Page 5

THE NIGHT OF A THOUSAND CONFESSIONS

Sabrina

A few hours and a couple margaritas later, my sides ache from laughing harder than I have in months. The bar is warm and cozy, like the town’s name promises. The low hum of conversations and clinking glasses blends with a clever playlist that gives a comfort vibe with modern tunes.

The best part, though, is this big, sturdy man with the dark wavy hair, the trim beard that has me thinking all sorts of beard-y thoughts, and the devastating hazel eyes that sparkle with amusement as I tell him all about my wedding that wasn’t.

“I swear,” I say, trying to catch my breath, “I really tried to convince them that I should walk down the aisle to Amelia Stone’s ‘Only You.’ It was always one of my favorite songs to skate to. Plus, it’s romantic.”

Tyler raises a skeptical brow, leaning back in the stool with an easy confidence.

He does everything with an easy confidence, and I totally get why Sea Dogs fans sing “Daddy’s Home” when he hits the ice.

This big, muscly man who looms menacingly over opponents also exudes a whole ‘I’ve got this’ vibe with his friends and teammates.

The combo is hot—he’s deadly and you want him in your corner.

And, it seems tonight, he’s in mine as he says, “Even for you, walking down the aisle to a pop song is bold.”

“It’s bold, but true. Scout’s honor.” I laugh, but there’s a warmth in his teasing that makes my chest flutter.

He already knows me, or at least it feels like he does.

Is that just from the skating lessons with Luna?

I mostly interact with her—and I’ve never really noticed him as anything other than a parent since I was engaged.

Was.

I glance at the diamond solitaire on my finger.

It looks like it belongs to someone else.

I blink away from it and meet Tyler’s gaze again.

He’s watching me intently, his focus entirely on me, as if I’m the only person in the room.

A part of me wonders if I should let myself feel this so soon after walking away from everything I thought I wanted.

But I rarely felt this kind of focus from Chad, and I like being in Tyler’s spotlight.

Especially since it always seemed like Chad’s attention was elsewhere. Turns out it was.

Tyler’s brow arches higher, bringing me back to the conversation. “I call bullshit. You weren’t a Girl Scout.”

“How are you so certain I wasn’t a Girl Scout?”

“Girl Scouts follow the rules. You don’t.”

I tilt my head, bobbing a shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But I was a Girl Scout.”

“It is a compliment,” he says, his captivating eyes never leaving mine. For a moment, I can’t remember why I felt like the unhappiest girl in the world today. Between the margaritas coursing through my veins and the way Tyler can’t seem to take his eyes off me, I’m the happiest .

“Okay, fine,” I admit, “but I had this whole list I shared with them of the five reasons why it was a good song.”

“Five, not six?” he asks, a playful smirk shifting his lips. What would they feel like sweeping over mine?

I force the thought away. I almost said I do today. I shouldn’t think about kissing someone else—someone else with firm lush lips, a strong jaw, and a slightly crooked nose, like he’s logged a few fights on the ice.

I reroute my wandering thoughts back to…the list. “Yes! Five reasons,” I exclaim, then rattle them off—it’s romantic, unconventional, fun to dance to, more interesting to listen to than the same old tune, and it makes you feel good.

Tyler laughs even harder, the sound deep and warm. “Sabrina Snow, you are something else.”

There’s admiration in his voice, but something deeper, too—something that feels a little like desire. It’s foreign and thrilling, a spark I haven’t felt in a long time. Or...ever? I flash back over my life and times with Chad, and nope, I’m pretty sure I haven’t felt this way before.

Like the world is spinning with potential and not the dread of someone else’s expectations.

I lift my glass and take another sip, thinking of the details, all the endless details that had to be so perfect for my family.

“I wanted to test them—my mom, Chad. Push the boundaries of what I could get away with, considering I was getting away with very little for that wedding. God, it wasn’t even my wedding.

It was my mom’s,” I say as the reality of what went down today slams into me.

“And now you’re free of it,” he says firmly. “Because you had the guts to walk away.”

Tyler tells it like it is—straightforward and real—and somehow, that makes me feel more valued and appreciated in a few short hours than Chad and my parents ever did.

I drain the margarita, and as I set the glass down, the weight of the day starts to lift off me. More wedding day truths bubble to the surface. “And, to be fair, I did get my two wishes—no doves and to wear a tiara.”

“Doves?” he repeats, his brow furrowing. “Please tell me those were never actually planned.”

“I put my foot down on that one. My mother wanted to release them after the ceremony, but most doves can’t survive in the wild. They’re just for show, and it’s terrible for the animals. I told her no.”

“My daughter would love that answer.” Tyler’s fond smile says he’s so smitten with her. “She’s obsessed with learning about animals, so I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“That’s sweet,” I say, enjoying the way he talks about Luna.

He’s always listening to her wishes at her lessons.

That’s not something a lot of parents do.

Mine hardly ever did. They wanted more drills, more exercise, more time.

“She asks me so many questions about my foster kittens when we’re skating. ”

“She loves hearing about them almost as much as she loves practicing her twizzles,” he says. Then he nods to the tiara. “So that’s all you, then? The bling?”

I can’t tell if he thinks the tiara is silly, like Chad did, or if he’s asking sincerely. But then I decide he’s not the type of guy who’d think a tiara is ridiculous.

I touch the crown absently, the rhinestones cool under my fingers. “It’s not about being a princess or anything. I just like sparkly things.”

“No surprise there,” he teases.

I swat his thigh, laughing, and then freeze. My hand lingers for a second, resting against the solid, denim-clad muscle beneath it. The heat of him radiates through the fabric. The strength of him makes my mind wander, and my pulse takes off. “I’m sorry I hit your thigh. ”

But I’m not really sorry. Mostly I want to touch him again. The intensity of my desire is surprising. And not unwelcome.

“I noticed,” he says, his grin widening as I remove my hand.

“And…it’s rock hard,” I say, louder than I should have.

“Thank you,” he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I clear my throat, recovering quickly. “Hockey players. Strong thighs. Comes with the territory.”

“It does,” he agrees, his gaze skimming me briefly. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, maybe even desire too. “But figure skaters are no strangers to hard work either.”

“We’ll have to have a skills competition sometime,” I say.

“That so? You want to take shots on goal while I?—”

“Do the camel spin,” I say impulsively, the image of him doing the pretty spin in hockey gear delighting me.

“You’re on, Snow,” he says, then offers a hand for shaking.

I take it. Is it wrong that I’m a little turned on by how much better his handshake is than Fuck Chad’s? Well, if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

“It’s a deal, Falcon,” I say.

He lets go of my hand, then clears his throat. Those haunting hazel eyes linger on me, like he’s working through not what to say next but whether or not to say it. “For what it’s worth, you wear a tiara very well,” he says, a hint of something more in his tone.

The compliment is thrilling. Temptingly so. My chest heats, and I wonder if he feels this connection too.

“Thank you,” I say, warmth spreading through me, my limbs loose and melty, my inhibitions dropping.

Was I ready to pledge my love to Chad today?

Of course I was. Did I have some doubts in the back of my mind?

Maybe. Have I been taught by my parents to ignore my doubts, ignore my feelings, ignore everything except the attainment of success? Yes.

Except…I don’t want to ignore the way I feel right now with this sexy, smoldering man I’d never flirt with at work. But we’re not at work. His kids aren’t around, and I’m unexpectedly single.

And very interested in this hot single dad—his clever mouth, and soulful eyes, his big hands. What would those hands feel like coasting over my body? How would his beard feel whisking across my face, my belly, my legs?

I clench my thighs, and the questions keep coming. How would I feel if a man like him showed me…everything I’ve been missing in bed? Because I have definitely been missing, well, everything.

The margarita whispers that it’s a good idea to see if he’d like to go to my room.

Then I remember I don’t have a room. After finding the rink closed, I spotted a roadside sign for a hotel and asked Rhonda to take me here.

Rhonda dropped me off, giving me her card and insisting I call if I need anything, but the front desk said they were fresh out of rooms.

So, I marched into the bar, no idea what to do next.

A yawn overtakes me as the events of the day catch up all at once. “I think I need to crash,” I admit reluctantly. I don’t want this night to end, but I’m exhausted, and a little buzzed. Maybe more than a little. And now I need to find a place to sleep too. “Today’s been…a lot.”

“Of course it has,” he agrees, standing as I do, steadying me with a warm, sure hand. His strong touch sends a shiver down my spine. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”