Page 4 of Rematch (Stingrays Hockey #3)

The inn had a huge screened-in back porch furnished with oversized cushioned couches and chairs at the rear of the first floor.

It was probably a wonderful spot to hang out during the warmer months.

However, because it was December and cold as shit, the summer screens had been replaced with thicker plastic, and there were several heaters scattered around.

The space was surprisingly warm and cozy, despite the low temperature outside.

There were fewer people out here, most just standing around, talking. Like her and BFG, it appeared these partygoers had been seeking a quieter place.

He led her to one of the large couches. She claimed one end, expecting him to take the other, so she was surprised—pleasantly—when he plopped down next to her, his leg pressed against hers. Then he went one step further, resting his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers toying with her hair.

The feeling of his fingers there was innocuous enough, but damn if it didn’t send her thoughts straight to the gutter. Because it was on the tip of her tongue to tell BFG to stop messing around and pull it…hard.

Jesus.

Maybe she should slow down on the wine.

“Favorite musician?” Chelsea blurted, trying to distract herself enough that she didn’t give in to the urge to straddle his lap and get to know him in a far more physical way.

Yeah, maybe she should just skip the wine and switch to water.

BFG smirked, and for a moment, it felt as if he knew her thoughts had taken a dirty direction. Mercifully, he went along with her game. “John Lennon.”

“Oh my God. I love him, too.” She lifted the right leg of her jeans and tugged down her sock, revealing a tattoo of the word “Imagine” on her ankle.

He bent down, running his finger over it in disbelief. “Holy shit. That’s an awesome tat.”

“That song never fails to move me.”

He nodded in complete agreement. “My mother used to sing ‘Beautiful Boy’ to me when I was little. It was our lullaby.”

Chelsea smiled at his sweet memory, then they spent a few minutes discussing their favorite John Lennon and Beatles songs.

“Okay. Your turn. Favorite movie,” he said, continuing their game.

“Have you ever seen Serendipity ?” she asked.

“With John Cusack?”

She nodded. “I absolutely love it.”

He grinned. “Would you laugh at me if I told you that was one of my all-time favorite movies too? Watch it every year around the holidays, along with Love Actually and Die Hard . Also thanks to my mom. She forced me to watch them with her when I was younger, but now, I find myself pushing play on those old movies every December all on my own. Watched Serendipity a few nights ago.”

Her eyes widened. “Shut up. No way!”

He lifted one shoulder casually. “Kate Beckinsale is fucking hot.”

“I should have known that was reason. And by the way… Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”

One tiny push, and suddenly they’d launched into the age-old debate.

This one lasted for several minutes because apparently BFG had strong feelings about Die Hard , which only made her want to fight harder—not because she cared so much but because his passionate arguments were hilarious.

So the more he said yes, it was a holiday movie, the more she said no, until they finally agreed to disagree.

“I need to confess,” he said. “Kate Beckinsale’s not the real reason I love Serendipity . It’s totally the love story. I’ve got a bit of a reputation among my friends for being a romantic.”

“Really?” She thought that was both hysterical and adorable, because it was kind of hard to think of the large, almost rough-looking man as a romantic.

He was a big dude who dwarfed her five-foot-five frame.

He struck her as more caveman than Casanova, the type of guy who would fling a girl over his shoulder and fireman-carry her all the way to the bedroom.

Which, now that she thought about it, was pretty dreamy. “A romantic, huh?”

“Yep. That’s me. A regular Romeo.”

She laughed, amused by his self-deprecating grimace that told her he didn’t hate that nickname as much as he pretended. She was enjoying their game, so she hit him with another question. “Do you have any pets?”

BFG nodded. “Sure do. I have a big-ass aquarium at my place with a couple of fish.”

“Just a couple?”

“Yeah. Clownfish. They can be tricky to place with other fish, as they’re somewhat aggressive. Did you know clownfish pair for life, and they actually thrive with a partner?”

“What did you name your fish?” she asked, enthralled by everything this guy said.

“My dynamic duo are Johnny and June.”

“Perfect names, Romeo.”

He shook his head. “Uh, uh, uh. That’s BFG to you.”

Chelsea tried to restrain a shiver as he drew the tip of one finger along the side of her neck. “You know, now that you mentioned it, I have to admit, Walk the Line is another favorite movie.”

“A great flick,” he agreed, and they spent a good twenty minutes listing their top five movies each, debating their merits. He had great taste in films.

“I think it’s cool that you’re romantic,” she said. “Not many men would admit that.”

He chuckled, even as he shrugged. “Never really seen much use in hiding who I am from others or pretending to be something I’m not. I have no problem confessing to my romantic nature, though lately, I’m wondering if I should throw the word ‘hopeless’ in front of it.”

Chelsea tilted her head. “Why hopeless?”

“Because I’m thirty-five years old and haven’t met the woman of my dreams yet. Starting to feel like I’m never going to manage to make that magical trip down the aisle.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Even Chelsea could hear the outright bitterness in her tone.

BFG frowned, confused. “It’s not?”

“Oh my God. Ignore me. I didn’t mean to sound so jaded. It’s just…” She shut up because this conversation was hard enough to have with people who’d been there and witnessed her mortification.

“It’s just what?” he prodded.

Chelsea bit her lip, then surprised herself when she replied. “I was supposed to get married last June.”

She saw the faint look of confusion on his face. “But you didn’t?”

She shook her head. “No. My fiancé…well, my ex is the more accurate term now…didn’t show up.”

BFG scowled. “What do you mean, he didn’t show up? To the wedding ?”

Chelsea grinned at his vehemence, wondering what it was about this man that made him so easy to talk to.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t know him—not even his name.

Or because she didn’t live in Philadelphia, so the chances they’d run into each other again were practically nil.

Or maybe it was because of this undeniable, unexpected connection she felt to him.

Despite the fact they were strangers, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him on some instinctual level.

“He sent a text to his best man a few minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start and said he couldn’t do it. He’d fallen in love with someone else.”

“What the fuck? Are you kidding me?! Who does something like that to someone? He couldn’t tell you that before the wedding day?”

Chelsea was touched by his anger on her behalf. “It was a dick move,” she agreed.

“Jesus, Joy. I’m sorry. That must have been so rough on you.”

She tried to brush it off with a casual shrug and self-effacing grin. “I’ve had better years.”

“Yeah, well, anyone who would do that…” He shook his head, still fired up. “He’s a fucking douchebag. You’re better off without him.”

Chelsea had heard that comment no less than a million times from countless well-meaning friends, but she’d never really felt like she was.

Not really. She’d been in love with Rick since ninth grade, and when she saw her future, it was always with him.

It probably didn’t help that his mother and hers had joked from the time they were kids right up until that failed wedding that they’d been “betrothed” since birth.

Trying to reconfigure her life without him had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, even after the hurt he caused.

Now, though…there was something in BFG’s tone that resonated and rang true. God, maybe she’d finally turned a corner—because suddenly she knew all the way to the depths of her soul that she was better off without Rick in her life.

“That fucker didn’t deserve you, and he’s in for a rude awakening when he realizes just how big a mistake he made letting you go.”

“You barely know me,” she felt compelled to point out.

He paused, considering that, then he gave her a bemused grin. “I guess I don’t,” he admitted. “But…” He leaned toward her, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Well, strange as it may sound, I feel like I do.”

His comment took her aback, warming every cold, lonely corner inside her. Because…he felt it too. This connection.

He reached down, taking her hand in his, shifting toward her. Their faces were inches from each other, and she was so tempted to lean forward. He glanced at her lips again, but he didn’t move, didn’t take what she was beginning to sense they both wanted.

“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Not yet. I like being your Joy.”

Chelsea wondered if he might insist, but instead he gave her that affable grin. “I like being your BFG. Wouldn’t mind that nickname sticking for a while.”

“Well, then that’s your name. All night.”

“And maybe longer,” he murmured.

“No. No longer.” Chelsea shook her head, even as she shifted closer. She wasn’t sure what her end game was here, because she was going back to Baltimore in the morning, and then on to Paris in a week. As much as she was enjoying this time with him, nothing could come from this night.

Well…not nothing , she reconsidered, shocked by the direction her thoughts had traveled.

She’d never had a one-night stand in her life. However, she would definitely consider it with him.

BFG kept the distance between them, his grin fading at her negative response. “Why don’t we see where tonight leads us. There’s no reason to put a time limit on this. I feel like…I’d really like to see you again, take you out to dinner or to a movie or a hockey game.”

God, every word he said was perfect, amazing…heartbreaking.

“The truth is, I can’t give you more than tonight. Right after the holidays, I’m moving out of the country. I’m going to live in Paris.”

He cursed under his breath. “What’s in Paris?”

“A fresh start.”

He didn’t like her answer. “You don’t need to move for a fresh start. You realize some people just opt for a new wardrobe or a haircut or something less life-altering after a relationship ends.”

She grimaced, because he made a good point, but she hadn’t been in a great headspace for a long time, and after that run-in with Rick on the street, she’d decided the only way to dig herself out of her depression was to reboot her life. Like, majorly reboot it.

Chelsea had earned an associate’s degree in culinary arts, while working full-time in a donut shop in Baltimore.

Her dream had been to open her own bakery someday with Ethan, who’d majored in marketing with a minor in business administration.

That future had now been traded for one that would happen across the Atlantic.

She’d become close to one of her culinary professors, so it had felt like fate opening a door when Dr. Nally emailed her about a job opening in a Parisian patisserie the very same day she’d seen Rick with Vanessa.

She had applied for the position that night, and because the owner of the patisserie was a good friend of Dr. Nally, her glowing reference had basically assured the job was Chelsea’s.

When she accepted it, her first and primary thought had been that she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Rick if she was in another country.

That really shouldn’t have been the driving force, but she’d been so desperate to escape—the hurt and embarrassment and anger—that she’d jumped at the chance.

Because seeing him with that beautiful woman had reopened the wound she stupidly thought had healed.

Of course, she hadn’t admitted that avoiding Rick was her main impetus for leaving to her best friends, who were distraught that she was breaking up the Three Musketeers. She, Ethan, and Allyson had been inseparable since elementary school.

Somehow, she managed to convince them that moving to Paris was an amazing opportunity, because Chelsea knew they would try to talk her out of going if they suspected she wasn’t running toward something, so much as she was just flat-out running away.

Paris had become her escape hatch, her way of fleeing all the shit that had been swimming around in her head since Rick kicked her in the teeth.

“You leave after the holidays?” BFG asked.

“Like right after Boxing Day.”

His long sigh took her off guard, as did his next words. “Well, that figures.”

“What does?” she asked.

“Looks like I’m destined to remain a hopeless romantic.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Why’s that?”

“Because I finally meet the girl of my dreams and she’s about to move four thousand miles away.”