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Chapter twenty-one

Rebecca

“Are you almost ready?” Sutton yells from my living room.

I groan, doing another once-over of my outfit—dark wash jeans, a light-gray long-sleeve shirt, a purple scarf, and my favorite purple Chucks.

What was I thinking agreeing to this? Past me thought it sounded like no big deal, but present me is freaking out. I contemplate telling her I have a headache, or bad cramps. Come up with an excuse to get me out of going.

I hate small talk, and that’s all tonight will be. I’m sure of it.

I close my eyes and count slowly to ten.

You can do this.

It’ll be good to get out and meet people. Take my mind off the grumpy goalie I won’t let myself have. Besides, how bad can it actually be? I’ll only be chatting with each guy for a couple of minutes.

If I run out of things to talk about, I’ll ask them if they have any New Year’s Eve plans or if they make resolutions. Perk of going speed dating three days before the New Year, I suppose.

Opening my eyes, I nod at my reflection in the mirror.

I adjust the clip in my hair, then shut off the light before heading back into my bedroom to grab my purse, and going out to the living room where Sutton is waiting.

I told her I’d meet her at the bar, but she insisted on picking me up.

She probably thought I’d bail on her at the last minute.

“Is this okay? ”

She gets to her feet, giving me a once-over. “Of course.”

She’s wearing a long V-neck navy dress, with flowy sleeves and a slit that goes halfway up her thigh, and black ankle boots. Her blonde hair is curled and loose down her back.

“You look stunning.”

“Thanks.” She fidgets with the ring she’s wearing on her thumb.

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

“It’ll be fun.” She flashes me a smile, continuing to fiddle with her ring.

“You okay?” I stare pointedly at her hand.

She drops her arms to her sides. “Sorry. I’m good. I think I had too much caffeine today. It makes me fidget.” Her phone lights up with a notification. “Our car’s here.”

We make our way outside. Sutton verifies the license plate and the driver’s name, and then we climb in. I volunteered to be the designated driver, but she insisted we take a rideshare so I wouldn’t have to drive her home. She even prepaid, refusing to take the money I offered.

“Are you on the apps?” she asks when we’re buckled in the backseat.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, dating apps?” She waves her phone around.

I shake my head.

She furrows her brow. “How do you meet guys then?”

“I don’t. This is the first time I’ve thought about dating in a really long time.”

“Cool. I’m glad you’re coming tonight. I’m on all the apps, and I’ve had no luck with them, so it’s probably better that you avoid them.

” She chuckles. “The dating world is brutal. I swear, I either get matched with guys who have multiple kids, with multiple women—not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just have no desire to be a stepmom—or guys who ghost me after one date.

” She shudders. “They don’t even have the decency to message and tell me they’re not interested.

At least with speed dating, you can get a feel for the guy in person before you commit a bunch of time talking to them online. ”

“Makes sense. ”

“What are you in the market for? A serious relationship, a husband, a fun fuckboy?”

“I just want something casual and fun.”

“Can I ask why you don’t want a serious relationship? Did you have a shitty one? Is that why you moved here?” She clasps a hand to her mouth. “Shit. That was way too many questions. You don’t have to answer them. I’m just curious.”

“It’s okay.” I tell her. “It doesn’t seem fair to get serious with a guy given how much I work. Plus, I don’t really want to get married.” So I don’t fall in love. I have zero desire to have someone else I love get hurt.

She studies me for a beat. “I feel as if there’s more to this story but I’ve been nosey enough for one night.”

“What about you?” I ask, grateful that she’s letting it go. For now.

“I want to fall in love. Get married. Have a happily ever after. But I’m beginning to think it isn’t in the cards for me.”

Before I can ask her more, the driver comes to a stop in front of the bar. We thank him and climb out.

“We could still change our minds,” I suggest as we walk toward the front door.

Sutton hooks her arm through mine. “Nope, we’re going. You promised.”

I sigh but allow her to lead me into the nearly empty bar, and over to the woman seated at a table by the door.

She hands us name tags and markers, tells us what tables we’re at, then she gives us both a piece of paper with twenty numbers on it, along with a pen.

She promises to go over the process once everyone is checked in.

We thank her, and I follow Sutton to the bar. She orders a glass of wine. I ask for sparkling water and lime. As we’re waiting for the bartender to pour our drinks, a commotion breaks out behind us.

“I’m not here for the event. Just one of your participants,” says a voice with a British accent that I recognize.

Sutton stiffens next to me, drawing in a sharp breath as she spins around. I turn too and spot Sebastian. Why is one of the defenseman for the Storm here ?

“There she is,” he says, shooting a cheeky grin at Sutton as he attempts to walk around the check-in table and over to us.

“I’m sorry, sir, the bar is closed for the next two hours for a private event.”

“Sebastian,” Sutton barks out.

She grabs her glass of wine from the bar and stalks over to where he and the event organizer are glaring at each other, having a silent battle. I follow behind because there’s no way in hell I’m missing this.

“What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?” she asks Sebastian.

“The walls have ears, love.” He winks at her. “You want to date someone, I’m available. Why are you wasting a Friday night speed dating?” He holds out his arms, his tattoos on full display, his blue eyes twinkling.

“I told you I can’t date you,” she hisses.

“One date, that’s all I’m asking for.” He holds up one finger.

“No. Go home, Sebastian,” she tells him.

“I can’t do that, love.”

She huffs at him before stalking away. He raises his eyebrows at me as if asking for my help, and I give him a little shake of my head before turning to follow her back to the bar.

I don’t get very far when I hear him say, “Sign me up.”

This night just got a lot more interesting.

By the time I make my way back to where Sutton is leaning on the bar, she’s already finished her glass of wine.

“Fucking egotistical hockey player. Thinks he can get whatever he wants,” she mutters.

“I think it was sweet.” I take a sip of my drink.

She glares at me. “Whose side are you on, Rebecca ?”

“Yours, of course. I’m only saying . . .”

Before Sutton can say anything else, the organizer waves her hands to get our attention and explains how the next few hours will go.

Each woman will sit at the table with her number on it, and every five minutes, the bell will ring, and a new guy will approach the table, also assigned a number.

The ladies will circle the numbers of the guys they are interested in, and the guys will circle the numbers of the ladies they are interested in.

At the end, she’ll correlate the matches and either email us with the names and contact information of our matches, or bring them around to us if we opt to hang out.

I find my seat at table three, next to Sutton, who’s at table four, and take a deep breath, back to being nervous.

Two hours later, I’m all talked out and will probably need three to five business days to recover.

It wasn’t terrible. I enjoyed chatting with a few of the guys.

Plus, Sebastian was a hoot. I haven’t really gotten to know him that well, not that I know any of the other players that well either.

Well, except for Holt. But that’s because we’re neighbors.

Sebastian and I spent most of the five minutes talking about England—since it’s a place I’ve always wanted to go—and hockey.

Because of course we discussed hockey. I swear the entire time we were chatting, he couldn’t take his eyes off Sutton.

I thought he was going to deck one of the other guys at one point because he touched Sutton’s hand.

I wonder if there’s history between them I don’t know about.

I’m curious why he’s pursuing her so hard.

Why she doesn’t want to date him, although I swear I saw her checking him out a few times tonight.

“Any guys you were interested in?” I ask Sutton as we walk up to the bar after turning in our slips to the organizer.

“A couple.”

The bartender comes over to us, and Sutton orders another glass of wine, and I ask for a glass of water.

“What about you?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine.

I sigh. None, but I didn’t want to be the one woman who didn’t circle any of the numbers.

It’s not that they weren’t nice. They were all fine.

Some better than fine, but no one I felt any chemistry with.

Not the way I did with Holt. But I can’t date him.

Besides, I only want a guy to go out with casually.

Maybe go back to his place. I don’t want anything serious.

I ended up circling the numbers of two guys I thought had the most potential to be agreeable to what I’m looking for.

“A few. Did you pick Sebastian?”

“No.” She laughs. “I still can’t believe he showed up and then stayed.”

“He seems to like you an awful lot. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

Before she can say anything, we’re each handed a folded sheet of paper. I stare down at mine. Do I want to open this now? Or do I want to wait until I get home? At least she gave me something, unless it’s blank because no one was interested in me. Which would make things easier.

Sutton unfolds her paper, reading whatever names are on it. At least one of us had a successful evening. I sigh and do the same. On my sheet is one name—Cyril, the accountant I talked to at the very beginning of the event, with the Siamese cat. Next to his name is his email and phone number.

I open my mouth to ask Sutton if she’s happy with her matches, but am cut off by Sebastian.

“I think there was a mistake, love.” He shakes his paper at Sutton. “Your name isn’t on here.”

“Because we didn’t match.”

I chuckle into my glass, watching their interaction out of the corner of my eye.

Sebastian’s shoulders drop, and he runs a hand through his hair. “What do I have to do to convince you to go out with me?”

She pats him on the arm. “It’s not you. This job is my dream. I refuse to do anything that might ruin it. If we date and things don’t work out, how will I be able to see you at events around the arena?”

“But what if we work out?” He blows out a breath and appears to give himself a little shake. “I get it. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“I won’t, but okay.” She gives him a weak smile that he returns before saying his goodbyes.

“Shit, Sutton,” I mutter once he’s gone. “Way to break the guy’s heart.”

She downs the rest of her wine. “I know. But I can’t risk my career for him. For any guy. As nice as he is, I just can’t.”

As much as I hate to admit it I understand where she’s coming from and can’t say I blame her.