever is going on, it’s clearly something she’s not ready to talk about.
At least, not with me.
But I can wait.
If my past has taught me anything, it’s to stay focused on the long game.
Especially when it involves a certain pixie-like figure skater.
13
Ava
Relief floods my system the moment Hayes pulls up beside my silver Jetta. The parking lot, once bustling with the activity of the hockey clinic, is now quiet, with only a handful of cars left.
I’m eager to flee the close confines of the vehicle. The strange mix of emotions swirling inside me makes me desperate for a bit of distance. Before I can pop the door handle and slip away, Hayes swivels toward me.
“So, what do you think about a second date, Tink?” The intensity in his eyes belies the casualness of his tone.
My brows shoot up in surprise. “Second date? That’s strange, I don’t remember agreeing to the first one.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Pretty sure I just bought you lunch. That counts as a date in my book.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling that familiar pull between us. “Maybe your sister isn’t the only Van Doren who needs to be watched out for.”
The chuckle that escapes from him is a low and rich sound that does funny things to my insides.
“I just want the chance to get to know you better. That’s all.”
I glance away, knowing I should shut this down before it gets out of control.
The rational part of me screams that this is a bad idea—that nothing good can come from this growing attraction or letting him in. But there’s something about the way he looks at me, like he sees more than just the snippy facade I project, that makes it difficult to say no.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmur, my gaze flicking back to him briefly before darting away again. “And that’s not me playing hard to get. I’m not someone who plays games.” I pause, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “I just...”
I trail off as the words become lodged at the back of my throat.
I hate this.
Hate how vulnerable I feel and how tangled up in the past I am.