Chapter 5

To sayI'm nervous about a nine-hour bus ride with twenty professional hockey players would be the understatement of the century. I cope with my nerves by doing what I usually do when I'm stressed out.

I call my sister.

"Hey!" she says, her cheerful voice filling my car. "Are you there yet? Are you on the bus? Can you send me a picture?"

"Stop it. I'm not there yet. I'm driving over now."

"Are you nervous?"

"Weirdly, I'm more nervous about the bus ride than I am the actual contract negotiation. Is that the stupidest thing ever?"

"Not for you," Lucy says. "You live for contract negotiations."

"True."

"How's Nathan?" she asks, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Why are you only asking about him?"

"Because he's the only one you ever mention by name. Are we ready to call it a crush yet?"

I sigh. "I've been trying so hard not to have a crush. Am I that obvious?"

"Pretty obvious, yeah," Lucy says. "But why are you trying to avoid it? A crush is a good thing, right?"

"Lucy. Do you remember the story about the guy who complained about his parking space? We're talking about the same guy. How rude was that?" I pull into the Summit parking lot and ease to a stop beside an enormous black bus.

"I mean, rude," Lucy says. "But I think that makes him seem like a challenge. And when have you ever backed down from one of those?"

"In the tenth grade when you told me you had a crush on Grady Peterson."

Lucy is silent for a beat before saying, "What? You also had a crush on him?"

"I had for months." I shift the car into park but keep the engine running. "But you were so earnest. You almost seemed like you were going to cry when you told me how you felt, so I just…decided you were more invested, and I should back off."

"That's so dumb. I never even talked to him! You would have, and he totally would have liked you back."

"Meh. It wouldn't have lasted. After how mean he was to his little sister at the homecoming dance, I would have dumped him."

"Oh my gosh! I remember that. He made her cry in front of all her friends, but I can't remember why." Through the phone, I hear Lucy walking, then make out the sound of her keys jangling before she pushes open the squeaky wooden door of the old house she lives in. The house I used to live in.

She lives there on her own now—which is the strangest thought. A year ago, she and Audrey and I all lived in Silver Creek together. Now Audrey is married to a movie star, and I'm living ninety minutes away in Harvest Hollow, leaving Lucy all alone.

She's fine—I know she's fine. And she knew better than anyone how much I needed a fresh start, but hearing that old squeaky door still makes my heart hurt a little bit.

"Who cares why?" I say. "It proved Grady Peterson wasn't worth our time. That's all that matters."

"So, is this hockey player worth your time? Be objective for a minute. Even though he grumbled about his parking space, do you think he's a nice guy?"

I sink back into my seat, thinking of the way Nathan stood up for me when Dominik ran his mouth. "The jury's still out on that one. But my instincts are telling me he probably is."

"Tell me what he looks like," she prompts.

I bite my lip, immediately conjuring the image of Nathan looming over my desk, shower-damp and smelling delicious. Nathan gliding across the ice, somehow looking powerful and graceful all at the same time. Nathan washing dishes in Felix's kitchen.

"You should see him, Lu. He's…I don't know. Massive, for one. All the guys are. So much muscle and broad shoulders, but he's so tall, too. And I know I've never liked guys with long hair, but on him, it just works, and…oh man." I sigh. "I really do have a crush, don't I?"

"Sounds like it. Which could be fun, you know? Maybe just let it be and see what happens?"

"Maybe. But it could be risky, right? I just started this job."

"Whatever. People date coworkers all the time. It always matters in books more than it matters in real life," Lucy says. "Just be a little more careful than usual, but I wouldn't sweat it. You won't let it mess up your job."

Assuming there's even an it to consider. Which there probably isn't, so it doesn't matter.

"How are things in Silver Creek?" I ask, ready to stop talking about my own silly problems. I glance through the rearview mirror to see Appies' support staff loading piles of gear into the bottom of the bus. I still haven't seen any players, so I don't feel a need to hurry.

"Lonely," Lucy answers. "But okay. It's nice having Mom and Dad back in town." Our parents spent the last two years of their retirement traversing the country in an RV, but they've finally returned home, something that made it that much easier for me to leave Lucy and move here.

"And work is good?" I ask, hoping to hear a little more from her so I can truly gauge how my sister is doing.

"Same as usual, though we did just get a new attending who literally looks just like Patrick Dempsey in his Dr. McDreamy phase. Pretty sure he's married and has like twelve kids or something, but he's definitely improving the scenery."

Okay. She sounds okay.

"I miss you, Lu."

"Miss you too. Keep me posted? And I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind a bus selfie with you and all the Appies."

"For you, I'll see what I can do."

By the time I say goodbye and disconnect the call, it seems like most of the team has made it onto the bus, so I hurry out of my car and retrieve my suitcase from the trunk. I wheel it over to the rest of the accumulating travel gear, then make my way to the bus door.

Eli is standing next to it, his arms around his wife, Bailey, as he kisses her goodbye. He doesn't even seem to care that half the team is banging on the windows from inside the bus, whistling and catcalling.

I catch Bailey's eye as she pulls back from the kiss, and she lifts her hand, giving me a shy wave. I haven't met Bailey yet, but Parker has told me a lot about her and her whirlwind romance with Eli. She seems like someone I would like, and I find myself hoping I can eventually get to know her better.

I climb onto the bus and pause, my eyes scanning over the few remaining empty seats. The bus is configured a little differently than typical. At the very back, there's a table with bench seats on either side, where it looks like the general manager, Malik, Coach Davis, and a few assistant coaches have already settled in. The middle section is where most of the players are sitting and then, toward the front, are the team trainers and a few other staff members I haven't met yet.

Nathan is sitting halfway down the bus in a row by himself, staring out the window with the same frowning expression he always wears. I feel a sudden impulse to walk straight down the aisle and plop myself into the empty seat next to him just to see the look on his face. I don't know why I like needling this man—maybe because he's so hard to needle, and Lucy's right about me seeing him as a challenge. I've never seen anyone so stoic, so completely unflappable. Still, despite my impulse, I'm smart enough to recognize what the ramifications of that kind of forward move might be. To blatantly choose him when there are so many empty seats? I might as well hold up a giant poster with big black letters telling the whole team I have a crush on Nathan Sanders.

Plus, he already has headphones on. Nothing about his body language says he's looking for a seatmate.

I'm bold, yes. But I'm not an idiot.

Instead, I choose a vacant row close-ish to the front. I don't think there are enough of us to fill the entire bus, so I'm hoping I won't have to share and will be able to spread out a little. Maybe even take a nap.

I should have known better.

We've only been on the road half an hour when Tucker drops into the empty seat beside me, his reddish-brown hair flopping onto his forehead. I recognize him by name, but we've never had reason to speak directly, so his appearance catches me by surprise.

"Hey, Tucker," I say, eyebrows raised. "What's up?"

"Actually, I was just reading over the deferred compensation section of the AHL's collective bargaining agreement, and I was wondering if you could explain the finer points of how that works."

I scratch behind my ear and stare, blinking for several long moments while my brain catches up to the moment. It's not that I wouldn't expect any of the guys to ask me legal questions, this one just takes me completely by surprise. I'm familiar with the AHL's CBA, but I'm not even close to being able to answer questions like this one off-hand.

"Tucker, I wish I could tell you I have the whole collective bargaining agreement memorized, but I'm not there yet. Can you give me a couple of days to read over it, and I'll get back to you?"

He smiles, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sure. Thanks, Summer."

Two minutes later, Dumbo takes Tucker's place and asks me an equally complicated question. This one doesn't have anything to do with hockey, but it's still loosely related to the law, so I stumble my way through as best I can. Dumbo doesn't seem even a little bit interested in what I'm saying, but he smiles and says thank you just like Tucker did.

When he gets up and Van sits down seconds later, I start to wonder if I'm being played.

"Okay, here's the situation," Van says. "There are these fans who have started making hoodies with my face on them. I'm flattered, but they're starting to sell them." He leans toward me, eyes sparkling. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I love seeing women wear my face. But…is it legal? Should I be trying to cash in on this? Do I need to license my face?"

I press my lips together, still uncertain about whether I should take him seriously. But this actually is a reasonable question. And when else are these guys supposed to ask me things like this? When they're at work, they're mostly on the ice or in the weight room. Why not take advantage of a very long bus ride when we're all just sitting around anyway?

"It's not technically legal," I say. "But usually, things like this are hard to stop and rarely worth the cost of adjudication. I'll mention it to Grant, but if it doesn't bother you, and they aren't selling them at actual games, it's probably something he'll want to ignore."

"Awesome," Van says, grinning. "Cause I kinda dig it."

Alec shows up next. "Hey, Summer, you know what a chicken becomes when it graduates from law school?"

Okay. These guys are definitely up to something. "What's that?" I ask, already rolling my eyes.

He grins. "Legal tender."

"Okay." I stand up and turn to face the team. "Is this some sort of low-key hazing? Some sort of weird initiation for the new kid?"

A few of the guys start to laugh, and Felix shoots me an apologetic look, though even he's smiling.

"Hahaha," I say. "You're all very funny. But we're done now, right?" I try to make my tone sound menacing, but I'm talking to a bus full of men who make a living ramming into each other, so honestly, how terrifying could they possibly find me?

"We have no idea what you're talking about, Counsel," Tucker says, a wry grin on his face. "A few guys had a few legal questions. We didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't mind real questions," I say.

Van raises his hand. "Mine was totally real."

"And I was happy to answer. No, Van. You do not need to license your face," I say, and a ripple of laughter moves across the bus. "But if one more person comes up here with a bad lawyer joke or a question that sounds like they just pulled it off a Reddit list of the stupidest questions to ask attorneys, I'm taking names down, and I'm going to make sure Parker knows you're the ones who should wear the leopard print in the next video she's planning."

The guys chuckle, and Dumbo shoves Tucker in the seat beside him, saying something that makes the guys closest to him laugh even harder.

I'm not sorry I can't hear him from where I'm standing.

I don't actually know anything about the videos Parker is planning, but based on what I've seen so far, leopard print feels well within the realm of possibility.

"Are we understood?" I say, propping one hand on my hip, my eyes moving over the team. When my eyes pass over Nathan, his gaze quickly darts away.

As I sit back down, I'm not even a little convinced the team will leave me alone, but soon, five minutes of peace and quiet turns into ten, then fifteen. Only then do I hear a scuffle and some whisper-shouts from behind me.

I turn just in time to see Nathan's enormous form standing in the middle of the aisle, one hand on Dominik's shoulder as he pushes him back into his seat.

Nathan ambles forward and sits down beside me. I wait for him to ask me a legal question, or maybe say something about parking spaces, but he doesn't say a word. He just crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, extending his feet into the aisle and closing his eyes.

Well. Okay, then.

I endure another forty-five seconds of silence—which is actually fifteen million hours long—before I finally ask, "What—no question from you?"

He cracks one eye open, revealing a sliver of deep blue, then grunts, shifts in his seat, and closes it again.

"Sorry, I don't speak grunt. Try again?"

For a second, I think he might smile. I feel a sudden craving for the sight. I've never seen Nathan Sanders smile, but something tells me it would be spectacular. With those cheekbones and those amazing full lips—I really should stop staring—I bet his entire face transforms.

He turns his head, showing me both of his eyes this time. Dark blue, fringed with thick brown lashes that are almost as long on the bottom as they are on top. It's entirely unfair for him to have those lashes. Also unfair that noticing them only fuels the attraction I'm trying my best to fight.

"It was Dominik's turn," he says simply. He holds my gaze, his look saying so much more than his words.

Nathan is here so Dominik won't be.

Understanding settles over me like a warm, cozy blanket. He's doing this for me. He's here for me.

"I could have handled Dominik," I say, though I'm anything but disappointed Nathan is here instead.

"I don't doubt it," he responds. "But just because you can doesn't mean you should have to."

I think of what Parker told me, about Dominik getting mouthy in the locker room, and how the guys roughed him up at practice as a result. This guy in particular.

Am I a strong, independent woman? Absolutely.

Does it feel amazing to know this man has made an effort to protect me? To demand better behavior from his teammate? Hell, yes.

"Thank you, Nathan," I say softly.

He waves a dismissive hand. "I figured I owed you after the whole parking space thing."

I smile. "Yeah. I've asked around. Apparently, I can park wherever I want."

"True. You can," Nathan says.

"So what was that? Are you a man set in his ways? Oh!" I turn sideways in my seat so I can face him. "Is it a superstition? A lot of athletes have those, right?"

He leans his head back and gives it a tiny shake, almost like he's annoyed by the question. But then he looks over and holds my gaze, his perpetually serious expression giving me a little shiver. "I don't care about the parking space. I was just…surprised to see you. And that's what happened to come out of my mouth."

Huh. Interesting. Despite his very grouchy greeting, Nathan Sanders definitely remembered me. And he wasn't just surprised when he saw me. He was flustered, too.

"So, what?" I ask, slightly emboldened by this new revelation. "Are you just going to sit here for the rest of the trip?"

He leans his head back and closes his eyes again, his arms resting on his chest like he doesn't have a care in the world. "If I have to."

"Wow. And by the sound of it, you'll enjoy yourself too."

He shoots me a wry expression, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile but never fully giving in. "I don't mind."

His admission feels like another tiny victory. "What about me? Are you worried about whether I mind?"

I don't. I really, really don't.

He shifts, starting to heft himself out of the seat. "You know what? I can just go and make room for?—"

"No!" I say quickly, wrapping my hands around his forearm before he can actually stand up. "I'd rather sit beside you than anyone else on the team."

His eyebrows lift, and I realize how bold my words sounded. I quickly drop his arm, but I won't wish my words back, no matter how embarrassed I feel. Even if he is grumpy and unsmiling—it's true. I really would choose him over anyone else, and I'd rather own that than pretend otherwise. I'm too old to play games, at least when it comes to men.

Though I am tempted to turn making Nathan smile into a game. There has to be a secret, and I feel a new determination to figure out what it is.

"I'll stay, then," he says, his tone slightly more gentle than before. "But you're welcome to pretend I'm not here." He gestures toward my laptop, which has been sitting across my thighs unopened for the past hour. "You can work or whatever."

Ha. Like I'm going to be able to do any kind of work with his big body filling the space beside me. If I lean to the right the slightest bit, I can feel the warmth radiating off his arm, and the air between us carries a touch of his spicy clean scent. It's intoxicating—and incredibly distracting.

But Nathan has been determined to nap since he first sat down, and I doubt very seriously he'll abandon his cause just to talk to me, so I begrudgingly open my laptop and pull up the revised contracts Flex sent over.

There are a few things they haven't changed yet, but I don't get the sense they're trying to pull one over on me. It's more like their inexperience is keeping them from knowing what they should and shouldn't ask for. Their exclusivity clause, for example, is completely unreasonable. Especially given the popularity of the Appies. The language in their contract is so limiting that it could, if strictly interpreted, prohibit the guys from wearing anything branded, including the Appies team logo.

I also want to see terms that provide extra compensation should Alec or Nathan wear Flex gear in any posts, images, or videos shared or promoted by the Appies' social media accounts, or during any public appearances with the team.

Flex isn't wrong for wanting the team's reach and image to help boost their sales. But they aren't contracting with the entire team, they're contracting with two players, and it shouldn't be assumed that these things will happen.

I feel confident we'll be able to iron out these issues. It's a good brand, and the compensation they're offering is competitive. Makes me think they must have gotten a recent infusion of capital and are trusting the Appies' rising stars will help them gain the traction they're looking for.

Beside me, Nathan's breathing steadies—can ALL men sleep anywhere, in any position?—and I fall into my work, rewriting the terms of the contract for the next hour. It's surprisingly easy to work sitting next to Nathan. His presence is soothing, reassuring in a way I did not expect. Turns out, it's actually pretty nice to stop worrying about who might come talk to me next.

Though, I have a feeling I'd find Nathan's presence comforting anywhere.

When work starts to bore me, I swap my laptop for my Kindle, but the steady hum of the bus, and maybe the fact that Nathan is still sleeping beside me makes it hard to focus on the novel I'm reading, and I eventually nod off.

I wake up what could be minutes or hours later—I honestly have no idea—when my pillow shifts and a warm hand wraps around my arm, nudging me just slightly.

"Summer. Hey. Time to wake up." The deep voice is quiet and close, and in my sleep-addled state, it has the opposite effect. It doesn't make me want to wake up—it makes me want to snuggle in close and sleep more. I let out a low moan, lifting a hand to wrap it around my pillow…except my pillow is Nathan's shoulder and my hand is curved around his bicep.

And it is one nice bicep.

Slowly, I sit up and slide my hand off Nathan's arm, mostly because I think I might have been drooling. Even if I wasn't, I was absolutely using Nathan as my personal pillow, groping him like he was some sort of body pillow I wanted to hug closer.

I wipe the corner of my mouth, my cheeks flushing as I glance at his shirt, hoping against hope I didn't leave a drool spot there.

"Worried you drooled on me?" Nathan says.

I look up to meet his gaze as the warmth in my face flames hot. His mouth is still set in a neutral line, but it looks like his eyes are smiling. "Little bit."

He looks at his shirt sleeve. "I think you're safe, but you did snore."

I let out a little gasp. "I did not."

"You definitely did."

In the aisle beside us, players and Appies staff are shuffling off the bus. I have no idea where we are or how long I slept, but it's already dark outside, so we can't be that far from Chicago.

I glance at my watch. Just after six. Only three more hours to go if we're on schedule.

"You're making things up," I say to Nathan as I stretch my arms over my head. "I've had a twin sister my entire life, and we always shared a room. She would definitely have let me know if I snored. Where are we? Are we eating?" I look out the window and see several restaurants, including a Chipotle and a Panera, all within walking distance of where the bus is parked at the back edge of a parking lot.

"Looks like it," Nathan says. "And you can tell yourself whatever you want, but I'm telling you, today, here, you were snoring."

"Hey, Summer." I turn and see Malik standing at the front of the bus. "Grab a bite with me? I've got a few things I'd like to discuss."

I quickly nod, pretending I'm not disappointed. "Of course. I'll be right out."

Nathan steps out of the row and backs up, motioning me forward. "After you."

If it were up to me, I'd eat dinner with Nathan, spend some time with him while we aren't sleeping, and see if I can coax out an actual smile. But this is work, and wanting to get to know Nathan better is not a reason to ignore the Appies' general manager.

I grab my bag and hold up my finger, pointing it at Nathan. "We aren't done discussing my lack of snoring," I say.

And finally, finally, Nathan smiles. It's small. Definitely not a real smile, but it's something, and the sight of it makes my heart flop around in my chest.

"I look forward to it," he says, and the lightness in his tone makes me think he actually means it.