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CHAPTER SEVEN

JACK

The start of my pro career has been, on one hand, awesome—having made two assists and scoring a goal against Dallas. There’s no doubting I’m happy with the way things are going. Even Tyler’s set aside our differences on the ice, and the past four days have been less dramatic.

Though that’s where the positives have stopped. Off the ice, he won’t even look in my direction, let alone speak to me. It’s possible he thinks I care about his cold shoulder.

Too bad I don’t.

I’ve been living in Brooklyn for just over three weeks, and other than my teammates, Jon, and Mum, I know next to no one.

What I have found is the best bakery a couple of blocks down from my three-bedroom apartment. And it sells cakes that are almost as good as being back home in the UK.

Almost.

Rise Up is jam-packed as I push through the door and pull off my beanie, shoving it in my jacket pocket. It’s early October,and the temperatures in Brooklyn have already fallen to below freezing.

As the line of customers moves forward, Ed—the owner and main guy who usually serves me—approaches with an extended arm and shakes my hand over the counter. The first game of the regular season is in two days, and I probably—definitely—should not be here. But whatever. He makes scones the way they should be made.

“Jack, nice to see you, man. What can I get for you?”

I tap the glass a couple of times and point to a cherry scone and then a brownie right at the back. “These two, please, Ed.”

He nods and gets to work. “To eat in or take out?”

Since I don’t have practice or any commitments today, I have time to kill. I swivel round, searching out a place to sit. Every table in the small café is taken, but as I’m about to give up and ask for them to be bagged, my attention snags on a mass of blonde hair. Her back is to me as she bends over the table, tapping away on her phone.

I turn back to Ed, my day already feeling a little fuller. “Eat in, please, and can I take an extra scone?”

With a plate in each hand, I come to stand in front Kendra as she remains focused on her phone. I realize she’s calculating something when I see the app she has open. As she hits the total button, she lets out a forlorn sigh and drops her head down on the table, the screen reading,-200.

I pull out the chair opposite Kendra, setting the plate down in front of her, jam and clotted cream on the side of the scone. “Is this seat taken?” I ask, sitting down anyway.

“Huh?” She lifts her head, and it’s then I see the dark circles around her eyes.

Fuck.

“Hey,” I say when she looks from the scone to me and then does a double take.

She pushes her hair away from her face, straightens in herchair, and quickly locks her phone. “Jack, um, what are you doing here?”

My eyes are still fixed on her, and I lean back in my seat and pick up my brownie, taking a bite. She’s not wearing an inch of makeup, and her hair isn’t styled, but fuck if that doesn’t make her more beautiful.

Even more stunning than when I saw her at Lloyd’s.

Swallowing my mouthful, I try to act like I’ve casually bumped into a friend on a whim and I’m not fantasizing about the way I’d bring her here for breakfast the morning after having her in my bed all night.

I normally smile a lot, but I’m starting to realize I wear a particular one around Kendra, and it’s all over my face right now.

“I live a couple of blocks away, and this is the best café I’ve found so far.”

I move my plate to the side and lean on my forearms, eyes still on her and the smile aching in my cheeks. “What about you?”

She glances down at the scone in front of her and then back up at me. “I don’t usually, but I was in this part of town, and it’s freezing outside, so I came in to get warm and grab a coffee.”

I take in her face as she tries to smile but fails.

“What’s this?” she asks, pointing at her plate.