“What’s wrong?” Cole asked without taking his eyes off the television.
She didn’t even bother answering, because Cole wasn’t paying any attention. She heaved a sigh and pushed sweet memories of Rafe to the background. That had been a long time ago. He’d been a good friend. A best friend—as best as a boy could be. And then, last year, without warning, he’d dumped her friendship like a hot rock. After all her attempts to piece it back together, she had to admit it was over. A thing of the past. She had to let the nostalgia and her feelings for Rafe go. And she had to do it now, before she tried to make another hard transition.
So she typed: What happened to getting laid?
Not in a million years with this chick.
Too bad. My options are looking rather promising. This puck head is way hotter than Cody Matthews ever was.
She pushed to her feet and leaned into the bar, which also put her closer to Cole.
Kilbourne? Promising? How much have you had to drink? You could do so much better. And you shouldn’t be fucking Tate’s teammates. Especially not during the playoffs.
God, it was always hockey. Hockey, hockey, hockey. Mia loved her brother, she loved hockey, and she respected Tate’s and Rafe’s careers. It was one of the many reasons she’d never made a move on Rafe. But she was done living her life around Tate and Tate’s hockey. It just didn’t work for her. And it didn’t have to work for her anymore.
Thanks for the lecture, she texted back. Find your own escape.
Mia. Please.
Excitement built low in her belly. Excitement and…something else. Something sad. Regret? Guilt? Loss? She’d used the fantasy of Rafe as an escape for a long time. The way one of her coworkers had dreamed of traveling through Europe, Mia had dreamed of being loved by Rafe. She’d used the thought as a light at the end of the tunnel. Her fantasies were a way to get through a boring day or a packed subway ride or the stress of meeting a deadline. She might have wished it would happen, but in her heart of hearts, she’d known it never would.
And then Sam. Sam and his “If I didn’t know that you worked too much to be seeing someone else, I’d swear you were in love with another man. It’s like your body’s with me, but your mind and your heart live somewhere completely different. If there’s someone in your past you haven’t told me about, you have to get over him, because there’s no room for anyone else.”
Mia had instantly realized that Sam had been talking about Rafe without knowing it.
She’d also instantly known how utterly ridiculous it was to allow one-sided feelings for a friend hinder her adult relationships. And as soon as she proved that to herself, she’d be free. She’d just have to find another fantasy to dwell on to get through rough times.
She shook off the nerves and realigned herself with her goal, then texted Rafe. Seriously?
SERIOUSLY, came back immediately.
Mia took her sweet time straightening, then turned and scanned the restaurant, purposely skipping over him several times before she finally let her gaze settle on Rafe.
Until now, she’d only taken quick, sidelong glances. And for the last year, the closest look she’d gotten of Rafe had been video clips on television or a rare postgame interview. Now, even from where she sat, as soon as their eyes met, she felt the solid snap of their connection in her belly.
The warm sizzle both thrilled and angered her. She’d always downplayed her feelings as a lingering schoolgirl crush. But there was nothing lingering or schoolgirlish about the desire that flared white-hot low in her body or the softening in her chest. These feelings were present and passionate. And just like every other time she’d considered confronting him over the years, the sweetness she felt for him bubbled to the surface, blurring her good sense.
There was no room for sweet now. He would twist sweet into hurt. He’d done it dozens of times over the last year, and if she was going to get over him, she was going to have to stuff the sweet, take what she needed, and walk away.
Finally walk away.
Just like he had.
Then, in future relationships, maybe she wouldn’t be accused of things like being more interested in hockey than sex. Or scheduling their vacations around the Rough Riders’ travel schedule. Or living vicariously through her brother.
Or being in love with a ghost.
Rafe did that barely visible get-the-hell-over-here-and-do-something head-tilt thing. The familiar movement reduced the year between them to a day, making her feel like all her hurt and frustration was unreasonable, petty, childish. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she had the strength to do what she needed to do.
Mia licked her lips and typed: Just leave if you want to leave.
Rafe replied: You know I can’t.
Technically, he could. He could stand up, put one foot in front of the other, and walk out the front door. But she knew Rafe’s heart wouldn’t let him. If he walked out on this woman, he would be showing not only disrespect for her, but for the Rough Riders fans. Specifically, the season ticket holders. And ultimately, his action would reflect poorly on the whole team.
Rafe was nothing if not dependable—to his team, to Tate, to Joe.
She glanced at the woman across from Rafe. Baywatch was still talking. Even though their food had been sitting in front of them for at least twenty minutes, even though Rafe had finished half his dinner before abandoning the meal, the woman with him hadn’t touched hers. Though she did manage to sip down quite a bit of wine in between words. Which might account for her lack of irritation over Rafe’s texting and inattentiveness.