Page 83 of Cross Check

“You too.” The small swoop in my stomach at the sight of him has me shifting in my seat. “You look good. Healthy.”

“No broken noses, and I still have all my teeth.” He turns the radio down, a sigh loosening from his chest. “I have some bad news.”

My mind races to worst-case scenarios.

One of his teammates found out we’re spending time together.

His phone has been hacked, and all our messages were leaked.

He started dating someone, and this is the last time we’ll be able to grab food together.

“You do?” I rest my hands in my lap, nervous to hear the rest. “What’s going on?”

“I just found out Pete’s Café is closed because of an electrical issue.” Grant’s shoulders slump forward with disappointment. “But I have an idea that might save the day.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“We can make our own subs at my place. I know what you’re going to say,” he rushes to add when I open my mouth. “Boundaries. Perceptions. The good news is my building is private, and no one will see you coming or going.”

“Why do I feel like there’s more to this plan?” I ask, biting back a smile.

“Because there is. After we eat, I thought I could convince you to hit the ice with me.” He’s practically vibrating as he says it. “I’m doing the Skills competition during All-Star Weekend, and my one-timers could use some work.”

“I saw the announcement that you made the roster.” It’s my turn to touch his arm. Smooth, warm skin. Fairer than the photos he sent me over the summer. “Congratulations. Is it your first All-Star Weekend?”

“Yup. I want to make a good impression. That’s where you come in.”

Telling him we can raincheck is the safest plan, but the day he laid out sounds nice. Perfect, even. Food, skating, coaching. Hanging out with a friend and having a good time. Those are some of my favorite things, and my lips twitch as my competitive side rises to the surface.

There’s nothing romantic about kicking his ass.

“I’ll help, but only if you promise not to be too disappointed when I beat you during a shootout,” I say.

“You’re mighty confident for someone who said my stick handling has improved.” He taps the accelerator, heading down the road. “First stop is the grocery store near my place. Their premade meatballs are fantastic, and their marinara sauce is some of the best I’ve ever had.”

“Sounds great.” I lean my elbow on the center console, tipping my chin his way. “Gosh. I’ve missed seeing you, Everett. How have you been?”

“I’ve missed seeing you too.” His sunglasses slide down his nose when he looks at me at a red light. “And I’ve been good. We’ve started the season strong. I’m with my boys every night. You know when you’re young and dreaming about what it’s like to be a grown up? I really never thought I could have all of this, but here we are.” Grant laughs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Enough about me. How have you been?”

“Wonderful. Busy, but in a fulfilling way. I’ve done some podcasts and interviews. I’m feeling comfortable in my coaching role while also doing what I can to make myself an even better leader. I’m in a good spot.”

“I love hearing that.” He flashes me another smile. “You deserve to be happy.”

We haven’t seen each other in person since spring last year, but our conversation picks up without missing a beat. I ask about his sister. He asks about Lainey and Sienna. I mention that his hair is longer. He hands me his phone and lets me swipe through the photos from the team’s Halloween party where he dressed up like a crop top-wearing cowboy.

“I don’t know if I can pull off that look,” he says around a laugh. “But the hat was cool as hell.”

After a quick stop at the grocery store, Grant parks his car in an underground garage.

“I’m on the eighteenth floor,” he says, tapping the button to call the elevator. “Which means you’re only a few minutes away from delicious food.”

“Thank god. I’m close to withering away over here.” I gesture to the plastic bags he’s holding. “Do you want help carrying anything?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m capable of lifting things heavier than a jar of marinara sauce.” The elevator arrives, and we step inside. I swear his eyes sweep over my waist and hips when he says, “My height doesn’t determine my strength, Amelia.”

I’m grateful for the air I gulp down when we get to his floor. He leads me to his door and taps his key fob against the lock, nudging it open with his hip.

“Wow.” I glance around the foyer. “This is cozy.”