I can’t explain the gust of relief that slams into my chest. “Good to know,” I say lightly, but the knowing gleam in her eyes reveals she is absolutely aware of how pleased I am.
She takes my hand and twines our fingers together. “Sean and I are over. I don’t want to be with him, and that’s exactly what I told him yesterday.”
“Bet he wasn’t thrilled to hear it.”
“Nope, but it’s something he’ll need to accept.” She rubs her thumb over my tender knuckles. They’re not bleeding anymore, but the way she gasps, you’d think my hand had been amputated. “You shouldn’t be fighting,” she says sternly.
“Hockey players are hot-blooded, babe. We fight sometimes. Not the end of the world.”
“What did the jerk say to get you to punch him?”
“I don’t even remember,” I admit. “It was all a blur, and I was already in a shitty mood to begin with.”
Guilt fills her expression. “Because of me?”
“Naah.” My fingers tighten through hers. “O’Shea is on my case again because another goddamn picture showed up on Instagram.” I chuckle harshly. “I really need to start paying more attention when I’m at Malone’s.”
“O’Shea is your assistant coach? The one who forced you to volunteer at the middle school?”
“Defensive coordinator, and yes.”
“Okay, and what picture are we talking about? Wait, a picture from Malone’s? Of us?” Her face goes pale.
“No,” I assure her. “Me and Penelope, the puck bunny who was chewing on my neck. O’Shea is pissed.”
“Why? Are PDAs forbidden?” She quickly adds, “Not that I’m saying you were PDA’ing with her—I know she was the one coming on to you. But for argument’s sake, even if you were reciprocating, how is that a punishable offense?”
“He wasn’t bitching about the PDA. I’m holding a beer in the picture, and O’Shea’s got a stick up his ass about us not drinking.”
“Um. He realizes he’s coaching college players, right? A no-drinking rule is impossible to enforce.”
“I know.”
“And all you’re doing in the picture is holding a beer? What the hell? It’s not like you got caught snorting lines of coke off her tits.”
A smile tickles my lips. “Of course not. If I was going to snort lines off anyone’s tits, it would be yours.”
“Aw, thanks. That’s so romantic.” Still stroking my palm with her fingertips, she leans closer and kisses my cheek. “O’Shea is an idiot, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you, okay? Especially not to the point where you’re so angry you’re punching people and getting thrown out of games.”
She’s right—I need to do a better job of controlling my temper. But Frank O’Shea…fuck. Just the sound of his sharp, condescending voice riles me up.
Allie’s lips brush over my jaw in a fleeting kiss. Then she releases my hand, visibly reluctant. “I should probably go before someone sees me in here. The third period will be over soon.”
“Did you happen to catch the score before you came back here?”
“I think it was tied.”
Shit. Well, hopefully my boys manage to turn the tie into a lead, because I’m sick to death of losing.
And I’m sick of sneaking around, if I’m being honest.
It was exciting at first, sleeping with Allie behind our friends’ backs, but I’m not feeling it anymore. When she showed up at Malone’s the other night looking like that? I wanted to stick my tongue down her throat in front of everyone. It was damn hard pretending to be unaffected by her, and I’m damn tired of furtively texting her for quickies and lying to my friends about where I’m going.
Friends, who, by the way, now think I incorporate dildos in my jerk-off routine. When Tucker handed me a plate of bacon and eggs this morning, he innocently asked if my “little pink buddy” would be joining us for breakfast. Garrett almost broke a rib laughing. Poor Grace still can’t look at me without blushing.
I know Allie doesn’t want our friends to know we’re fooling around, but I wish there was a way we could have a little more freedom. Maybe we could book a hotel room for the weekend, just spend two whole days in bed without worrying about—
Inspiration strikes. “Hey, wait.” I reach for her hand before she can stand up. “Did you book your train ticket for Thanksgiving yet?”
Allie curses. “No, I didn’t. Argh! Why am I so bad at remembering things? I set a reminder!”
“Don’t book it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a better idea.” I hesitate. “Why don’t I come to New York with you? We can drive up in my car.”
She looks startled. “Oh. You…uh…want to spend Thanksgiving together? Um. Well. I’m seeing my dad—”
“I’m not inviting myself to dinner or anything,” I cut in. “I figured I’d stay at my place in Manhattan while you’re with your dad, and if you’re free Thursday or Friday night, you can come over.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Well, that’s intriguing,” she says slowly. “When do you need to be back at Briar for the game?”