Page 73 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
God help me.
I’m so screwed.
21
PEYTON
I should probably feel awkward squeezed into a crowded diner booth with half the Green Mountain Avalanche hockey team.
Okay, maybe not quite half, but five of them.
Instead, I’m trying not to choke on mozzarella sticks while Connor argues with the waitress about ranch dressing.
“It’s not enough ranch,” he says seriously.
The waitress blinks. “Sir, I brought you three cups.”
Connor points dramatically. “I happen to love ranch. And it would be a tragedy to run out.”
Allie drags a hand down her face. “I’m begging you to stop talking.”
“I refuse to live in fear of that happening.”
Jake steals one of Connor’s fries while he’s distracted.
Connor notices and gasps loudly. “THIEF.”
“This is why nobody respects you,” Ford mutters.
Meanwhile, from beside me, Daltyn watches the chaos unfold with an expression somewhere between annoyance and fondness. Being pressed up against his big, warm bodyis like having my own personal heater. And I’m not at all mad about it.
But the weirdest part of the hockey team chaos? They all keep dragging me into the conversation like I’ve always been here. Not awkwardly or politely. Naturally.
Harper leans closer to me. “Ignore them. Hockey players share one collective brain cell.”
Ford points at her. “Rude.”
“You know it’s true.”
Jake nods solemnly. “Connor had the brain cell earlier, but then he ate too many mozzarella sticks.”
Connor looks genuinely offended. “I can multitask.”
Allie snorts like she disagrees.
“You put your phone in the refrigerator,” Cole reminds him.
“That was one time.”
“It was this morning,” Allie says.
I laugh so hard I nearly snort soda through my nose.
The entire table goes quiet for half a second before Connor points dramatically at me. “There it is.”
I blink. “What?”
“A real laugh,” Harper says softly.
