Page 173 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Right.
Fair point.
He steps aside slightly, motioning toward the hallway. “You ready?”
Honestly? No. Not even remotely.
But I nod anyway.
The driveto Summit Arena is quiet at first. We sit in comfortable silence while soft rock music plays quietly through the speakers. Daltyn drives with one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel.
Outside, Burlington glows with autumn color beneath the cloudy afternoon sky.
I stare out the window, trying very hard not to think about how natural this feels.
Like I belong here. Like I belong with him.
This is only temporary.
I need to remember that word.
Unfortunately, Daltyn keeps making it impossible.
“You nervous?” he asks suddenly.
“A little.”
His grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. “You’ll be with Harper and Allie.”
I glance over at him.
He says it automatically. Like making sure I feel safe matters to him.
It probably shouldn’t affect me this much.
“What if people stare?”
“They will.”
His honesty is horrifying.
Daltyn glances over briefly. “But they stare at me too.”
I snort softly. “That’s because you’re a six-foot-two NHL goalie with serial killer energy.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Says the man who threatened a barista.”
“He leaned over you.” There’s no shame or hesitation, just pure possessive instinct.
Heat rushes through me all over again.
Good lord.
The arena comes into view a few minutes later. My stomach flips.
Summit Arena towers over the street beneath gray skies while fans stream toward the entrance wearing Avalanche jerseys and hoodies.
