Page 13 of Slapshot Baby

She's still lying on her stomach at seven, scrolling through her phone while I make coffee in the kitchen. I can hear her from here; a quiet hum when she finds something, a sharp exhale that might be a laugh.

I bring her a mug. She's propped up on her elbows, hair pushed out of her face, wearing my shirt without having asked permission. The shirt hits her mid-thigh.

She takes the mug without looking up. Then she looks up.

That shirt on her body unlocks a whole new kind of hunger in me.

I know what I want.

I want to see her again. Hell, I want to fuck her again.

But it’s more than that.

I want to know Ava. Really know her.

The realization catches me off guard.

I sit on the edge of the bed. “Give me your number.”

She blinks. "What?"

"Your number. I want to see you again. Go out with you."

The smile she's been managing threatens to break loose.

"Kai..."

“Your number, Ava.”

She recites it. I grab my phone and dial, listening to hers ring from her bag across the room.

“Save it.”

She pulls out her phone and looks at my contact, then at me. Something in her expression softens.

“I’ll text you. I want to take you out.”

Her lips twitch. “Don’t they all say they’re gonna text?”

“Well, I fucking mean it.”

“Okay, big guy. If you say so.” She still sounds skeptical.

She slides off the bed and takes my shirt with her into the bathroom. By half past seven, she’s back in her dress, her hair twisted into a knot at the back of her neck.

I walk her to the elevator and kiss her goodbye.

She still looks like she doesn’t quite believe me.

That’s fine.

She will.

After the elevator doors close, I head back inside to get ready for practice.

I'm five minutes late to the ice, which for me is the equivalent of not showing up at all. Coach Brennan glares at me from across the rink without saying a word.

I get on the ice and Wyatt is immediately beside me, helmet already crooked the way it always ends up by the second lap.