Rush: The Season (Austin Arrows Book 1)(42)

Kingston: How’s Dad?

Scott: He’s good. He watched the game with me tonight, and he seemed to recognize you, but…

I don’t need him to elaborate. At sixty-five, my father suffers from early-onset dementia, and it seems to be getting worse with every passing day. Some days he’s completely coherent, others he only remembers us when we were kids, and some days he doesn’t remember us at all. It’s a tough situation, and I’m grateful that Scott convinced Dad to live with him since he’s the only one still in Boston. I know it isn’t easy on either of them.

Putting my phone on the table, I take a long pull on my beer. I probably need water more than this shit because I feel a little dehydrated, but I can’t bring myself to get up.

My phone vibrates again.

Fully expecting clarification from Scott or some sort of snide remark from Heath, I pick up the phone and glance at the screen.

It isn’t Scott. Or Heath.

Ellie: I might sound a little forward, but I think if the press is going to call me your girlfriend, I should at least get a date out of the deal.

My heart stops beating for a second as I read her words. The anger and frustration that consumed me a while ago dissipate completely.

Kingston: I’d be honored to take you on a date.

I’m not sure what else to say to that.

Ellie: Good. When will you be picking me up?

I want to tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes, but I know what Ellie means. Since we have another game on Tuesday night and the team’ll be traveling on Monday, I know I have to sneak this in sooner rather than later. She’s working tomorrow night, so…

Kingston: Breakfast Sunday morning. I’ll pick you up at nine.

I actually hold my breath waiting for a response.

Ellie: I’d like that. See you at nine.

And just like that, my less-than-stellar evening rights itself, and I’m once again riding the adrenaline high. Only this time, it has nothing to do with winning and everything to do with a chance at redemption.





13

Ellie

Sunday, October 16th I don’t have a clue what came over me Friday night when I practically asked Kingston out. It could’ve been the wine, though doubtful. It could’ve been the fact that I read all that nonsense about the accusations from that woman and I felt bad for him. Only I didn’t. I felt bad for the woman because she had stooped that low. Or it could’ve simply been my traitorous hormones.

I’m leaning toward the latter.

Regardless, I hadn’t thought things all the way through when I texted him and then agreed to breakfast. What the hell are you supposed to wear to a breakfast date? Dinner, I understand. A night out dancing, I can figure that one out, too. But breakfast? Isn’t that the meal usually eaten while wearing pajamas?

For some reason, I’m thinking that won’t be appropriate attire.

I don’t even know where Kingston is taking me, which is how I find myself wearing nothing but a towel, standing in front of my mirror, when my doorbell rings.

“Shit.”

Remembering that Bianca convinced me to let Gabby spend the night and I know they stayed up way too late, I can’t rely on her to answer the door. Apparently I momentarily forgot that I’m not dressed, because I race through the house and fling open the front door before Kingston can ring the doorbell again. The last thing I need is for the girls to wake up. I already told Bianca that I was going to breakfast and that she should text me when they wake up.

“Uh … good morning?” Kingston’s greeting is accompanied by wide eyes as he stares at me.

Yup. I’m standing here in a towel while the goalie god is standing on my front porch.

“Sorry,” I say with a shy smile. “I’m almost ready.”

His grin widens as his eyes slide back to mine. “No need to rush on my account. I’m quite fond of the outfit.”

Rolling my eyes, I step out of the way and allow him inside. “I just need two minutes.”

Now that I notice he’s wearing a navy blue Henley and a pair of jeans, I don’t feel quite so intimidated by breakfast. In fact, that opens up a wealth of options for me as far as my wardrobe goes.

“I’ll be right back,” I assure him, then hurry back down the hall to my bedroom, remembering to close the door behind me.

Ten minutes later, I emerge wearing jeans and one of my favorite lightweight sweaters. It isn’t often that I wear something that doesn’t promote the Penalty Box, so it took a few extra minutes to locate suitable apparel.

“You look good enough to eat,” Kingston says when I join him in the living room.

Yep, ruthless flirt.

“Thanks.”

“Ready?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Bianca coming with us?” He glances at the stairs, and he seems almost … hopeful.

I won’t deny that him asking about Bianca—even accepting that she might join us for breakfast—melts my heart. My daughter is the most important person in my life. I put her first always, so it’s important that the men I date understand that. You’d be surprised at the number of men who can’t grasp that concept.

“Gabby stayed last night, so they’re still asleep. It’s just the two of us.”

“I can deal with that,” he says with a smirk.