Page 87 of Timelessly Ours

Now that I see it, it reminds me of our stolen glances over the last two years. The one that holds a secret.

That we’re crazy for each other.

And just like that—I need another hit. I’m addicted to our chocolate escapes.

Instinctively, I lick my lips, like I could taste what we’re no doubt going to do later.

His eyes drop to my lips. “Yes,” he rasps like it’s painful. Like he can’t wait for it either.

“Okay,” Angel emerges from the office. “Four bags. Jesus, you think it’s enough?”

“Two plain and two caramel,” Rory shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Caramel?” I feign shock “Looks like we’ll be brushing those teeth a little bit longer tonight.”

“Worth it,” Rory calls as she races off with the bags.

Angel and I follow but I twist back and mouth good luck. He winks back and it’s enough to get me through the evening.

23

I’m vaguely aware of the Blades being ahead during the final period. I couldn’t tell you how they got there, because I’ve had my eyes on my boss the entire night.

His eyes have been glued to the icy expanse, meticulously studying every trace of his team's performance. We’re not seated too far behind the players bench, but we’re at an angle where I can see his profile. And from what I can tell, he’s not watching the team in the red and white tonight—the guest team. He’s watching his own.

He’s not taking notes either. His arms are folded across his chest, discerning eyes scrutinizing every player. Except for the two players in his office earlier, who I’ve noticed glance in his direction just before pulling an unexpected move that would take everyone by surprise. Making them score.

Each time, Coach gives subtle nods when things seem to go according to plan. His keen focus on his players, even during the celebration of each goal.

Our opponent’s Coach, on the other hand, is a lot more active. Frantic, screaming out, directing his team.

But it’s futile.

Because when the final buzzer goes off, we fly out of our seats in blistering roars.

Thank God.

Following the crowd out, I hold a tight grip on Rory as Angel and I leave in the other direction, toward the staff elevators. As instructed, I bring Rory to a large room with a handful of other children, some belonging to the players, and some to the staff.

Angel and I give our names at the door to the executive suite and step in. It’s dark except for the lights coming from the windows to the ice rink, which are still very bright. The wall bar is lit up, showcasing top-shelf bottles. There are small floor lights in the black tiles which will be helpful when the room grows a little more crowded. And a balcony, which despite the cold weather, I’ll likely be using often tonight just to get some air.

If only to avoid social anxiety.

There are too many people here already. Important people. People who probably know that Coach Collins hired me as his illegitimate daughter’s nanny.

What if they can tell that I relapsed recently? Can you tell something like that by looking at someone?

Angel bends to my ear. “You okay?”

I nod.

“Ginger ale?” she offers, knowing my usual.

I shake my head. “Ice water to start,” I say as casually as I can muster because I desperately need cold, unsweetened liquid to cool the heat of my cheeks.

“Be right back,” Angel calls. She doesn’t travel far. My tall friend steps between two male patrons leaning at the bar just a few feet from us and they step aside for the gorgeous blonde.

I scan the crowd—but I’m not looking for him. Coach is always the last one up after games. Sometime ago, when I used to…wait for him, I realized it’s because he wants to spend the least amount of time at these things with the most amount of people witnessing his presence.