Page 16 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

“Thanks so much for tuning in. If you ever get the opportunity to visit Smithton, New York, a trip to Bear Depot Diner is an absolute must! I’ve done segments on their amazing breakfast menu and their killer burgers, but everyone in town will tell you to order a shake too.

Granted, theirs are usually a bit more understated than”—he hiked a thumb in my direction—“the ‘everything but the kitchen sink’ recipe my esteemed guest has created. And they’re oh, so delish.

I want to thank the owners, managers, and staff here at the Depot for allowing us to come by.

And a special thanks to Ty Czerniak, Smithton Bears hockey team’s star backward?—”

“Forward,” I corrected, rolling my eyes.

“Just kidding. Thank you, Ty, and good luck on your season and beyond.”

“Thanks.”

“Be sure to subscribe to my channel on that fabulous button below, and while you’re at it, vote for our milkshakes. Would you rather have a sip of mine”—Walker held up his glass, then pointed at my overflowing sticky mess—“or Ty’s? Let us know in the comments.”

“I’m totally gonna win,” I taunted with way more confidence than anyone whose milkshake was slowly morphing into a nasty shade of green should have.

“Totally…not,” he countered, smiling at the camera. “And that, my friends, is what’s new in Smithton.”

Walker flashed a megawatt grin and lifted his milkshake in a toast. At the very last second, he stuck his finger in the whipped cream and deftly dotted the end of my nose.

I furrowed my brow in mock outrage as someone called, “Cut.”

Chuck squeezed my shoulder and handed me a napkin. “You’re a good sport, Czerniak. But stick to hockey, eh? I don’t think anyone’s gonna buy your milkshake.”

I snickered, setting my glass aside to offer to help with clean up. Walker and his crew had a system, so I stayed out of the way and watched them work. Within ten minutes, they’d finished, said another round of thank-yous to the staff, and that was a wrap.

I could have, and probably should have made a quick escape. Instead, I lurked in the parking lot, hovering near Walker’s Mini Cooper, while he chatted about editing concerns with Robin. I didn’t hear a fucking word. My head was a mess of contradictions.

Go, get out.

No…say good-bye and be cool.

I went with the second option. Walker had gone the extra mile to include me in the guest appearance that I’d finagled, but this was a PR thing and that was all it could be.

Sure, my reaction to him threw me off my game.

I could handle it, though. Even if it included tingling sensations and heart palpitations.

“That went well,” Walker commented, opening the driver’s side door and waving to Robin in the half-empty parking lot.

A few students wandered by, chatting in clusters on the sidewalk.

Others traveled solo, zoning out to podcasts or music with their heads in the clouds.

A row of trees kept us partially hidden, which was good.

We were a noticeable duo—Walker’s red hair and car were practically neon signs advertising his presence and my tattoos and local hockey fame did the same for me. But right now, I wanted him to myself.

“Yeah, I think we did it again. Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.” I held up my hand for a high five, chuckling at Walker’s derisive snort as he swatted my palm.

“Something like that.” He rested his elbow on the window and studied me. “It needs a lot of editing. But yes, this was, dare I say it—just as good as the interview.”

“I agree. We’re unstoppable.”

“You didn’t really drink that milkshake, did you?”

I nodded and rubbed my belly. “I did.”

“Liar,” he huffed without heat.

“Okay, it was more of a taste. The gummy worms were probably a mistake.”

Walker pursed his lips, his eyes bright with humor. “Probably, but you’ll still win.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Hockey.”

I shrugged. “Hockey is pretty cool.”

“ Hmph .”

We chuckled lightly and went back to staring at each other.

This had to stop…like immediately.

What was it about this guy? Walker was quirky, but in a super cute way.

And he had the toned physique of lucky genetics versus someone who knew his way around a gym.

His hair was a softer shade of red in the filtered midday sunlight and his skin was pale but not ghostly.

The combo made his eyes look like topaz gemstones… brown and gold and?—

Okay…what the fuck was wrong with me? Gemstones? Wake up, Czerniak.

I was trying. Believe me. My pulse was racing, though—a sure sign I needed to put some distance between us.

I bit the inside of my cheek and stepped sideways. “I…um…how long does editing usually take?”

Shit. That was not an exit speech.

“Robin and Shay are pretty quick, but they have classes too, so two or three days is the norm. This will be posted the week after the ceramics episode. I wouldn’t want to deprive the world of my…

let’s call it original artistry,” he joked, adding, “And it’s best to keep your audience wanting more. Like…online edging.”

“Kinky.”

“Exactly.” Walker lowered his head briefly as if to hide his blush, and fixed me with a look I couldn’t read to save my life.

“I’m visiting Misty’s candle shop next week.

You might find that interesting. She actually makes her products in a barn behind her house on the outskirts of town.

She said there are two barns…one for goats, another for melting wax and making magic. ”

I cocked my chin and narrowed my eyes. “Are you inviting me?”

“I am.”

“Okay, I’ll be there.” I tugged my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Great.” His nostrils flared and his eyes glazed with a lusty sheen that made my dick jump to attention. “I’m on my way home now, and um…you could follow me.”

I blinked.

“I could do that,” I rasped.

Walker nodded profusely, then stopped abruptly. “Wait. Are we saying the same thing? For the record, I’m making a lewd and inappropriate proposition to…uh…”

“Get horizontally acquainted?” I supplied.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, lifting his chin proudly. “And what are you doing?”

“You?”

Walker’s lips twitched before he ducked into his Mini. “Excellent. See you soon.”

Fact: A month ago, I had despised Walker on principle and now…I wanted him. Badly.

It had nothing to do with his famous hockey dad or jumping on his social media bandwagon. It was him. All him.

I stealthily adjusted my cock and strode to my Jeep, my head buzzing a million miles an hour. I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I didn’t need to do any deep self-analysis to know I was wading into some murky moral territory and a losing battle with my conscience.