Shut Out (Bayard Hockey #1)(54)

“So are you doing it?”

“I haven’t for sure decided, but…I’m leaning that way. I feel like I need to talk to my parents first, though. I can do that at Thanksgiving when I’m home.”

He frowns out the windshield. “What if they try to talk you out of it?”

I nibble my bottom lip. “That could happen. Or they’ll guilt me into keeping my major.”

“You’re an adult, Sky. I think you should make your own decisions. And yeah, I get that they’re helping you financially. But it’s not like you’re changing your major to basket weaving or something. And you got good advice from someone who knows. That’s the mature, responsible thing to do. Plus, you’re the one who has to live with your decision.”

As usual, he’s pretty smart for a jock.

Mr. and Mrs. Flass are already there, seated on one side of the booth; they both slide out and stand to greet us. My stomach has a herd of butterflies flapping around inside it, but I smile and shake hands with them, while the words this is crazy, this is crazy spin around in my head.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Skylar.” Mrs. Flass smiles warmly at me, her eyes sparkling behind stylish, dark-framed glasses.

Jacob has her eyes, but the rest of him comes from his dad, a handsome man with the same chiseled cheekbones and dimple in his square chin. He’s tall and fit, with only a bit of gray in his brown hair. Mrs. Flass has shiny, shoulder-length chestnut hair. She’s small and curvy and very pretty.

Jacob takes my jacket and hangs it on a hook near our table. I slip into the dark red leather booth first, putting me directly across from Mr. Flass. Jacob sits next to me and sets a warm hand on my thigh.

I think he means this to be reassuring. Which then makes me wonder if I look that nervous. Oh my God. I take in a long, slow breath and let it out, surveying the dark wood paneling and floors, and the mellow, low-hanging lights above each table.

Mr. and Mrs. Flass make conversation by asking me what courses I’m taking and what my major is. I tell them I’m working on a science degree, but then I stop before saying I want to get into med school. “Actually, I’m rethinking my major.”

Jacob’s hand squeezes my thigh, but I don’t look at him.

“There’s lots of time to figure it all out,” Mrs. Flass says. “You’re young.”

I know she’s right, but I feel like at nearly twenty, I should have it all figured out and it bugs me that I don’t. But I smile and nod.

They ask Jacob questions about his own classes, although clearly they keep in touch and also got caught up on a lot last night after the game. They talk about hockey and his roommates, who they met earlier today when they went to see his place.

“They seem like good guys,” Mr. Flass says.

Jacob grins. “Looks can be deceiving.”

We exchange a smile.

“Seriously, they’re decent.” He doesn’t tell his parents how he thought they hated him and I know it’s because he doesn’t want them to worry. He wants them to think everything is great here at Bayard, including his new girlfriend.

So I give him that. We discuss my volunteer work at SAPAP, which I’m always happy to talk about. Jacob tells his parents about the training and compliments me again, which makes my cheeks heat to what is probably tomato red.

“Is that how you two met?” Mrs. Flass asks, looking between us.

We share another look, and as if we’ve read each other’s thoughts, we both say, “Yes.”

In the end, it turns out to be a fun evening. My burger is delicious. Mr. and Mrs. Flass are both funny, and, of course, Jacob is too, and we laugh a lot as they tell him stories about what his younger sister has been up to back home in Kamloops.

Outside the restaurant, Jacob’s parents give me hugs, which is nice. I really like them.

“I hope we’ll see you again soon, Skylar,” Mrs. Flass says. “It’s been so nice to meet you.”

“I hope so too.” Whether this is likely is another matter, but I actually mean it.

Jacob and I climb into his truck and he drives toward our neighborhood. “Well,” he says, “that was great. They like you.”

“I like them too. Hopefully they don’t get too invested in our relationship, though.”

My insides tighten. Saying that makes me feel weirdly sad. Hopefully I’m not getting too invested in our relationship.

After a short pause, Jacob says, “Yeah. True.”

I watch him drive. Even the way he drives is sexy, the easy way he holds the steering wheel and checks for traffic as he changes lanes. He drives fast but I always feel safe because he seems so in control of the vehicle.

This reminds me of watching him play hockey and how in control and skilled he is, and it reminds me that last night after the game was the first time I’ve watched him play when we didn’t go back to either my place or his and bang our brains out.

“Um…”

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

“I’m kind of…turned on.”

His head whips around, then turns back to the windshield. “From meeting my parents?”

I choke. “No! God no.” I wheeze. “From watching you drive.”

He shoots me an amused look. “Babe. Seriously?”

Heat floods into my face, which is still not as hot as between my legs. “Seriously.”