"If you dated like a normal person, you wouldn't have this issue, you know," she says.
I scowl at her again.
"I'm not judging you," she murmurs, holding up her hands. "I grew up the same way you did, dealing with the same type of crap because of Dad. Believe me, I get it. But you never let yourself believe there are decent men out there."
"Because there haven't been."
"There have. You just weren't interested."
She might be right. I don't know. From where I'm sitting, it feels like everyone who's interested in me has an agenda. They never want to date Evie. They want to date Evie Alexander, theNext Big Thing, or Evie Alexander, Kasen's daughter. They want the status, not me.
None of them even takes the time to get to know me. They don't care what I like or don't like, how I grew up, or where my favorite place is. They just want their names linked with mine, like I'm a ladder to climb or a box to check. I don't want to be either. I just want someone who doesn't care about any of that.
It scares me how much it feels like Kingston might be that man…and how much it's going to disappoint me if he's just playing the long con. For the first time, Iwantthis. And I'm afraid that this is some game to him, that he's only interested because I blew him off.
I don't want to be a challenge he has to win or some victory he needs. I just want to be the girl he messages every ridiculous, random thought. I want him to be the shameless, effortlessly charming man who will not stop invading my DMs to tell me about petty arguments with his teammates or about getting mean-mugged by his coach or about how he's so hard he can't stand it because he's looking at my photos. I want him to keep asking me questions—even the wildly inappropriate ones.
I don't feel like a status symbol when he's messaging me. I feel…normal. Ridiculously, beautifully, perfectly normal.
Is it wrong to want to hang on to that?
"You want my advice?" Everly asks, and I know she's going to give it to me whether I agree or not. That's her way. She says what she wants, whenever she wants. "If you want him, go for it. The only person standing in your way is you. For once in your life, get out of your own way and see what happens."
She makes it sound so easy. Hell, maybe it is. I don't know.
I'm halfway through myset when I spot him in the crowd. He's near the front, watching me like he can't look away. His eyes bore into me, burning a hole straight through me.
Everly's advice comes drifting back.
Get out of my own way and see what happens…
Maybe it really is that easy, and I just have to stop overthinking and go for it.
I don't even know what I'm doing before I do it. I just…get out of my own damn way for once to see what happens. Maybe it'll be a disaster.
But maybe it won't.
I want to find out.
"We have a special guest tonight," I murmur to the crowd. "I told him not to come, but considering how hard he's been stalking my DMs, I'm not entirely surprised he's here."
The crowd roars in response, everyone looking around to try to figure out who I'm talking about. The people standing closest to Kingston seem to know it's him. They all point and start shouting his name.
"That's right," I say, smirking at him. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. "Kingston Monroe of the Los Angeles Knights is here, ladies and gentlemen. Should we call him up here to see if he dances any better than he skates?"
"I'm going to spank you," he mouths as the spotlight finally finds him in the crowd.
The entire stadium goes nuts.
I grin, crooking a finger at him. "I warned you not to come, Hockey Star. But here you are. Come on up here and show us what you've got." I pause, one brow arched. "Unless you're afraid you'll fall, and I'll have to step over you again."
That gets him moving. He surges through the crowd like he's on a mission, his gaze never deviating from mine. I can read the heat in his eyes from here. I think the audience can, too. They're all roaring so loud the whole damn stadium is shaking.
I wait patiently for security to usher him to the steps. Only when he's on the stage, stomping toward me, do I think that maybe, maybe I made a mistake. Because he doesn't look like a man playing my game. He looks like one playing his own.
And there's no running now.
He stalks right up to me, so close I smell his cologne. His lips brush my ear, his big body pressed against mine in a hard line.