Page 16 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

If he’d known the morning she left that he would still feel like this twelve months later, he would have continued to demand her last name and phone number, and he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

“Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to talk to her and find out if she’s as fucking crazy about you as you are her?”

Preston wanted to do that, but the same fear he experienced when he’d seen her on the street with that guy returned. “What if she doesn’t?”

“Then you move the fuck on. Find a puck bunny and fuck her.” Victor acted like that was the obvious solution, but for Preston, it wasn’t. Not at all.

“Don’t you ever wish for more, Vic?”

Victor, unlike him, seemed to be enjoying an extended bachelorhood, riding the single train all the way into his thirties.

He considered his question. “You mean like a relationship?”

Preston nodded.

Victor grimaced. “You know what your problem is, Romeo? You view relationships as some sort of golden goose when, in reality, they’re hard fucking work and not all they’re cracked up to be.”

It was a well-known fact that Victor had had his heart thoroughly broken a long time ago, though it happened before his time with the Stingrays, so no one knew much about the elusive mystery woman. It was also well-known that he’d been a jaded, down-on-love fucker ever since.

“Obviously, you haven’t been paying attention to Blake and Coulton lately. Those guys reek of happiness and hot sex.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Honeymoon phase. Both of them.”

“Maybe so,” Preston said, “but I want what they have.” And he wanted it with Chelsea.

“No maybe about it,” Victor countered.

Two of their teammates, Blake Wright and Coulton Moore, had fallen head over ass in love.

Blake with his next-door neighbor and best friend, Erika, while Coulton had found his lady love, bartender Ainsley, in a run-down tavern in Cherry Hill, of all places.

While Victor had a point that the relationships were brand-new, Preston was certain both men had found exactly what they were looking for.

And what he was pretty damn sure he would have found with Chelsea, if they’d had more than one damn night.

“There’s nothing stopping you from finding a girl except you , Jacobson. If it’s Chelsea, then great. If it’s not, then it’s time to get your head out of your fucking ass and start looking.”

Leave it to Victor to tell the hard truths.

Because his friend was right. The only one holding him back from finding what Blake and Coulton had was himself.

The problem was, he’d spent this entire year comparing every woman he met to Chelsea. Every single one of them had come up lacking…big-time.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “Fate’s giving me a chance to settle the Chelsea thing once and for all. I shouldn’t have walked away without talking to her. If she’s single, then I’m going to ask her out. If she’s not, then…I’m moving on.”

Given how much it hurt to say those words, it was safe to say, he was nowhere near ready to actually do that.

“Good man.”

Yvonne delivered their pancakes and the two of them discussed their last game as they tucked into the delicious meal.

Once they finished eating, Victor resumed the relationship conversation. “If the Chelsea thing falls through, talk to Tank. I’m sure he can point you in the right direction as far as finding an eligible lady to date.”

Preston snorted. “Date? Is that what we’re calling it?”

He had no intention of asking Tank for help. As one of the team’s resident playboys, Tank had cut a swath through the Rays’ seemingly endless supply of puck bunnies. He wasn’t all that discerning, and he sure as hell wasn’t dating them.

Preston would look on his own…eventually.

“More coffee?” Yvonne asked when she noticed their empty plates.

He and Victor shook their heads, so she gathered up the dirty dishes. “I’ll bring the check.”

Now that Preston had decided to talk to Chelsea, he was anxious to see her again. That limited view of her from across the street hadn’t been nearly enough. Even faced with the prospect of having his heart broken, he couldn’t stay away from her.

“Thanks for breakfast.” Victor placed his napkin on the table and leaned back, groaning and assuming a pose that—were this Thanksgiving—was typically paired with the unbuttoning of the jeans.

Preston slipped his credit card into the padded wallet when Yvonne set it on their table. “Wanted to treat you, since you’re opening your house to me for the holidays.”

“Not necessary but appreciated just the same. Guess it wouldn’t be nice if I didn’t warn you that Pip and my sister can be a fucking lot. So while it’s cute that you thought the invitation was me being nice and worthy of a free breakfast, my initial thought was more along the lines of fresh meat.”

Preston chuckled, perfectly aware that for all his bluster, Victor adored his sister and niece. As in, sun-rises-and-sets-on-their-shoulders kind of adoration. “I’ll be fine. Anyone else take you up on the offer to join?”

Victor, one of the few Stingrays who was a Baltimore local, typically invited all the guys on the team who didn’t have time to make trips home for the holidays.

Preston, Seattle born and bred, usually made the cross-country flight to spend the day with his family, but adding an extra trip mid-season always left him super jet-lagged.

This year, his energy had waned enough, thanks to his depression, that he didn’t even consider traveling home.

Instead, he and his parents were mailing the gifts and doing Christmas morning via FaceTime.

After that, he was spending the rest of the day with Victor and his family.

“Yeah. I’ve got quite a few of the boys coming this year. Should be a good time. Lucas, the idiot, is still insisting on the Nerf gun war.”

Lucas, aka Rookie, was their newest teammate, fresh from the AHL.

“Like I want to spend the next six fucking months picking up stray Nerf bullets around my house,” Victor grumbled.

“You have a housekeeper who will most likely be the one finding the bullets. Besides, I think it sounds fun. A new tradition.”

“A new tradition,” Victor scoffed, shaking his head. “Because suddenly we’re all fucking twelve again.”

“Guess I should warn you, the second Lucas said Nerf war, I went online and bought myself a sweet Elite Blaster, twenty-five dart drum gun that fires five darts per second.”

Victor sat straighter, scowling. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

Preston shook his head, forcing this lighthearted conversation, even though his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m a competitive guy, Vic. In it to win it. Always.”

“Jesus. You realize I’m going to have to fucking buy one of those for Pip now, right?”

“Actually, you aren’t. I bought two. Second one is already wrapped. My Christmas gift for her.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “You trying to one-up me with my niece at the holidays?”

Preston might worry about the menace in his buddy’s voice if he wasn’t a hundred percent certain Victor had already broken the bank buying Pip every little thing her heart desired. “I think you’ve got the role of favorite uncle locked for life, even with my sweet-ass gift.”

“Fucking machine gun.” Victor sighed. “She’ll love it. Wish I’d thought of it.”

Victor slid out of the booth, rising. “Well, I gotta run. Told Pip I’d take her Christmas shopping so she can buy something for her mom. Good luck with Chelsea.”

Preston gave him a salute, signing the credit card slip Yvonne had just returned with before standing as well. “I’ll see you later.”

He pulled on his jacket and bid Yvonne goodbye, then stepped back out into the cold air, pointing his feet in the direction of Sugar and Spice Bakery.

His first thought was here goes nothing, but he quickly revised it.

Here goes everything.