Page 10 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

TEN

I was wrong.

Group date? Check. Calmer? Absolutely not . Mia’s outfit—or lack thereof—has me tenser than ever.

“Could you not afford a swimsuit? You should’ve told me. I would’ve bought you one,” I mutter.

Her brows pull together, two sharp lines forming between them. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

She bends to shimmy out of her jean shorts, and it only gets worse. The bottoms look like they’re made of shoelaces.

I pull off my T-shirt and try to tug it over her head, but she swats me away before I can get it down her body. The fabric ends up bunched around her neck.

Bodhi picks the perfect time to make his way over, coming up behind Mia, and very clearly checking out her ass.

I shoot him a look, one that hopefully says, stop looking at her like that .

He doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

As I’m distracted, glaring at him, Mia tosses my shirt back at me. It hits me in the chest and slides to the ground.

Bodhi lets out a low whistle. “I like the suit, Mia.” Then he winks.

Fuck, this woman is going to make it impossible for me to follow through on my promise to watch out for her . I get the whole “I had to beat him off with a stick” thing now.

“Thanks.” She flashes him a smile, then turns to me with a scowl. “At least someone likes it.”

Bodhi claps his hands once. “All right, you guys ready? The instructors are waiting on you.”

The reason for Mia’s barely there outfit: today’s date is paddleboarding.

A guy who looks like he could be Bodhi’s cousin is already set up on the beach, standing in front of a row of seven boards facing the ocean behind him.

We each take a spot. I grab one in the middle, and Mia ends up at the far right. Probably for the best.

The instructor launches into the basics, which I don’t need. I’ve got a cabin on the lake where I spend most summers, so I’m no stranger to water sports. Still, I stand there and pretend to listen like everyone else.

Mia follows along for a bit, moving through the steps until she seems comfortable. Then she starts stretching like she’s in a yoga class. First, she drops to her knees, folding forward with her arms reaching out in front of her. Then she pushes up, straightening her legs, her ass in the air.

Is she trying to fuck with me?

I force my eyes to her face, which is upside down, so most of her features are hidden as her hair falls forward. It’s so dark it nearly absorbs the light, but as she moves, it shines softly. She could be in one of those Pantene commercials?—

Why the hell am I looking at her hair?

Summer, to my right, nudges my side. “Ready for this?”

I smile and pretend I wasn’t staring at my teammate’s little sister. “Yep.”

Some of the girls are already struggling with their balance, and that’s on solid ground. Once we’re out in the ocean, this is going to be chaos.

After a few more minutes of instruction, we follow the guide into the water. Getting past the break is the hardest part, but once we’re beyond the waves, it’s a little calmer.

That doesn’t stop the squeals, high-pitched and overlapping with the slap of waves against the boards.

“Are there sharks?”

“How deep is it here?”

“I hate this!”

The chorus of remarks carries across the water. I can’t be sure who’s who.

Victoria, the first brave soul, attempts to go from kneeling to standing, but almost immediately ends up in the water. She’s a good sport about it, laughing with the rest of us.

It’s hard to have any meaningful conversation while balancing, paddling, and—according to Summer—not getting eaten by sharks. So most of the chatter is easy, surface-level stuff.

No complaints. It’s actually kind of relaxing.

I don’t get a good view of Mia until I stand up, finally able to see over the women close to me.

Mia is kneeling on her board, next to another woman whose name I can’t remember. The other girl’s sitting awkwardly on her butt, and it looks like Mia’s trying to help her reposition.

My gaze lingers longer than it should, and when Mia turns her head, I don’t have time to look away. She catches me.

She says something to the other woman, then starts paddling… toward me.

Okay. Sure. That works. Easier to keep an eye on her this way.

She knows how to swim, right… Of course she does, you idiot.

“You should really quit checking me out,” she snarks, paddling up beside me.

I plop down onto my board, legs dangling in the water. “I am not checking you out.”

I totally was.

“That would be wrong on so many levels.”

Unfortunately, my dick disagrees. Then again, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my past, it’s that he cannot be trusted.

“Mm-hmm.” She shifts from her knees to a seated position, her legs crisscrossed in front of her.

“So.” She pulls her hair into a ponytail and secures it with the elastic around her wrist. “What are you looking for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here. In a partner.” She shrugs. “Matchmakers always start with a profile. I’ve got to figure out yours so I know what to look for.”

Before I can answer, she lies back on the board, fingertips trailing in the water at her sides, head tipped toward me.

My eyes don’t get the memo to stop checking her out and drag down the length of her body. I’ve never seen so much of her skin.

I cough, trying to cover it. “I guess what everyone’s looking for. A partner. A best friend. Someone to do life with. You know, like Logan and Hannah have.”

“Why are you so obsessed with them?” she snips.

“I’m definitely not. I just… I don’t know. I guess they’re the only example of a healthy relationship I’ve seen.”

I regret the words the second they’re out, but Mia doesn’t press.

“Whatever.” She slings an arm over her eyes. “So, you’re actually looking to settle down?”

“I wouldn’t be here, possibly getting engaged in eight weeks’ time, if I wasn’t serious.”

“Then why all the dates this summer? I can’t imagine it was all the same girl.” Despite the probing, she doesn’t seem all that invested in the answer, still casually lying with her face covered on her board.

“Not the same girl. If it were, I wouldn’t be here. And all the dates because… isn’t that what people do when they’re looking for a relationship?”

“I guess.” She accepts the answer easier than I expect. Why does it bother me that she doesn’t seem to care at all?

“So, what’s your type?” she continues, pressing on with her line of questioning.

“I don’t really have one.”

“Everyone has a type,” she volleys back.

“Then what’s yours?”

“Someone with depth.” If the sun weren’t in her eyes, I’d bet anything she’d be raising one eyebrow at me. “Someone who enjoys music. And likes to travel.”

I nod.

“Your turn.”

I realize I’ve never really given this much thought, which is ironic, considering how much I want it. I guess I always figured the perfect woman would just land in my lap. The whole when you know, you know thing.

But what do I actually want in a partner?

“I guess… someone with their own goals and passions. Someone who also wants to settle down. Who likes me . The real me, not just the version they’ve built in their head.”

“Okay. What about looks-wise? Blonde? Brunette? Tits or ass?”

Did Logan’s baby sister just ask me if I’m a tits or ass guy? What alternate universe did I just paddleboard into?

“All of the above,” I mutter, because describing my ideal woman to Mia feels weird. For a lot of reasons.

Like the fact that I’m currently trying not to stare at her.

Or that she’s lounging next to me in what barely qualifies as a swimsuit.

Or that I’m supposed to be protecting her. Not picturing what she’d look like without the scraps of fabric.

Luckily, she can’t read my thoughts and moves on to the next question, none the wiser.

She props herself up on one elbow, gaze fixed on the water. “Deal-breakers?”

“Did you prepare these questions ahead of time?”

“So what if I did?”

“I’m just surprised you’re taking this seriously.”

As my board starts to drift away from hers, I paddle gently to keep us— our boards —close.

“Call it curiosity. Plus, what else am I supposed to do to entertain myself?” she adds.

“You can’t already be bored. It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

Logan’s always going on about her short attention span and inability to commit, but this feels extreme. Even for her.

She tips her head from side to side. “I can see it getting old quickly. Anyway. Deal-breakers?”

“What, are you in a rush?”

“Well, our time is probably limited. It’s not like we’re going to get many chances to talk without mics on or cameras in our faces.”

She’s right. Water and thousand-dollar media equipment don’t exactly mix. They’re filming from a boat a few yards away.

I exhale, glance at the horizon. “I don’t know. Maybe if she doesn’t want kids?”

“You want kids?” She looks over at me, her voice missing its usual bite, curiosity lacing it instead.

“I think so.”

She nods. “I can see that. You’d be a good dad.”

“Wow. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she mutters. “What else… Oh, does she have to be able to move to Chicago?”

“I guess that’s not a deal-breaker. I only have so many years of playing left, so if she’s okay with a few years of long distance, I guess I could be, too.”

“You would?” She says it like she doesn’t quite believe me. “And you’d be faithful?”

“Of course I would,” I can’t help but snap. “What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

She doesn’t answer. Just gives a tiny shrug.

Infuriating woman.

“Moving should be a mutual decision. I don’t expect anyone to uproot their life just because we’re in love,” I explain.

“All right.” She shifts, moving carefully back into a kneeling position. “I can’t think of anything else. This is a good base. Anything to add?”

“Not right now.” I study her, realizing this might be the first real conversation we’ve ever had. I search my mental inventory of our interactions and… yep, I can’t recall another time we’ve had a somewhat meaningful, civil talk.

“Okay. Let me work my magic,” she calls over her shoulder, laughter in her voice as she paddles away. She bumps into Summer’s board, muttering something I can’t make out over the water and the chatter of the other women.

My brows pull together. I didn’t expect her to be this gung-ho. And now I’m slightly concerned about what “working her magic” looks like.