Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Anna

I stare up at the gorgeous man cozied up next to me, which is so odd, because I don't usually like being this close to strangers, much less large, strange men, and there's a whole empty booth on my other side, but I feel no desire to move away from him.

If anything, I want to snuggle into his side, but the part of my brain that isn't muzzied by two fairly strong Cosmos tells me that might be weird. And this guy still seems to think I'm mostly normal. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that.

But wait, did he just say …?

"You're a professional hockey player?" I blurt, then clap my hand over my mouth when I realize I practically screeched it.

I'm not normally a screecher, but I guess two drinks make me lose all sense of volume control.

Thankfully, Troy just smiles at me like he thinks I'm entertaining, but I get the feeling it's not like he thinks I'm ridiculous, but more like he thinks I'm endearing.

"Sorry," I whisper, overcorrecting the other way. "I didn't mean to yell."

He chuckles, stretching an arm along the booth behind me. "It's okay. I don't think anyone's paying attention to us."

Squinting one eye, I survey the people in the bar and shake my head. "Nope. You're wrong. My friend Brit over there is watching us verrrry closely."

He slouches down more, his eyebrows raised, his perfect, lush lips curved in a smile. "How many drinks have you had?"

Planting my elbow on the table, I hold up two fingers. "Just two."

His smile pulls wider. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're such a lightweight."

I try to glare at him, but it doesn't do anything but make him laugh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Shaking his head, he downs the rest of his beer. "You're little. And you don't strike me as a big drinker."

Scowling, I try to think of why I should be offended by that statement, but there's nothing wrong with it at face value. He's not saying it in a mean way, just as an observation. It's just that it's painfully close to what my ex-fiancé always said. "Jared always called me a lightweight," I say before I can stop myself. I can tell I'm a little tipsy because my filter isn't working all that well right now. Plus, my cheeks and the tips of my ears are extra warm. "He always said it kinda mean, though."

Muscles tick in that strong, clean-shaven jaw. "Who's Jared?"

I wave a hand, wanting to wave away both the question and the growly quality of his voice. "No one. My ex." I clear my throat. "Ex-fiancé."

Those muscles bulge again, and he looks away. "At least he's an ex," he mutters.

"Why do you say that?" His reaction surprises me. Usually when I mention that I broke up with a fiancé, people stumble over themselves to apologize and say how terrible that must be—even more so if I let slip how it all went down. But I put the brakes on that line of thought before I accidentally blurt it out. I don't want to distract Troy from telling me why he's glad I'm not with my ex anymore.

He studies me for a moment with those clear blue eyes. He's really pretty, and it takes every last shred of self-control I possess not to blurt those words out. Then he shakes his head and looks away. "He sounds like a dick," he says at length.

That surprises a bark of laughter out of me, which makes him look at me again. And if laughing keeps that expression on his face when he looks at me, I'll laugh all night long. It feels good—great, really—to have this beautiful man paying attention to me. A professional hockey player. With muscles on top of his muscles. Who saved me from the Frat Boy Brigade and thinks my ex is a dick.

I nod, twirling my empty glass. "You're not wrong. He is a dick." If there was any doubt, leaving me at the altar kind of unequivocally erased it. But I manage not to say that out loud too, because while this man saw me as someone in need of rescuing, he hasn't looked at me with pity once, and I don't want that to change.

"Uh-oh," he murmurs, and my brows crimp with worry.

"What's wrong?"

He jerks his chin toward the bar. "Your friend is coming to collect you. And it looks like the coast is clear. Your trio of assholes left. So I guess that means I have no reason to ask you to stay with me."

I blink up at him. "What if I want to stay with you?"

He grins again, obviously pleased, and I smile back. Picking up his phone, he pulls another business card out of the case on his phone, and I poke out my lower lip in a pout as I pick it up. "What's that look for?" he asks, his voice full of laughter.

"This is the card you gave to the guys. You gonna tell me to call the number to get some autographed merch? I don't even know anything about hockey or the Seattle Emeralds. I've never heard of you before tonight. What do I want with autographed merch?"

Still laughing, he shakes his head. "For one, you could sell it on eBay and probably make some extra cash."

I scoff at that idea. "Like I have the time or energy for that."

He taps the card. "While it is the same card, yours will be special." He pitches his voice low, making the words sound almost filthy. Then he flips the card over, pulls out a pen, and scrawls a number on the back. "This is my personal cell phone number. Call me. Or text me. Whichever. Then I can take you out for a proper first date."

On that bombshell, he stands, holds out his hand to help me out of the booth like the perfect gentleman he apparently is, and watches while Brit hooks her arm through mine.

"Hey, Anna." She sounds wary as she looks Troy up and down. "Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

"Brit, this is Troy. Troy, this is Brit." I nod perfunctorily, ignoring the warm grin on Troy's face as he watches me.

He holds out his hand to Brit, and she shakes it, though the wariness never leaves her expression.

"Troy swooped in and saved me from three frat boys who wouldn't leave me alone," I fill her in. "He acted like we were together, so to make it believable I had to sit with him until they left. But we got to talking, and I didn't even notice them leave, did you?" This last is directed at Troy.

Troy shakes his head, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "Nah. Like you said, I got distracted by our conversation."

"Well," Brit says, the statement acting as a period, ending the evening with its finality. "I need to get going since I'm working in the morning. Do you need me to give you a ride home?"

But the fuzzy feeling from the drinks is already wearing off, and I shake my head. "No, I'm good to drive. Thanks for inviting me tonight. Next time I promise not to get kidnapped by stray hockey players."

Brit's eyes widen, and she looks over Troy again, who shrugs his shoulders. "It was nice meeting you, Anna," he says to me. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Me too," I return with a smile, allowing Brit to tow me away.

The next morning I wake up later than normal. I stayed up late last night, departing from my typically rigid sleep routine, sipping tea, staring at my blank TV, and thinking.

Lots and lots of thinking. Until I finally got out a notebook and a pen and started writing down some of my thoughts. I always feel more organized when I have things written down.

First, I wrote down the reasons that my relationship with Jared failed. And it boils down to the reality that I'm shy and timid and … boring.

It's painful to admit, but that's the reality. Even now, my life is fairly boring. My reason for moving to Arcadian Falls was at least partly because I thought it'd be easier to get away with being boring and no one would really notice.

I didn't count on the fact that in small towns everyone is in everyone's business all the time. Or I didn't realize it, having spent most of my life in the greater Seattle area. Even the "smaller" towns around there aren't small like Arcadian Falls.

In Seattle, I had a tight-knit community of friends, and they all cared about me, but in Arcadian Falls, I was supposed to be able to just escape. I hadn't realized it's impossible to be anonymous here. Everyone knows me because nearly everyone sees Dr. Banks twice a year. And taking over for the man's daughter … well, that was the talk of the town for months after I showed up, both the fact of her leaving and the fact of me replacing her.

Anonymity would've been easier in Seattle, except staying there—even somewhere close to there—was too painful. There were too many memories, too much of my life there associated with Jared and his family. Hell, even my job was associated with him and his family. I worked for his parents' car dealership, starting as a part-time receptionist in college and eventually working my way up to office manager after I graduated. Going to work every day was great when Jared and I were engaged. I felt like part of the family. Like me working there solidified my place with them. Like I mattered.

And then our wedding day came. I was there, but Jared was nowhere to be found.

He just … disappeared without a word. At least not to me.

Eventually his mother came and broke the news that he wasn't coming. He'd called his dad, said he couldn't go through with it, and got on a plane to Cabo. Where we were supposed to go on our honeymoon. He'd changed his ticket, caught an earlier flight, and left me to deal with the fallout.

My mom wanted me to quit my job immediately—and I wanted to, too, if I'm honest—but how would I pay my bills? And who would pay for the apartment I shared with Jared? Would he stay there? Would I?

There were so many logistical questions to figure out, but after a few days, it became clear to me that I couldn't possibly stay. Even if I'd been able to afford the place on my own—which I couldn't—staying in that place, in that bed, surrounded by wedding gifts that needed to be returned, staring at the beautiful gown that symbolized all my dashed hopes, lost dreams, and the future I'd never get, I couldn't do it. I had to leave. Go somewhere else where no one knew me, no one knew what happened, and I could just be a face in a crowd.

So I started looking for jobs, ones that required me to move, casting a wide net through the entire region. Jared stayed with his parents after he returned from Cabo until I could move out. Dr. Banks called me for an interview the day after I sent in my resume. He needed a receptionist quickly and was delighted I didn't need to give a lengthy notice period to my current job. Jared's parents were only too happy to give me a glowing reference and waive the usual two weeks of notice officially required by the job, paying out the usual period as vacation time. They were as happy to be rid of me as I was to get away from them, I think. Or it eased their guilt, at least. But I was grateful. It meant I didn't have to face them, face everyone, day after day. I didn't have to face my shame at being abandoned in the most humiliating fashion. At not being enough to keep the man I'd been with for four years.

So I write down every complaint Jared ever voiced about me—too rigid, unwilling to try new things, unable to compromise—though that last one still feels completely unfair, as I compromised so many things so many times in an attempt to keep him happy. But the core problem was that I'm unable to loosen up, in life or in the bedroom.

I've always suspected that was what killed our relationship. He accused me of being frigid, though I've never felt like I was. I wanted to enjoy our sex life, but he didn't seem to care much about what I liked. And I thought maybe if I became what he wanted, he would match my effort. I tried. I tried so hard, and in the end, it wasn't enough.

But to some degree, he's right. I am rigid and inflexible in many ways. My life is ordered and dedicated to routine. It's not like I freak out when things force my routine to change. I just like to be efficient with my time. And my hobbies are fairly solitary, which I can see how they'd seem boring on the outside. I enjoy them, but maybe it'd be good to add new things. I don't have to give up knitting and take up … I don't know, team sports? What's a hobby that involves other people? That's the only one I can come up with.

Turning to a new page in my notebook, I write it down. Because while I don't have to give up knitting, I do need to get out of my normal routine of work, home, and knitting in front of my TV after dinner if I want to be more social and spontaneous.

I'll also take up Brit on her invitations. And … sucking in a deep breath, I write down Invite Brit to get a drink .

She and Victoria used to ask me to join them for after-work drinks. Which I always turned down for reasons I can't articulate. I guess because I figured they'd find me boring too, and it was easier to choose to be on my own than face another rejection. But Victoria's mostly gone, now, spending most of the year in California. And I know Brit misses her. Somehow her invite doesn't feel like it's motivated by pity as much these days. Maybe it never was.

Who am I kidding? It never was, no maybe about it. Last night was enough to prove that. Even after I abandoned girls' night in favor of the hunky hockey player, she waited around for me.

Yes, extending an invitation to Brit to get dinner or after-work drinks or something is definitely appropriate. And I can go to the weekly knit night at Fuzzy Fibers. Look at me, filling my social calendar in almost no time.

Reaching over, I pick up the business card on my end table. The card Troy gave me last night with his personal cell phone number. I googled him last night—as well as the info printed on the card—needing to confirm that I wasn't hallucinating and he wasn't totally full of shit and leading on a gullible girl. Not that I really thought so, but I guess I've read too many ridiculous stories on the internet of people getting taken in by convincing con men. I don't want to be another hapless victim. After what happened with Jared, I couldn't handle something like that.

But of course, he wasn't lying. He's a retired hockey player. I watched the press conference where he announced his upcoming retirement, the interview he gave after his last game, a few clips of the sportscasters discussing his career and retirement, and a few clips of him playing.

I still haven't decided what to do about him, though. Something about reaching out to him feels risky.

Who am I kidding? It feels terrifying.

But also exhilarating.

The way he smiled at me, the safety I felt with the broad expanse of his torso guarding me … I want to feel that again. I'm just afraid it was a fluke, though. A one-time thing born of the night, the alcohol, the atmosphere, and the way he swooped in to successfully keep the Frat Boy Brigade from continuing to harass me.

If I'm going to embark on an effort to change myself, though, to become less boring, this is the perfect opportunity, isn't it? How much less boring could I be than pursuing a fling with a professional athlete while he's here on vacation?

Feeling rash and brave, I pick up my phone, open my texts, type in his number, and send him a message.

Hi, it's Anna from last night. Want to join me for brunch?

It's bold. It's uncompromising.

And as soon as I hit send, I wish I could delete it and pretend it never happened. But I can't. It's too late.

I stare at my phone, unsure if I want him to respond right away or never. With a quiet shriek of frustration, I stuff it under a throw pillow and march myself to the shower. Distraction is the only option.