Page 2 of Hold Me Tight

It must be nice.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that a day in my life.

This morning he’s wearing a simple Railers hoodie and jeans.

When he steps over the threshold, the temperature in the bakery rises.

Or maybe it’s just me.

My pulse trips, and it takes effort to stomp out the attraction zipping through my veins.

I hate the way my body reacts to him.

He’s Zane’s friend.

Or was.

Quite frankly, it’s not my business what their relationship is.

What I do know is that he stood by silently while Zane made a fool out of me.

I turn my attention back to the register, hoping he’ll order quickly and leave.

If I’m lucky, Sloane will swoop in like usual and save me from having to make small talk. Those conversations are always awkward.

A woman with a small child walks in right after him. She gives me a smile before glancing in his direction and doing a double take as her eyes widen.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “You’re River Thompson. My husband is obsessed with the Railers.”

River gives her a friendly smile that’s both easy and charming. “Good to know. Tell him I said ‘hey.’”

The little boy at her side is probably around five or six. He peeks out from behind her leg while clutching a toy car.

Without missing a beat, River crouches down so they’re nearly eye level. “Do you like hockey, buddy?”

The boy looks up at his mother before nodding.

River reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a glossy puck. “If you have a marker, I’ll sign it for you. Would you like that?”

The woman digs through her purse with frantic fingers before glancing at me in desperation. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Sharpie, would you?”

“Umm,” I glance around the counter before opening a drawer and pulling out a marker. “Here you go.”

She squeals before plucking it from my fingers and passing it to River. “My husband is going to die when he sees this.”

River scrawls his name across the smooth surface. “Here you go,” he says, handing it to the boy. “That’s for when you score your first goal.”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. Of course he has a puck on hand to give out to fans.

Who doesn’t?

And apparently, the man is also good with kids.

I hate the part of me that’s touched by the small gesture.

It annoys the hell out of me.

I don’t want to feel anything where this man is concerned.