“Mhm.” He looks down at his food, pausing. “I shouldn’t be eating all of this. It’s inflammatory.”
I think about my mom, and how she never lets herself eat dessert. She has a sweet tooth, but she’s so terrified of gaining weight that she won’t even indulge in half a slice of birthday cake.
My fists clench under the table thinking about that. That she feels like she isn’t allowed, that she doesn’t deserve it.
“It’s okay to enjoy food.” I rest my elbow on the table, leaning on my palm, watching him. “And one burger isn’t going to end your career, Rory.”
He stares at the burger like he doesn’t believe me, like he thinks this one burger is going to get him kicked off the team, and I wonder who the fuck put that idea in his head. Sadness pinches me in the ribs, and protectiveness wakes up in my chest.
He eats another onion ring and groans again, and my face heats.
“Can you groan less sexually?” I mutter, and he just laughs.
“What would you be if you weren’t a hockey player?”
We’re walking down my street, and Rory has his arm draped over my shoulder, holding me close. Darcy and Hayden were trying to get everyone to go out dancing, but the second the group left the bar, Rory pulled me in the opposite direction, toward my apartment. His tipsiness has worn off, but the evening is cold and he’s warm, so I’m letting him tuck me against his body.
We walk half a block before he answers. “I don’t know. I’ve wanted to be a hockey player for as long as I can remember.”
We pass under the big maple tree outside my apartment.
I think about his assists tonight and his exuberant grin. “You were incredible tonight.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as our eyes hold. “Would you still think that if I didn’t have the highest scoring average in the league?”
There’s something in his eyes that breaks my heart. “I don’t like you because of your stats.”
“So you do like me.” The corner of his mouth tips up, and his eyes lose that vulnerable look. He tucks my hair behind my ear, grazing the shell. “Invite me up.”
Energy crackles in the air between us. If Rory comes upstairs, something’s going to happen.
I don’t care, though. If I reach deep down, beyond all the scarring and scratches I’ve endured from Connor, I want Rory to come up.
I like him. I don’t want to, but I do. Panic rises at that thought, but I shove it away.
“Okay,” I say instead.
CHAPTER 30
HAZEL
Rory kicks off his shoes and heads straight for my new bed, flopping down with a low, satisfied groan that makes me think dirty thoughts.
“That’s so much better,” he groans again.
The way he’s so comfortable in my home makes me feel like laughing.
“Rory, when people come over, they usually sit on the couch.”
“People don’t usually have their bedroom in their living room.”
My mouth falls open, but I’m still smiling. My face hurts, I’m smiling so hard.
“I’m just teasing, Hartley.” He winks. “I know you’re a good little saver. You’ll have your studio in no time.”
A pulse of happiness hits me in the chest, and I’m glad I told him about that.
“Thank you again for the bed,” I tell him, slipping onto the mattress beside him, folding my legs beneath me.
A soft smile ghosts over his mouth. “You’re welcome. Do you sleep okay without all the springs stabbing you in the back?”
I’m shaking with laughter. “Fuck off.” I cut a look at him. “But yes.”
He’s still smiling, watching me. The dim, warm lighting of my apartment is doing incredible things for his eyes and skin.
“I like buying things for you. You should let me do it more often.” He props himself on his elbow, frowning at me. “How come you don’t wear my jersey to games anymore?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “People already think we’re together.”
“I bought it for you to wear.”
Something thrums low in my belly at his territorial tone. After Connor, I hated the idea of wearing a guy’s jersey.
But it’s Rory. Everyone wears his jersey at games, but I have this deep-seated, prickling feeling in the back of my brain that it means something to him when I wear it. The memory of his stricken expression during yoga, when I asked the class to think about what makes them feel worthy, flashes in my head.
I care about him, and I think he knows that.