Page 41 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

THIRTY-SEVEN

It took all of five minutes for Mia to pass out last night.

And I don’t think she’s moved a muscle since. To be fair, I’m not sure I have either.

I slept like the dead, but waking up next to her feels like coming back to life. I could get used to this. Having her in my bed every morning.

She looks peaceful. Almost angelic. Not a word I’d use to describe her when she’s awake. Awake, she’s all fire.

And I’m starting to realize that’s by design. Most people avoid walking into burning buildings. When they do, they don’t stick around for long.

She’s scared of letting me get too close. I don’t totally understand it, but I know enough about mental health to know it doesn’t always care about reason.

I’ve spent an absurd amount of time in therapy dissecting my own childhood trauma, and I wonder, not for the first time, whether Mia losing her mom before she had a chance to know her has anything to do with this. Does she blame herself? Is that why her walls are so high?

Then again, even people with perfect childhoods carry invisible scars.

I like hers.

Wouldn’t mind if she carved one into me.

I glance down at my hands, my arms, my chest, covered in “art,” but they’re scars, too, in their own way. My coping mechanism. A controlled kind of pain. A distraction from the kind that cuts deeper—the kind no one else sees.

She stirs, and I let out a breath, relieved that I’m not the one who has to interrupt her dreams. After rolling onto her back, she blinks up at me and rubs the sleep from her eyes. A pillow mark indents one cheek. I want to lick it.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I think I finally get that whole so cute I want to eat her thing.

“Are you watching me sleep? Like a creep?”

I meet her gaze and huff a laugh. “You know it.”

“Lovely.” She sits up and checks the time on the nightstand. “Shit. It’s almost eight. Isn’t Bodhi supposed to pick you up for your date? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Because if I had, you would’ve left.

I shrug and shake the iced coffee in my hand before offering it to her. “They didn’t have that weird French toast concoction, so I grabbed something equally sickeningly sweet. Let me know how it is.”

She takes a sip and practically moans, the straw still poised between her lips. My dick twitches.

“And I don’t know,” I add. “Bodhi failed to mention I had anything on today, remember?”

She nods, wrapped up in her caffeine fix. “Thank you for this.”

She stands, then pauses, clocking her nakedness. I don’t bother hiding that I’m looking. She slides her pants on, followed by her top, then reclaims the drink from the floor.

“What’re you doing today? Can I see you later?” I can’t help but ask.

She glances over her shoulder, pushing tangled strands out of her face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if I just see you tomorrow?” It should be a statement, but she asks it like a question.

I don’t agree, but I nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

She nods too, again and again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “Yeah. I think so.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

One night, fine. But I’m not letting her keep her distance for long.

We’re only here for a little over a week. Three dates in three days before I have to—according to producers—send Summer home. Then it’s four days of suite dates. Overnight. Intimate. Which is exactly why I need to set Emma straight today. Whether Bodhi likes it or not.

“Okay.” She slips on her shoes and heads for the door. “Have a good date,” she calls over her shoulder.

I nearly trip over my own feet trying to catch her. “Hey! Hold on a second.”

She pauses with one hand on the door lever, facing away from me.

I step in, slide my arms around her shoulders, and gently turn her. “You’re really going to run off without saying goodbye?”

“I said, ‘Have a good date.’ Isn’t that sufficient?”

I smile despite myself. “Not even close.”

I kiss her. Soft at first, but it shifts almost immediately. If this is all I get of her today, I’m going to make it count. My mouth moves over hers, deeper, more forceful, until her back hits the door with a thud.

Christ . Letting her go is impossible.

And yeah, I know it’s only for a day. But if this is what a few hours apart feels like, how the hell am I supposed to handle it during the season? The road trips, the back-to-back games, the weeks without her?

That’s a problem for another day.

She shifts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay… I guess I’ll go.”

“Tomorrow,” I remind her. And myself.

She gives me a small nod.

There’s a beat of silence—too long to be comfortable, too short to say what either of us might actually want to?—

And then she slips out the door.

“So,” I start again, but like clockwork, the second I try to get real with Emma, either she or Bodhi finds a way to derail it.

“Cut!” Bodhi’s voice slices through the air. “Dominic, can I get a minute?”

Of course.

I nod and follow him behind one of the many towering bookshelves, tucked far enough back that production won’t catch on to what’s clearly going to be another come-to-Jesus moment.

The bar we’re filming in tonight looks less like a nightlife hotspot and more like someone’s grandfather’s study.

Leather armchairs, flickering wall sconces, and bookshelves that stretch from floor to ceiling that create intimate little nooks.

The drinks are served in heavy glass tumblers, and everything smells faintly of old pages and cedar.

It’s the kind of place Emma lit up over the second we walked in.

Mia would’ve called it stuffy and dared me to steal a book.

And I would’ve.

After a full day on a catamaran cruise, where I spent more time wishing Mia was with me than being present with Emma, I came here with a plan to be honest. What I didn’t plan for was how hard it would be. Not because I don’t want to say the words, but because every time I try to, I get shut down.

All I want is to break up with one of my “girlfriends.” Not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.

As soon as we’re alone, Bodhi spins on me. “What are you doing?” He throws his clipboard onto a nearby armchair and starts pacing. “We talked about this. We had an agreement.”

“I can’t do it.” My jaw stays tight. “It’s all wrong.”

“Is this about some moral compass, man?” He walks a few steps away, then doubles back.

I scratch the back of my neck. “It’s not right. Messing with someone’s feelings like this.”

“Look, I like Emma,” he starts. “I really do. But everyone knows what they’re signing up for. Yeah, we want a love story, but we also want a story . And good stories need tension. Drama.”

“If this is just about the filming, let me talk to her off-camera. I’m sure if I explain, she’ll understand. Maybe I gave her the wrong impression early on, but I haven’t led her on. I don’t see how this will come as a shock to her.”

The look on his face gives me pause.

“Perfect,” he says, a little too quickly. “Here’s how we play it. Finish the date, walk her back to the hotel, and somewhere along the way, pull her aside. We won’t follow. Then we’ll cut it to look like you snuck away for a romantic moment. Leaves the audience guessing.”

I’m shaking my head before he finishes. “Absolutely not. What happens when my future kids see the episode and think I was a cheating bastard?”

Bodhi’s brows shoot up, and he clearly fights back a laugh. “Wait, what? You don’t even have kids. You just skipped, like ten steps ahead.”

“The point still holds.”

“I’m not totally convinced it does,” he mutters, flipping through his paperwork. “Fine.”

His eyes scan the room. “You can sneak away in here somewhere. It’s public enough that your ‘future children’ won’t think you’re a dick. But you’re not sending her home?—”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” he agrees with a sigh.

I nod. It’s the best-case scenario, isn’t it? Emma doesn’t have to feel embarrassed, I don’t have a boom mic in my face, and we can end things with some dignity.

Perfect.

In theory.

Once it’s settled, we head back. Bodhi gets behind the camera, and I head to the bar. Emma offers a small smile as I slide onto my stool.

“Everything okay?” Her voice is light, but her eyes search mine.

“It’s great.” I hope I’m not lying.

My palms sweat as we ease into casual conversation and sip our drinks, hers a glass of red, mine a mocktail. When she excuses herself to the bathroom, I watch her disappear down a hallway tucked behind a wall of books. This is my shot.

I find an empty chair just off the path she’ll take on her way back. It’s tucked far enough from the bar to feel private, mostly out of view. Bodhi must have told the crew not to follow. Just like we agreed.

I sit, wiping my palms on my jeans. I wasn’t lying to Mia. I’ve never had to end something before. Not really. Most of my relationships, if you can even call them that, never made it past a night or two. Short, easy, nothing that needed a conversation like this.

My knee bounces as I run through the words in my head.

Emma, I think you’re great.

No, too vague. Too much room for misinterpretation.

Emma, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.

Better. True.

But my heart’s with someone else.

Also true. But does it sound like I’ve been watching too many rom-coms?

Emma—

“Hey, what’re you doing?” the woman herself asks, pulling me out of my head.

I look up, startled. “Oh, hey. I—uh—I wanted to talk to you. Alone .”

Her eyes brighten in a way that immediately sets off alarms. Instead of confusion or concern, I’m met with a hopeful smile. She looks… pleased. Like this is exactly the moment she’s been waiting for.

“Oh,” she says, a little breathless. “I’ve been wanting time alone with you, too.”

Before I can say anything—clarify, redirect, literally anything —she grabs my hand and starts walking.

“Where are we going?” I manage to ask, still stunned.

She leads me down a narrow hallway, past the wall of books, to an alcove that looks like one of those old-fashioned phone booths.

“You’ve been so patient?—”

“No, that’s not?—”

“And I really appreciate that?—”

“Emma, wait ?—”

She slides her arms around my neck and presses against me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I jerk back so fast I nearly bust my ass, heel catching on the ledge behind me. I grab the wall to steady myself and put immediate space between us.

My heart’s racing, but not in a good way. Was she… was she really about to kiss me?

Shit.

She blinks at me, confusion flickering behind her eyes. “Wait… what’s wrong?”

I take a breath. “I didn’t mean for this to be confusing. I just needed a second to talk to you. Off-camera.”

Her arms wrap loosely around her middle. “Okay, I’m listening.”

I nod, searching for the right words. “Emma, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. You’re smart, thoughtful, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. But I think—” I exhale. “I know my heart’s with someone else.”

There’s a beat. Her smile falters, but doesn’t disappear. “Right. Well… It’s still early. You’re exploring connections.”

Why does that sound almost identical to what Mia said to me last night?

I shake my head. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

Her lips part, like she’s going to argue, but she stops. Tilts her head, a soft furrow forming between her brows. “So, this is it? You’re choosing her?”

I don’t say Mia’s name. I don’t have to. We both know.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

She nods. “Okay…”

But her eyes hold mine a second too long. Her smile stays in place, just a little too tight.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Dominic.”

“I hope you do, too.”

There’s another beat of silence before I say, “There’s something else…”

She waits.

“Production doesn’t want me to send you home. Not yet. They want you in the final two.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t want to keep you in the dark, or make it seem like I’m stringing you along. That’s why I wanted to tell you now. If you’re okay sticking it out?—”

“Of course.” Her voice is light, practiced. “I understand.”

That smile still hasn’t moved.

Then she brushes past me, back toward the bar, spine straight and head high.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Didn’t ask me to reconsider.

I should feel relieved.

Instead, all I can think is: that went a little too well.