Lance deflated like a balloon with a leak. He took the napkin and began to dab at his brow. The napkin turned red as it soaked up his blood.
“Ha!” Radar howled. “I like her already. I'm starting to see why you always wanted to go back to Zickell's—”
Paige's ears perked up.What?
“Alright, alright,” Lance said, “shutup already.”
Aw,Paige thought.He's embarrassed. That's kinda cute.
The group grew silent as the cab navigated the streets, splashing through a river of melted slush. And the realization hit Paige; how suddenlysurrealher life was. She'd gone from not knowing who Irie's father was a few short hours ago to being crammed betweentwo professional hockey playersin the back seat of a cab.
And one of them happened to be the father of her child. Which was something she still had yet to explain …
“So,” Lance said, as if he could read her mind, “you said you had something you wanted to tell me?”
But her throat tightened. It was one thing to tell Lance that they had a daughter together, but to do it in front of someone else? In the back of some dark, grungy cab, for God's sake?
“Let's talk in private,” she muttered.
Lance set his huge hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I like the sound of that.”
She plucked his hand from her leg and removed it with cold, machine-like precision. “Not what I had in mind. Don't get any ideas.”
The cab arrived at their hotel and the three hopped out. The group entered an elevator and Lance pressed the button for floor twenty-one.
“I figured I was due for some good luck when they told me we were staying on the twenty-first floor,” Lance told her as the elevator shot upwards. “That's my lucky number. That's why I wear number twenty-one.”
Paige didn't reply. All she could think was,Well, I guess you're about to get lucky, if you always wanted to find out you had a daughter you didn't know about.
They reached the twenty-first floor, and the athletes' paths forked off in different directions.
Radar checked his wristwatch. “I'll see you in an hour, Lance. Don't be late. Nice meeting you, Paige.”
She and Lance began the walk down the hallway for his room. His arm grazed hers as they walked. The space between them was shrinking, and soon, Lance had his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to his hotel room.
Part of her wanted to roll her eyes. He couldn't keep his hands off her, could he?
But the other part of her couldn't be mad at him. She didn't find his touch unpleasant. He was Irie's father, after all. It was only natural they'd always have that connection. Irie bound them together forever, whether he knew it or not.
And maybe another part of her would always hold out hope that he could become the man she wanted, no,neededhim to become …
They stopped at his room. Lance dug through his wallet for his door key card.
“Your friend, Radar, said don't be late. Don't be late for what?” she asked while she waited.
“Our flight.”
“You're leaving tonight? Already?”
“Yup. We're on a road trip. Florida is our next and last stop.”
She frowned. That meant she had less time to tell him all about Irie.
Of course, his mind was somewhere else entirely. “But don't worry. We've still got time tonight.” He opened the door and gestured her in first.
She entered the room with her arms tightly folded. “Just so you know, I'm not going to sleep with you.”
“You've already said that to me once before, remember?” Lance gave his stupidly charming smile, the same one that had swept her off her feet two years ago. Andmaybeit could've worked on her again—if not for the raw, busted-open wound above his eye.
