Lucy’s right, and I hate that she’s right. Because I have been driving myself crazy, analyzing every text, every glance, every moment of contact like it holds the secret to what he’s thinking.
Maybe it’s time to stop guessing and start asking.
“You think I should just walk up to him and demand to know his intentions?”
“I think you should walk up to him and tell him yours.” Lucy grins, and there’s something wicked in it. “Men love confident women, Clare. Stop hiding behind professional distance and show him what he’s missing.”
The idea is terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. Because maybe she’s right. Maybe instead of waiting for him to chase me, I should remind him why I’m worth chasing.
As I leave her office, her words echo in my head. Stop overthinking and just talk to him. Simple advice that feels anything but simple when your heart’s on the line.
But maybe it’s time to stop protecting myself and start fighting for what I want.
Maybe it’s time to take the risk.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Ask
Mitchell
The ice feels perfect under my skates—crisp, fast, responsive. Nothing like the emotional quicksand I’ve been drowning in all week. Out here, everything makes sense. Read the play, make the pass, score the goal. Simple.
Until Hayes decides to be a smartass.
“So,” he says, gliding up beside me as we run drills. “You talk to her yet?”
I don’t have to ask who he means. The guys have been on my case about Clare ever since my pathetic drunken confession at Bennett’s place.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“The right moment?” Ty laughs from across the ice. “Dude, you’ve been waiting for the right moment since you got back from Minnesota. At this rate, she’s gonna be married to someone else.”
“She’s not getting married.” I roll my eyes.
“How do you know? You haven’t talked to her.”
Bennett skates over, that knowing look on his face that makes me want to check him into the boards. “Lucy says she’s been asking about you.”
My stick nearly slips from my hands. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means she’s thinking about you, dumbass,” Hayes says. “Which means you need to get your head out of your ass and ask the woman out.”
Coach blows his whistle, ending practice, but the conversation doesn’t end. It follows me to the locker room, through the shower, back to my locker. By the time I’m getting dressed, I’ve heard approximately seventeen different versions of “just ask her already.”
They’re right. I know they’re right. I’ve been circling this for days, making excuses, waiting for some perfect moment that’s never going to come. Meanwhile, Clare’s been professional, polite, and maddeningly calm about this whole thing.
Time to change that.
Instead of heading toward the parking garage, I turn toward the administrative offices. My heart’s hammering like I’m heading into overtime, but I keep walking. Through the lobby, up the stairs, down the hallway toward the PR department.