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I scratch the back of my neck, suddenly finding the cold sandwich incredibly interesting.

"Hypothetically."

She sighs. "I already don't trust where this is going."

"Hear me out."

"Fine. I'm listening."

"So... I know you've made your feelings about hockey players pretty clear."

"Uh-huh."

"And I know you don't want to become another puck bunny."

"Where are you going with this?"

"So... hypothetically..." I say carefully, "if there happened to be a hockey player who wasn't looking for another puck bunny... who wasn't interested in parading a girl around after games... who actually wanted to take you on a real date..."

I glance up at her. "...would you say yes?"

She tilts her head. "Is this hockey player asking?"

"No." I don't know why I can't just tell her what I want. Usually, asking a woman out isn't a big deal. But with Quinn, the possibility of hearing no suddenly feels a hell of a lot more real.

"Then why is he so invested in my answer?" Quinn asks.

"He's... curious."

She studies me for a moment and now there’s amusement dancing in her eyes. "So this is completely hypothetical?"

"Entirely."

"Hmm."

She pretends to consider it. "I guess it would depend."

"On what?"

"On the hockey player."

"He's devastatingly handsome."

"In his own opinion?"

"In everybody's opinion."

She rolls her eyes.

"Confident."

"Very."

"Does he make me laugh?"

"Regularly."

"Does he actually listen when I talk?"