The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,45

up with Indiana in my bed for weeks now, but today, it feels different. In a good way. But still, I don’t know what the hell to make of it.

When she rolls over and I feel her warmth press into my skin, my hands want to slide over her curves and claim her all over again. The realization settles like a stone in my stomach. This is not me. With most morning-afters, I’m out of bed and out for a run with the sunrise. With Indy, I’m up, showered, and popping a Nespresso pod into the machine. But this morning, I don’t make a move to do any of those things.

And I definitely never say shit like, “Hey, want to grab brunch?”

Indy rubs the sleep from her eyes, her hair spread over my pillow like a fan. “I love brunch.”

Of course she does. She loves everything and being with her is as easy as breathing. I don’t even have to think about it.

“I know a place,” I say instead, pulling myself from the cocoon of blankets we wrapped ourselves in last night, sheltered from the world. A time-out that let me focus on the feel of Indy’s long legs wrapped around my torso and the sweet sounds that fall from her lips instead of the away game I have this week in Cleveland.

“Cool.” She throws off the comforter and swipes her purse off the floor. The bathroom door closes several minutes later and I let out a long exhale.

Bracing my elbows against my knees, I drop my head in my hands and try to regroup. Last night was fun. It was hot. It was fucking sexy as hell; Indy’s sexy as hell. But it was also different from any of the other times we’ve hooked up. Something between us shifted. Something changed.

But what?

This morning, Indy seems fine. She’s not acting weird or clingy or anything. In fact, she seems to be a hell of a lot cooler than me.

I hear the toilet flush and the faucet turn on. Several minutes later, Indy pulls open the door. Her face is bare, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She’s wearing her jeans from last night and buttoning up the sweater that I wanted to rip off of her body all night. She doesn’t look like she’s doing a walk of shame. She doesn’t look nervous. She just looks…normal.

I stand and pull a pair of sweats and a hoodie from my dresser. “It’s just around the corner.”

“Sounds good.” She smiles, sliding the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Ah, wait, I left my coat at the bar last night.”

“I got you, babe.” I bundle her up in one of my thicker hoodies, liking the way it looks hitting her mid-thigh. I roll the sleeves up on her arms, grinning at how damn adorable she looks. And how much I like seeing her rock my number.

We head outside and I tuck Indy under my arm as the cold wind whips against us. Everything between us screams more than “just friends” and yet, I can’t bring myself to bring it up.

Our arrangement is easy. It’s working. It’s fun and I like hanging out with her. Why the hell would I rock the boat now?

I guide her toward the restaurant. The wind makes talking nearly impossible so we hustle along in silence. Once we’re tucked into a back booth, Indy slides off my hoodie and moans when the server drops a carafe of coffee on our table.

I grin.

“What?” She raises an eyebrow, pouring our coffees. “You kept me up late. The need for caffeine is real.”

I chuckle, nudging the cream closer to her. “It was worth it.”

She nods coyly, lifting her mug toward mine and clinking it in cheers. “Definitely worth it.”

“Indy, you are the coolest girl I know,” I tell her, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“Just, God, any other girl would have a million and one expectations after these past few weeks.” I clear my throat, not knowing how to address all the thoughts swirling in my mind. “Especially after last night,” I tack on, wanting to feel her out. Did she feel the shift between us too? Was there even a shift if only one of us felt it? “But you, you’re just—”

“Normal.”

“Chill,” I settle on. “I like how much fun we have together without all the drama bullshit.”

She bites her bottom lip, a strand of uncertainty rippling over her face, before she nods. I frown, wondering