“Yeah, well, it was a… long weekend.”
“It’s Thursday,” Beck points out with a smirk. “Don’t think you can blame the weekend anymore.”
But Lars eyes me curiously, tapping her chin. “This have anything to do with Amanda Parks?”
My jaw clenches, and Beck arches a brow, looking between me and Larson. “What did I miss?”
It’s his turn in line then, and I nod toward the barista. “Caffeine first. I need it if you want the details.”
Once they have coffee and I have my tea, we confirm we each have a few minutes before we’re needed anywhere and sit at one of the small tables. I fill them in as quickly as I can on my current situation.
Beck whistles when I’m done, shaking his head with his hands wrapped around his coffee. “That’s tricky, alright.”
I just lift my brows because I already know that much.
“Look, I’m not a mom,” Larsen says. “But if I was, I imagine my kid would be the most important thing in my world. As hard as this is for you, it probably feels impossible to her.”
“I know. But I also know she feels something for me, too.”
“Can you just talk to your friend? Is there any way he’d understand?” Beck tries.
I level my gaze at him. “Oh, I don’t know. How would you have felt if I’d said I wanted to bang your mom when she was alive?”
His jaw tenses, and he shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah. I’d have fucking murdered you.”
Another lift of my brows, as if to say exactly.
“I hate to say it, but maybe you should nip this in the bud now… before you get in too deep,” Lars advises.
“Is that your professional advice?” I tease.
“If you were my client, it’s exactly what I’d tell you to do.”
I nod, swallowing. “And if I can’t let her go?”
She shrugs. “Then I hope you understand how badly it will hurt when you have no choice but to.”
I stare at my hands, rib cage suffocating my lungs with the thought.
“And what about you and Dane?” I ask with a smirk, trying to change the subject. “Care to tell us what’s going on there?”
Beck’s brow arches even higher into his hairline. “Oh, please do.”
But Larson is already standing with a shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lars…” I try.
“Oh, look at the time. Gotta go!” She winks at us before strutting away.
“Did she just wink?” Beck asks, shock washing over him.
“Perhaps a certain security guard is thawing the ice queen’s heart,” I tease.
Beck just gapes, still not believing it. But if he knew Dane how I do, he’d understand. That guy is too charming to resist. He’s the only reason I ever peeled my nose out of the textbooks and had a little fun when we were in college.
“Dane will tell me sooner or later!” I call out after her.
But she just waves sweetly over her shoulder, not denying, certainly not acknowledging.
My phone buzzes against my hip, and I stand, knowing without looking that it’s a page from a nurse.
But when I look at the screen, my heart stops at Amanda’s name reflected back at me.
“Is it her?” Beck asks.
I nod, throat tight.
Amanda: Okay, spontaneous list idea. I want to go to a Lightning game.
“Oh, fuck me,” I whine, biting my knuckle as I read the text.
“What? What is it?”
“She wants me to take her to a Lightning game.”
Amanda: Tonight.
“Tonight,” I echo the text with another whimper.
Beck laughs at that. “Please, control yourself. I don’t want to have to explain why you came in your pants in the hospital.”
“You know the only thing I love more than my job is hockey.”
“Oh, trust me. I know. I learned after one time watching a game with you that I never wanted to experience that volume from you again.” He chuckles. “I didn’t even know you could raise your voice until I heard you screaming for Kucherov to shoot the damn puck!”
I flick him off.
“What do I do?” I ask, staring at the text.
Beck shrugs, standing to join me. “You’re not really asking me. So just do what you already know you want to.”
With that, he leaves me, and I smirk because I can’t even argue that he’s wrong.
AMANDA
“I feel like I should warn you,” Greg says as we weave through the crowd outside the Amalie Arena. “I get a little crazy when it comes to hockey.”
“You don’t say?” I tease, tugging on the sleeve of his Stamkos jersey before stealing the blue foam finger from his back pocket.
“That foam finger is nothing compared to the decibels I reach when we score a goal.”
I chuckle, tapping his nose with the foam finger before slipping it on my hand. “I like crazy. I just hope you won’t get annoyed with me asking a bunch of questions, because I’ll have absolutely zero idea what’s going on.”