He’s waiting by his car, leaning against the side like something out of a damn romance novel. Dark jeans, white tee, leather jacket. That cocky, lopsided grin that makes my knees go weak. And the moment his eyes find mine, they darken in a way that makes me forget every coherent thought I’ve ever had.
“Wow,” he says, low and reverent. “You trying to kill me?”
I shrug. “Just keeping your ego in check.”
“Failing. Miserably.”
He steps forward, brushes a kiss to my cheek, and opens the passenger door for me like a proper gentleman. But I don’t miss his smirk when I blush.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re on the road.
“You’ll see.” He won’t tell me. Just reaches across the console to tangle his fingers with mine.
And I let him. Because for the first time in weeks, even with my heart breaking over what’s happening at home, I feel light. Like there’s a little space carved out just for this. Forus.
And right now, that’s enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
DYLAN
I’m not nervous. Not really.
Okay, maybe a little.
It’s not the usual kind of nerves; the pre-game kind where your body’s primed to get hit or land a hat trick. This is quieter. Slower. A steady thrum under the skin. Like I’m on the brink of something I don’t want to mess up.
Because tonight isn’t about impressing fans or putting on a show. It’s just Mia. And somehow, that’s more intense than any game I’ve ever played.
She’s already told me she doesn’t need flash or luxury. So I don’t try too hard. But I still clean the car, iron the collar of my shirt, and stand too long in front of the mirror, debating if this shirt makes me look like I’m trying too hard. It does. So I change it and opt for a white T-shirt instead, it’s more relaxed and informal.
I pick her up just after seven. She meets me outside her flat in a pair of jeans that show off the delicious curve of her arse and a lacy top that’s cut low enough so I can see her round, full breasts but not too low that it’ll attract any unwanted attention. God forbid I have to warn anyone off. As I take in the full length of her my jaw forgets how to function. Her hair’s soft around her face, and her eyes are brighter than any rink light I’ve played under.
“You trying to kill me?” I trail off, because anything I could say feels dumb.
She flushes, biting her lip, and I open the car door for her like a goddamn gentleman, trying not to think about how much I want to drag her back inside and kiss the lipstick off her mouth.
Instead, I drive.
She lets her fingers rest near the gear stick, so I reach across and link our hands together, and it’s ridiculous how much that contact burns. We don’t talk much on the way, just this charged silence that somehow says everything.
I take her to this little tucked-away rooftop bistro overlooking the river. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s classy. Low lighting, candles flickering on the tables, the soft hum of jazz and the clink of wine glasses. I’ve been coming here since I was a rookie, back when I couldn’t afford the wine list. Now, the owner, Pietro, greets me with a hug and two menus that skip the prices. The hostess gives me a discreet nod; they know to seat us away from the main crowd.
Mia walks through like she’s trying not to be impressed. But I catch the flicker in her eyes, the small, surprised smile when we step out onto the terrace and she sees the view of the skyline washed in gold and indigo.
“This is…” she breathes, stepping closer to the railing. “Wow.”
I don’t need to show her off. I just want to be beside her. Watch her react to things. See the way her fingers curl around the stem of her wine glass, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs. She deserves to be out in the world, lit up and looked at like this.
“You know,” she says after we order, “I half expected you to take me to some steak place full of men in suits and hockey memorabilia.”
I smirk. “What, like some shrine to the legend of Diesel Winters?”
“Exactly,” she teases, “complete with a framed jersey above our table and the waitress winking at you.”
“Nah,” I say, leaning in. “Wanted to take you somewhere you could actually hear yourself think. And where you wouldn’t be tempted to ice my ankle just out of habit.”
She grins. “Give it time.”
