Page 23 of The Shot You Missed
“That doesn’t mean anything. He only wants to catch up. As a friend. There’s no way Bash considers this a date.” No matter how much a part of me wishes he did.
“All I’m asking is that you give the man a chance. You’ve been in love with him since you were fourteen. You deserve to let yourself see where this goes.”
“It won’t go anywhere, Lola.” I’m not the same girl I was when I was a teenager, and I doubt he’s the same boy. We’re different people who live very different lives.
There’s no way he was in love with me then, and there’s even less of a chance he’d fall in love with me now.
Happy endings are for the fictional characters I write. Not for me.
nine
SEBASTIAN
It took some convincing,but I got Indie to agree to let me pick her up. Part of me worried she’d stand me up if we met at the restaurant, and if she stood me up, I couldn’t fabricate another run-in. I’d have to show up at her door and have a conversation we should have had ten years ago.
But the more I consider it, the more I think it’s best if we avoid that talk. At least for now. Because I know Indie Bloom—or I used to—and she’ll do just about anything to avoid uncomfortable situations. Not that I blame her. After the way she grew up, running from anything that could blow back on her in a public way became second nature. And it leaked into the way she dealt with personal issues too.
So yeah, I want to talk to her about what happened ten years ago to make her run and block me. I have my suspicions, but that’s all they are. Suspicions. The best move is to play this smart and safe, and that means I can’t go in, guns blazing, and demand answers. Not if I want to see her again after today.
And I do. Very much.
“Hi.” Indie tucks a pink curl behind her ear as she opens the door. Her cheeks flush a similar shade, drawing attention to the freckles that kiss the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.
She’s beautiful. She always was, but there’s something more settled about her now. Something that gives me hope the years have been kinder to her than they used to be.
“Hey, Rosebud. You ready to go?”
She nods, glancing back inside the little bungalow. “Be back later, Lols. Text if you need anything.”
There’s a muffled, “I won’t,” from inside the house that has my lips twitching. I think I’m going to like Indie’s friend. Assuming I get the chance to get to know her.
Indie rolls her hazel eyes and steps out onto the porch. She’s bundled up in that purple peacoat with a cream scarf looped around her neck. It makes the loose curls of her hair puff up around her. For a local, it would be considered overkill. After a long winter, the beginning of April feels downright balmy. But Indie has spent her life in the warmer weather of Hollywood, and I doubt she’s been here long enough to truly acclimate.
It’s instinctive to hold out my elbow to her. She eyes it for a moment, wary, like it’s a snake about to strike, but then she sucks in a deep breath and loops her hand through my arm, and my whole body warms. “You look pretty.”
Her blush intensifies, and it gives me hope. She may have tried to wear a mask of indifference when we ran into each other, but she’s still affected by me. It’s mutual, of course, but I doubt she has any idea how deeply she still affects me.
“Thanks.”
“My car’s here.” I lead her to my SUV and pull open the passenger door. “Do you want me to put the seat warmers on?”
“Sure,” she says softly, sneaking a quick glance at my face before looking away.
Closing her door, I hurry around to the driver’s side and get everything situated. My fingers tremble as I turn on the car and the heat. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice. Pretty sure I wasn’t even this nervous when we were down by one in the final game of the playoffs last season, and I knew it would all be on me if we lost and were eliminated. “Make sure you buckle up.”
Indie huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes before turning to me and finally making eye contact. “I have ridden in cars before, Bash.”
“Right. Sorry.” My voice cracks like a pubescent teenage boy, and I die a little inside. I’ve never been as smooth as Griffin or Logan, but damn, this is ridiculous. Thank god they’re not here to witness this train wreck, or I’d never hear the end of it. I’m used to being the best. The competent one.
Nothing about me right now is competent.
We spend the first few minutes of the drive in silence. I rack my brain for something to say while Indie squirms in her seat.
We never used to struggle for conversation. Hell, my parents would tease me that neither one of us could seem to shut up around the other. Nothing was off-limits. We talked about mundane things, like movies and music, to much more personal topics, like how Indie was dealing with the latest round of media bullshit being hurled her way. And when we were silent? It was comfortable.
This isn’t.
“So Lola seems cool,” I say when I can’t think of anything else. The restaurant isn’t far away, and I’m hoping we can get over this awkwardness before we sit down. The last thing I need is for anyone to witness how very little game I have off the ice. “When did you two meet?”
