Match Penalty: Coach’s Daughter Hockey Romance (The Rookie Hawkeyes Series Book 1)

Penelope’s door clicks open as she comes out of her office after a call with Legal on some new potential player trade deal. She stops at my desk before heading out to lunch.

‘How’s it going out here?’ she asks. I was on a roll sending out emails when she walked in this morning, so she didn’t stop at my desk for small talk like she usually does.

‘Good,’ I say, and then hit the send button on my keyboard. ‘That’s the last email to the sponsors from previous years that Autumn gave me.’ I shake out my hands that are threatening to cramp after sending over a hundred emails all before lunch. ‘Now I’m waiting on Everett’s assistant to send me Kauffman Corp’s usual list of charity donors. From what I’ve heard, it’s about three times the size of Autumn’s email list. And I still need to head over to merch and get the boxes of gear down to the locker room for the guys to sign tomorrow morning after practice.’

Penelope leans against my desk, a knowing smile I’ve come to dread, when it’s aimed at me, plays at her lips. ‘Well, then I think you’ll be happy to hear that I had a player volunteer to help take a little bit of that load off your shoulders.’

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of having dead weight in the form of a player ‘volunteering’ out of obligation or duty. Honestly, I’d rather do it myself than deal with a hostage-like situation. ‘Like I mentioned before, I don’t need help. Brynn and I are getting together tonight to go over the list, and I’m sure that Aria would love nothing more than for me to call her from down the hall and get her out of Everett’s office. No need to force feed a player to me.’

She shakes her head. ‘No, no. That’s the best part—he offered. I didn’t even ask for participation,’ she says. ‘He came to me.’

‘A player offered to help me with the auction on his own free will?’ I ask with a furrowed brow, not in the least bit buying her story.

Something’s up.

‘Yep,’ she grins. ‘And why wouldn’t they? It’s for a great cause, and you’re a joy to work with.’

‘HA!’ I give a dry laugh—now I know she’s lying.

Not because the charity isn’t doing amazing things for families—it is. But because never in my life has anyone called me ‘a joy to work with.’

I mean, I’m not tough to get along with or anything, I just take a few minutes to warm up. Like an old automobile.

You have to prime the engine a little before you just jump in and take me for a spin. I like to feel out people’s motives before I fully trust them. I can thank my mother for that.

Basically, my hot mess of a family gave me trust issues.

Then, Seven and I reconnected, and the Hawkeyes took me in as one of their own.

‘All I’m saying is, he knows the guys.’ She adjusts her blazer, the gesture too casual to be natural. ‘And after yesterday morning’s practice…’

‘Wait…it’s not…’ I pause, Penelope’s lips puckering as if trying not to grin as wide as the Chesshire Cat.

‘He wants to make up for yesterday, and I think he could really help you,’ she says quickly, defending her case.

‘With all due respect, Penelope,’ I start, because, well she is my boss after all, ‘yesterday’s practice is exactly the reason he should be focusing on his game, not charity auctions.’

I turn back to my computer screen, hoping she’ll drop it. The image of JP missing that save because he was looking at me still makes my stomach twist. ‘Besides, I told him last week I didn’t need his help.’

‘And yet,’ Penelope says, looking towards the door and then straightens with entirely too much enthusiasm, ‘here he comes.’

My head snaps up. Sure enough, JP is walking toward my desk, his confidence radiating with every step. His hair is damp as if he just finished a shower after practice, the smell of fresh body wash wafts through the air as he gets closer.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted black henley that does nothing to hide the muscles underneath. Muscles I spent hours exploring one night in San Diego. A familiar warmth spreads through my chest before I can stop it.

‘I’m headed out for lunch with Slade. I’ll leave you to it,’ Penelope says, her voice dripping with amusement as she retreats.

‘Traitor,’ I mutter, earning a laugh as she walks away.

‘Bon aprem, mon petit oiseau,’ JP says, coming to a stop at my desk. The French rolls off his tongue as sweet as honey, and I hate that I still react to it.

I keep my eyes firmly on my screen. ‘Still with the French, Jon Paul?’

‘Still with the full name, mon ange?’ He leans against my desk, the last part he says in French again so that I can’t understand him. Further annoying me… intentionally.

He leans in close enough that I catch the scent of his deodorant, an unfortunate familiar smell from all the encounters we’ve had over the years that I’d prefer not to remember.

‘I thought we were past that.’

‘Nicknames are reserved for friends or lovers, and we’re neither—we’re work colleagues at best.’ I finally look up, meeting his gaze and immediately wishing I hadn’t. His eyes are the same bright blue I remember. Like broken sea glass that I could drown in if I’m not careful. ‘What can I help you with today? In English this time, if you don’t mind.’noveldrama

He licks his lips, a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner of his perfectly sculpted cupid’s bow, hand crafted by the devil himself.

“I’m here to help with the auction. Use me however you want.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. ‘I already told you that I don’t need your help. Thanks anyway, goodbye,’ I say, turning back to my computer as if this conversation just ended.

‘Yeah, I know but that was last week.’ He picks up the stress ball from my desk—the one I got at last year’s white elephant Christmas party. I didn’t realize how much I’d use it. Turns out that I use it…a lot, especially with Phil selling the team, the stress of getting the auction items done right, and the idea of JP being back in my world.

At least a lot of the changes Everett is making around here seems to be for the good of the team. With the new practice rink about ready to break ground next year and plans for a new parking garage for the administrative staff, as well as buying into the team family dynamic by keeping the team Christmas and donating even more than ever to all of the Hawkeyes causes, I see why Phil felt good about selling to Everett. Even if Everett is bringing on more controversial players to make a splash his first year as owner.

‘And what’s changed?’ I ask, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, while I watch JP’s thick forearm bulge every time he squeezes the red squishy ball.

His expression softens. ‘Maybe I have.’

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. For a moment, I’m back in that house, walking in the front door to find a large group swarming JP. The moment I walked in, his eyes locked on mine, surprise glimmering—he hadn’t thought I’d show up.

I shake off the memory. ‘Focus on your game. That’s what the team needs from you, and that’s what Everett is paying you to do.’

‘And what do you need?’

The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we’ve left unsaid. I stand, needing distance. ‘What I need is to do my job and to make sure that these auction items are the best that the foundation has ever put out. Briggs, Autumn, Penelope and Everett are counting on me to make this happen.’

‘Then let me help,’ he says, his voice dropping lower. ‘Please.’

Something in his tone makes me pause. ‘Fine,’ I say finally, because this auction isn’t about me. It’s about these families and showing Penelope that she can count on me. And maybe someday, she’ll move me up to the Assistant GM position that was never filled after she became GM years ago. ‘Brynn and I are meeting up tonight to brainstorm. I’ll text you if I need anything.’

A slow grin spreads across his face. ‘You’ll have to unblock my number first.’

Heat rises to my cheeks. ‘Goodbye, Jon Paul.’

He backs away, still grinning. ‘See you soon, Cammy.’

I watch him leave, trying to ignore the way my heart races. This is exactly what I don’t need—JP Dumont back in my life, speaking French and wearing that damn smile like he never broke my heart.

Brynn’s curled up on my couch, wine glass in hand, auction notes scattered across my coffee table when I tell her about the visitor I received earlier today and how Penelope couldn’t get out of the office fast enough when he showed up.

‘He’s offered to help twice now?’ Brynn’s eyes widen, and a slow grin starts to stretch across her lips.

‘Three times, actually,’ I admit, sinking deeper into my armchair. ‘Once when Penelope first mentioned the auction, again yesterday after practice with Penelope, and now earlier this afternoon with me.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘He’s persistent isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” I say, rolling my eyes at the thought of the years we spent flirting before I ever showed up at that house.

“And you’re still saying no because…?’

I take a long sip of wine, letting the crisp white settle my nerves. ‘Because I don’t need his help. And because the last time I trusted JP, I woke up alone in a guestroom of the Hawkeyes’ mortal enemy while he was wrecking his car into a guardrail with another woman.’

Brynn winces. ‘Okay, fair point. We don’t like him—got it. I’m not on his side… just so we’re clear,’ she nods in solidarity. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can’t use him for your benefit. You still have a lot to do to gather everything together, and you have only five weeks left to do it. Plus, Penelope said that he wants to show Coach Haynes that he’s a team player… so let him.’

She makes a good point. This isn’t about him and me, it’s about the charity, and we both want to prove something to our bosses. Having him wrangle some of the players wouldn’t be the worst, considering I still have so many emails to get through, merch to get signed, and I need to create an itemized list in the software for the auction items.

‘Some help would be great. I can’t deny that it’s just that whenever I look at him, all I can think about is how easy it was for him to sell me complete and absolute lies. How can I ever trust anything he tells me again?’

‘What did he tell you?’ she asks.

‘That once he was done with the Blue Devils, he’d find a way to get on the Hawkeyes so he could be close.’

‘Oh… whoa, okay, that’s not what I expected you to say. So, you two were making plans for him to move here?’

I shake it off. It’s not helpful to think in terms of the future he sold me. It’s better not to relive any of that at all.

‘I guess,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I don’t know anymore. And it doesn’t matter. He left hours later with a woman who I overheard had been hanging around the team trying to get his attention. He never meant any of what he told me. He caught the mouse—he got what he was after, that’s all.”

‘Did you confront him about it?’

‘He left text messages and voicemails, but he never gave a reason—just apologized for not being there when I woke up and that it’s not what it looks like, but his teammates who know him better than me sure had an idea of what he was doing with her.’

‘Yes, but he never said why he left with her, right? So, you don’t actually know.’

‘No.’ I say simply. ‘He asked to see me so he could explain, but the fact that it’s too complicated to tell me with a quick text, means it’s too complicated for me to be involved. At least I found out when I did.’

‘So, you still need closure,” she says, matter-of-factly.

‘What? No… no closure. We’re past closure. In fact, that door is perfectly shut and sealed solid with gorilla glue—can’t even see daylight through it.”

‘Are you sure? Maybe you should hear him out. Because if I’m being honest, you seemed a little shaken up when he missed that puck yesterday. You both did.’

A knock at my door cuts her off. We exchange looks.

‘It can’t be…’ Brynn trails off, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief.

Another knock echoes through the apartment, but neither of us make a move.

‘Come on, Cammy,’ JP’s voice carries through the door. ‘I know you’re in there. I just heard Brynn.’

‘No one’s home,’ I call back, earning a giggle from Brynn.

‘I brought food,’ he counters.

Brynn practically bounces off the couch. ‘Let the man in! He has sustenance! All you have in your cabinets is boring healthy food. I’ve been trained to live off half eaten soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and gold fish. My body doesn’t even recognize fruits and vegetables anymore. It’ll revolt.’

I shoot her a glare, but she just grins.

With a sigh, I head for the door, knowing I can’t fight against snacks. Brynn’s here helping me out of the goodness of her heart. When I open it, JP is standing there with bags of Chinese takeout, he looks unfairly good in a navy Hawkeyes hoodie and jeans, his hair feathering where he just ran his hands through it.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, though the familiar aroma of kung pao chicken is already weakening my resolve.

‘Helping,’ he says simply, holding up the bags. Steam rises from the containers, carrying the scent of ginger and garlic. ‘You said that you would text if you needed anything, but I figured since I’m still blocked that the text you sent me didn’t go through,” he teases. “Lucky that your telepathy worked. I got the message loud and clear. You still like kung pao chicken, right? Extra spicy, no peanuts?’

The fact that he remembers my exact order from that night a year and a half ago has me wanting to ask him why he said all those things if he didn’t mean them, and why he left me for her that night. I hate that Brynn might be right about all these unanswered questions leaving me without closure.

“I didn’t send you any brain waves for food,” I say.

“Must have been me,” Brynn says walking up beside me.

She offers up her hand, and JP gives her a high-five. I’m dramatically outnumbered here.

‘Fine,’ I mutter, stepping aside and pulling the door open. My apartment suddenly feels smaller with him in it. At over six-foot-three, he’s not a small man. He fits better in a large stadium than in my apartment, and yet… here he is. ‘Come in.’

Brynn practically drags him into the kitchen with the food he brought to bribe his way past my front door, no doubt. JP moves through my space with an ease that unnerves me, unpacking containers of food like he belongs here. When he hands me a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush mine for the briefest moment. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, but I don’t let it show.

‘Want some wine?’ Brynn asks him.

‘Water is fine, but I can get it,’ he says, moving to the cupboards.

I open up my food on the kitchen island, the steam billowing from the box making my mouth water instantly. ‘Left side cupboard above the sink,’ I call out.

I hear the cupboard door open, but it seems that JP has stopped whatever he was doing. I look up from my food to realize that he’s staring up at the top shelf of the cupboards—the pucks he tossed to me over the years all sitting there. I never expected JP to be playing on my team, much less in my kitchen. No one else has ever asked about them, so I sort of forgot they existed all the way up there.

‘You kept the pucks I threw to you,’ he seems to almost gloat, his tone sliding between surprise and pleasure. There’s more behind his gaze, something that tugs at my heart. ‘And on the top shelf no less,’ he teases.

I run over, as JP reaches up and pulls one down, spinning the puck between his fingers to read the silver marker.

‘You look cold,’ he reads, and then grins. ‘I remember this night. It was a home game for the Hawkeyes on Halloween. You were dressed as tinker bell in that tiny little dress.’

Oh God… how did he remember that?

‘I don’t remember that night at all,’ I say, grabbing the puck out of his hand, setting the puck back on the top shelf while pushing on my tippy toes. I grab him a glass, and then slam the cabinet closed. ‘You weren’t supposed to see those pucks anyway—’

‘I don’t see how you could have forgotten,’ he says cutting me off. ‘Your lips were turning blue. You looked miserable but also the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen. I almost missed the winning save that night because I kept checking to see if anyone had brought you a blanket yet. I asked a couple assistants on the Blue Devils side to at least take you my jacket.’

I remember blushing at the puck he sent me over the plexiglass, but I was too damn cold to think straight.

‘You did?’ I ask, my treacherous heart warming at his concern for me.

‘Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,’ he says with a warm smile.

‘All the girls were supposed to dress in theme. Brynn was Captain Hook, Penelope was Wendy, Slade was Peter Pan, and somehow we convinced my dad to be the alligator,’ I giggle at the memory. That night turned out pretty good actually, though it took hours after we got to Oakley’s after the game, to feel my toes again. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t keep them as a memento… It’s just blasphemous to toss away a perfectly good puck.’

We face each other, his eyes searching mine for sincerity as I challenge him with a raised brow to call me a liar.

“I’m glad you kept them. It tells me what I needed to know,” he says.

I lean a hand against the counter and roll my eyes. “Really? And what does a random pile of hockey pucks forgotten in the back of my cupboards tell you?” I ask.

“That each puck I tossed to you meant as much to you as they did to me. Maybe there’s more to us than you think there is,” he says, his eyes soft as he searches mine for some kind of answer.

“There is no us,” I mutter, hating the way it sounds off my lips and for some unknown reason, wishing I could take it back.

“Maybe not yet,” he says, taking a small step closer, his eyes drifting down to my lips.

I force myself not to wet my lips with my tongue.

The sound of Brynn moving on the couch breaks me from the moment between us. ‘What’s going on in there?’ she asks.

‘Nothing,’ I singsong and head back for my food, swiping it off the island and sending JP a warning glare.

Eventually, he joins us, digging into the food he brought for himself.

‘So,’ he says, settling onto my charcoal gray couch like he’s been here a hundred times before—a box of noodles in one hand, setting another box of pot stickers on the coffee table. ‘What are we working on?’

‘We’re brainstorming auction items,’ Brynn explains, already diving into her lo mein. ‘Beyond the usual signed jerseys and sticks.’

JP leans forward, his knee brushing mine. I pull back, pretending to adjust my notepad on the coffee table, but the faint smirk on his lips tells me he noticed.

‘Remember when Briggs offered to hang Christmas lights in a Santa costume?’ Brynn laughs, tucking her legs under her. ‘It went for five thousand dollars.’

‘We could do something similar,’ JP says, reaching for his fried rice. ‘Get the guys to offer experiences. Skating lessons, dinner dates, that kind of thing.’

A spark of an idea comes to mind.

‘Autumn would love that. And what about if we turned those items into a live event?’ I suggest. ‘We could make the whole experience more interactive.’

Brynn’s eyes light up. ‘Oh! What a great idea. Though the Santa lights might be off the table. I doubt Coach Haynes wants his players on slippery ladders.’

I turn to JP. ‘Do you think they’d do it?’

He thinks for a second as he finishes a bite of food. ‘Probably. It’s for a good cause, and there are a lot of players on the team who’d eat up the attention of marching onto a stage while people bid on them.’

Brynn does a fist bump into the air with her chopsticks. ‘Perfect. Oh my God, Autumn is going to freak out when she hears about this. We’ll have to ask Juliet to rent a bigger stage for the event. Would a catwalk be too much to ask?’

‘Yes,’ JP and I say in unison, chuckling.

Juliet is Coach Haynes’ wife and the official event planner for the Hawkeyes, along with many other sports teams around Seattle.

I clear my throat and look back over the list on my notepad. ‘What should we ask the players to donate?’

‘I could donate dinner with a player,’ JP says.

My stomach drops at the thought of someone else getting a night with JP.

‘No,’ I say instantly, without thinking. ‘What I meant to say was that I’m sure we can find something unique to you that you could offer instead. Leave the dates to some of the other guys.’

JP’s eyes stay on me as he finished his bite. If he saw through that, he’s not saying, but he certainly is thinking something.

‘I bet Luka and Hunter would love the idea of walking on a stage and having women beating each other with bid paddles to get a date with one of them,’ Brynn adds.

‘What about a slapshot challenge?’ JP suggests. ‘During the event?’

I pause, chopsticks hovering over my food. ‘Go on.’

‘It’s simple. Guests make a donation, and they get three shots to score past the goalie.’ His eyes light up as he explains. ‘Bozeman and I could trade off covering goalie as long as Dr. Hensen clears him in time. It’ll be interactive, and anyone can do it.’

Brynn claps her hands together, nearly spilling her wine. ‘I love it! People will eat that up.’

‘Not bad,’ I admit reluctantly, though my mind is already running with possibilities.

His grin widens. ‘Not bad? I think it’s genius.’

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. We fall into an easy rhythm, bouncing more ideas back and forth. JP’s actually helpful, suggesting things I wouldn’t have thought of.

Before I know it, I find myself leaning closer to JP, riffing off of each other’s ideas. Adding all of our ideas onto a shared notes app that Brynn and I have been using.

When I look over to Brynn, I see a sparkle in her eye, as if she’s been watching us.

‘Oh, look at that. Seven just texted and needs me to come home and help with Milo,’ she says.

‘Brynn, your phone’s on the coffee table. And it hasn’t gone off in over an hour,” I remind her.

‘Oh right,’ she says, biting the inside of her lip. ‘It’s more like momma telepathy. Turns out I’m good at that,” she says, sending a wink in JP direction. “I should go.”

I know it’s an excuse—Milo’s fine with my dad—but before I can stop her, she’s gathering her things.

She stands up, swiping her phone off the coffee table and taking her wine glass and empty food container to the kitchen.

‘Do you need a ride home? I can take you if you want?’ JP offers.

He’s seen the empty bottle of wine that Brynn and I split, and the offer to make sure she gets home safe isn’t lost on me.

‘No need, and don’t stop on my account. You two are on a roll,’ she says, sending off a text. ‘I live just across the street, and I sent a text to Seven. He’ll be watching for me.’

I get up to chase after her and see JP try to hide his grin. ‘Brynn, you don’t have to leave. I can see across the street. The living room lights are already off. I bet Milo and Dad are passed out together on the couch watching a documentary on flyfishing.’

Brynn ignores me, grabbing her purse off the kitchen island. ‘Don’t have too much fun without me. And update the list on the notes app. I’ll check it tomorrow if I come up with anything else.”

‘Brynn…’ I warn again.

She turns to me, wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, whispering in my ear. ‘Here’s your chance for closure. Be nice.’

Be nice? Why does everyone always say that to me?

I am nice.

Besides, he’s the one who left, not me.

After she leaves, an awkward silence settles over the room. JP moves to clean up the empty takeout containers, and I busy myself with cleaning the wine glasses.

After we’ve both finished, I look over to find JP pushing back the floor to ceiling curtains in my living room, glancing down at the street.

‘What is it?’ I ask, concerned he sees something happening with Brynn.

‘Just making sure Brynn makes it across okay,’ he says, eyes fixed on the street below.

I join him at the window, drawn by the genuine concern in his voice. Our reflections overlap in the glass, and for a moment, I let myself remember how it felt—believing we could be something real.

That’s when I see it—my father standing at the window across the street a few floors higher than mine, staring down at my apartment. Even from three stories up, his disapproval radiates clearly.

‘He’s protective. I think it’s his way of coping from missing out on half of my life,’ I say softly, wrapping my arms around myself.

JP’s reflection nods. ‘He has good reason to be.’

The admission hangs between us, heavy with unspoken words. I turn to face him, and suddenly we’re too close. I remember how those eyes looked at me the night he walked into Cooper’s massive kitchen, filled with people. He made me feel like I was the only other person in the world.

Then my dad turns around, as if Brynn just walked into the apartment. JP clears his throat and then turns around. ‘Here, let me help you clean up.’

‘You already did,’ I tell him, following him to the kitchen, as I open the notes app back up and input JP’s contact information into it. ‘I just sent you the document list that Brynn and I are sharing for ideas. It has our updated ideas from tonight.’

A ding sounds on his phone, and he pulls it from his back pocket. ‘You unblocked me? Does this mean you’re going to start speaking to me again in public?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. Call it a professional courtesy. Abuse the right and I can just as quickly block you again.’

He chuckles. ‘Got it. Consider me warned.’

He reaches over the counter and takes two fortune cookies out of the white plastic to-go bag, offering me one. ‘Would dessert better my chances?’

I can’t help the smile stretching across my lips. ‘Well, I can tell you one thing. It’s not going to hurt your chances.’

We both begin to unwrap the cellophane around the cookies.

“How did you remember what I ordered that night?” I ask, busying myself with cracking open my fortune cookie and pulling out the paper.

His response is immediate. “Because even though you probably won’t believe me, I remember every single thing about that night… with you.’ He breaks his fortune cookie open, tossing a small piece that broke off into his month and then takes out the fortune.

My heart flutters at the thought that our night together wasn’t as easy for him to forget either.

When I don’t reply, he reads his fortune. ‘The path you are on will bring you great success if you stay the course.‘ He seems to ponder his fortune for a moment and then looks at me. ‘What does yours say?’

I stare back down at my fortune cookie before reading it out loud. ‘Always check the weather before you leave the house.‘ I crumple it in my hand, feeling the sharp edges in my hand.

‘That’s a wise cookie. Do you think it’s literal or figurative?’ he asks.

‘I suppose it could be either.” I consider it from both meanings. ‘But either way, if you always bring an umbrella—you’ll never get wet.’

Maybe that’s what makes me the most bitter about what happened between us. I’ve been so good at protecting my heart—keeping it out of the rain, out of the torrential downpour around me. JP was the first time I closed the umbrella to let the sun shine on me. I didn’t see the raging storm cloud about to burst just behind him.

‘But then no chance for singing in the rain,’ he says thoughtfully, watching me carefully.

My eyes drop to the neon green hair band on his wrist. Was he wearing it when he came in to get his key? I feel like I would have seen it. “Is that mine?”

He nods, and glances down at it. “It is.”

“Why do you still have it?” I ask.

“I’ve kept it. I wear it when I need a little extra luck.”

“Why did you need luck tonight?” My voice is careful but curious.

I want to know, but I’m scared of what his answer might reveal.

“Because I thought you’d slam the door in my face.”

“Brynn saved you,” I mutter.

Before I realize it, I step closer, sliding my fingers over the bright nylon material over his wrist. Something magnetic pulling us back together. His hand lifts slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath catches, and I don’t pull away.

“Thank you for dinner,” I whisper, and then suck in my lower lip, his eyes locking on my mouth. And for a moment, the world narrows to just us—no one else in existence—just him and me. Then he speaks, his voice low and rough. “Dis-moi quoi faire pour regagner ton cœur,’ he says in French.

“I don’t know what that means,” I murmur, my pulse hammering.

With every second, he leans in closer. He’s going to kiss me.

And I already know that I’m going to let him.

“It means…” He hesitates, his eyes pinging back and forth between mine. “You’re welcome for dinner.”

The moment shatters as his phone buzzes loudly on the counter, breaking the spell.

He glances at the screen, and his expression hardens, causing me to look at it too.

Angelica.

I pull back, my heart dropping though I wish I felt nothing.

Of course. Of course, she’s still in the picture.

“Look at that. She’s right on time,” I say, turning away toward the island before he can see the hurt in my eyes. “Thanks for the ideas.”

He steps closer again, “Cammy, it’s not what you think. She’s been helping me get back to the NHL—that’s it.”

I busy myself with the left-over chopsticks and napkins that came with the to-go order, refusing to look back up at him.

But then I consider that this might be the time to get my answers. His texts were vague, and his voicemails didn’t bother to explain what he was doing with her either. If I want answers, as hard as they’ll be to hear, even years later, this might be my last chance to get them before I kick him out of my apartment and block his number again.

‘Then who is she?’ I ask.

‘She’s a good friend from high school who’s trying to help me out. I promise, there’s nothing going on between us.’

A good friend from high school. I can guess what that means.

‘Right, because we all have good friends from high school calling us late at night and getting us walk-on multimillion dollar contract deals with Texas and Florida, just for the hell of it. Sounds like she wants more than her billable hours,’ I say, hating the way my voice seethes with jealousy.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I’m supposed to be over this.

I shouldn’t be jealous of her.

I shouldn’t be jealous of any woman getting his time.

It’s her loss, not mine.

‘Cammy—’ He reaches for me but I step away, knowing that JP’s touch has a way of soothing me, like he did when I bared my soul to him in that guestroom over a year ago, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Falling back into his arms will only make me relive my mistakes a second time—once is plenty.

‘I hope she’s at least smart enough not to get in a car with you again.’ I head for the door, twisting the handle and opening it. ‘Goodnight, Jon Paul.’

He walks to the door slowly, his shoulders tense. ‘I did everything wrong that night. Everything except for the time I spent with you. I’m sorry I hurt you.’

I pause, my hand on the doorknob. ‘Maybe this time, take an Uber to her place instead of driving. The Hawkeyes would prefer you didn’t wrap your car around a tree.”

His face pales, and for a moment, I think he might argue. But he doesn’t. He just nods, tucking his hands in his pockets.

The door closes behind him with a soft click that seems to echo in my empty apartment. My phone chimes immediately with a text.

Dad: Be careful with him, kiddo. He has a reputation that I’ve seen firsthand.

As the silence settles around me, I glance at the crumpled fortune in my palm. An old flame may reignite.

Not if I can help it.