Scoring Chance (Carolina Comets)

“Can I get a vanilla cold brew, please?” a voice says to my back.

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Miller standing there. I can tell not only by his voice, which is so deep I swear he could narrate audiobooks, but by how my body seems to know when he’s around.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him after he left yesterday. Not even the lunch rush could distract me. All I could focus on was that he wasn’t lying about returning. He showed up just like he said he would. Given that I thought this was all just a little game to him, it was surprising.

But today? Seeing him here yet again? That’s even more of a shock.

I spin around to find him grinning at me with that same stupid smile he’s always wearing and his whiskey eyes sparkling against the midday sun.

This is about the same time he showed up here yesterday, and I wonder if he’s just getting out of practice. I know hockey season is right around the corner because my niece won’t stop talking about it and how the Comets have a much better chance of not Toronto-ing this year, whatever the hell that means.

“Please?” he asks, and this time he actually bats his lashes at me…lashes that are thick and dark and frame his eyes perfectly.

For the first time in a long time, my fingers itch for a keyboard, because this right here is that moment in all novels where the guy walks up to the lonely, awkward girl and gives her that grin that makes her knees weak. I want to write a story about that grin.

Ugh, Scout! Stop thinking about how attractive he is. It’s still the same guy who forgot who you were. He’s just like everyone else.

I don’t answer him. Instead, I ring up his coffee, then spin the tablet his way and get started on his drink. A slight sense of pride swells in my chest as I pour the cold brew and add a bit of vanilla syrup. I’ve been running this truck for a few years and have gotten good at reading customers. It didn’t take me any time to realize Miller hates hot coffee. I wanted to say something about it to him before, but I’ve always been too nervous to approach him. Now, though, not so much.

He still makes me nervous, and my heart still feels like it wants to burst out of my chest, but he seems a little less scary than before.

I slide his coffee and straw across the counter, then flip the tablet back around. I can’t help but frown at the number I see on the screen.

He tipped me big again.

I know I shouldn’t be annoyed because hello, money! But still. It’s like he’s trying too hard to make up for forgetting me, which makes him showing up and bothering me feel like a show. A gimmick, like it’s not genuine.

“You don’t have to keep tipping me so big, you know. I already said I forgive you. No need to bribe me.”

His lips pull down at the corners. “I’m not bribing you. I’m just grateful to now be drinking something I enjoy. Besides, I tip everyone big.”

“Well, thanks,” I murmur, a little annoyed at how flippantly he says that. I should have expected it, though. He’s a famous hockey player; this is nothing to him.

“Thank you.” He shakes his drink around, then takes another sip. “I really like the vanilla in this.”

His compliment perks me up because I love when customers enjoy the things I make, especially the ones I work so hard on. “It’s good, right? I made it.”

“You made it?”

“Why are you surprised by that?”

“I…I don’t know. I just figured it was bottled or something.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Everything here is made fresh. Well, almost everything—I buy the sprinkles in bulk.”

“Speaking of supplies…” He reaches into his back pocket and produces a little shaker of something. He sets it on the counter, then slides it my way. “For inventory.”

I pick up the bottle of spice and can’t help but laugh when I see what’s on the label.

Nutmeg.

Just above it, he’s scrawled Scout’s.

“You got me my own nutmeg?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I heard you were running low. Didn’t want you to run out. God forbid there’s not enough for your Aww Nuts(meg) donut.”

I grin, staring down at the bottle that I just know I’m never going to open. “Thanks. I’m sure my customers will appreciate it.”

“Maybe I’m not so bad to have around, then, huh, friend?”

I roll my eyes. “No, you definitely are. Now, shoo. I apparently have some inventory to do before the lunch rush starts.” I shake the bottle.

“Thanks again for this,” he says, lifting his coffee before spinning on his heel.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter quietly to his retreating back.

I don’t know how long I stand there and watch him walk away, but it’s long enough for him to catch me staring and wink at me.

I scowl, and he laughs.

Then, I get to work.

“You have to fire her, Scout,” Stevie says as she ties her hair up in a ponytail. “This is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep covering for her. You’re going to burn yourself out, then you’ll never have time to get your book finished.”

I let out a frustrated sigh as Stevie gives me the same speech she’s been giving me for the last month.

She’s right, but I don’t want her to be right because that would mean I have to go through applications and all the hard work of finding another baker. I don’t want to do that again, but I also don’t want to spend every waking hour inside this truck. I love it, but I also love sliding into my bathtub with a bottle of wine and a good book on an off day, something I haven’t had in far too long.

“I know, I know,” I tell her as she wraps her apron around her waist and brushes past me, her lips set in a firm line. “It’s just her dad is sick, and, well, I get it.”

Stevie sends me a look as she passes by, a bowl of freshly made strawberry icing in hand. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Carla knows it too. Her dad had the flu. He’s fine now. He’s been fine. She’s just taking advantage of you because she knows your history and because you’re entirely too nice.”

A part of me wants to believe Carla is a good person and she’s not taking advantage of me, but I know Stevie is right. She is using my past against me and playing the sick dad card when I know for a fact he’s fine. I saw him at the drugstore two days ago. He was in the hygiene aisle. I was grabbing tampons, and he was getting condoms. It’s safe to say Carla’s dad is hunky-dory.

“Did I just hear you say Scout is nice?” My skin instantly buzzes at the sound of Miller’s voice. “Because if so, why has she never shown that side of herself to me?”

I turn around to find the hockey player who just won’t go away standing at the front of the truck with a playful sparkle in his eyes. He’s been here every day for the last week, and I’m really starting to wonder when he’s going to get tired of this game and finally leave me alone.

Right now, it doesn’t look like it’ll be anytime soon.

Stevie tilts her head at me, likely waiting for me to run away or duck down and hide. When I don’t, her brows rise in a way that says we’ll definitely be discussing this later.

I really don’t want to discuss it later.

In fact, I was really hoping Miller wouldn’t even show today.

But, of course, he did.

And now he and my sister are looking at me expectantly.

With a sigh, I wave a hand toward him. “Miller, meet my older sister, Stevie. Stevie, this is Miller. He plays—”

“Right wing. He had 90 points last year and was ranked one of the top eight forwards in the league by SportsCenter.” She wipes her hand on her apron, then extends it his way. “I know who you are, Mr. Miller. My daughter won’t stop talking about the Comets. She’s a huge fan.”

Miller grins, then slides his hand against hers. “Grady is fine. And I love hearing that. It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

Oh, he has his charm turned all the way up today. I can tell by the way he’s smiling at her and puffing his chest out just a bit.

“I’m not a fan. My daughter is.”

I can’t help but laugh when Stevie kills his ego with a few simple words.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge Comets fan, but Beast is my favorite player by far.”

“That grump?” Miller scoffs. “I’m way better than Rhodes.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stevie tells him. “So, did you finally apologize to my sister for being an ass?”

Miller’s gaze snaps to mine, and my whole system goes into shock because there’s no way she actually just said that, knowing full well that it implies…

“You’ve been talking about me?” Miller says with a cocky smile. “I knew you liked me, Scout.”

I roll my eyes. “I liked you better when you didn’t know who I was.”

He just laughs as I turn to make his coffee for him. I contemplate screwing it up to get back at him for embarrassing me just now, but I can’t bring myself to mess with a customer’s order—no matter how annoying they are.

When I slide the finished drink his way, he’s still grinning, and when I see the total on the screen, I know why. He left me another twenty-dollar tip. It makes me want to reach across the counter and wipe the smug smirk from his face.

“Stop it,” I grumble, and all he does is laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tease you about it too much. I knew all along there was no way you could actually hate me. I’m impossible to hate.”

“I don’t think that’s the case at all.”

“Pretty sure it is,” he argues, taking a drink of his coffee. “Ah, just the way I like it. Only a friend would remember that.”

Stevie points from me to Miller. “You two are friends now?”

“No.” Miller shakes his head. “Can you believe your sister won’t be friends with me?”

“With as charming as you are, I’m shocked,” she quips.

“Right?” Miller says, not knowing Stevie well enough to understand she’s definitely making fun of him right now. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing—I’m a great friend.”

Stevie looks up from the concoction she’s currently working on, quirking a brow at me. There are a million questions she’s asking me in that single movement. I shake my head as subtly as I can, telling her we’ll discuss it later…if she can find me, that is. I have big plans to run and hide and avoid her forever because I do not want to get in to whatever it is Miller is doing since I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. He’s shown up every day, and I really don’t know what that means or what I want it to mean.

“What’s that you’re making?” Miller asks, nodding toward the bowl of vanilla frosting I’m currently folding quins sprinkles into.

“It’s filling.”

“A new donut?”

“Sort of. It was here in June, but I decided to keep it as a full-time item, and I’ll be adding it starting tomorrow. We’re doing a little promo thing for it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a Pride donut. We’re calling it Live Out Proud.”

“Sweet. Literally.” He looks mighty proud of himself for the pun.

“It’s for our dads,” Stevie tells him. “Scout always wanted to make a donut that celebrated their love, and she finally perfected it this summer, so now it’s going to be a regular menu item.”

“That’s awesome. I bet they’re ridiculously proud of you. Are they hockey fans? If so, I’ll gladly bring some jerseys or pucks next time I stop by.”

Stevie’s gaze catches mine for only a moment before she says, “Oh, well, Dad wasn’t always but is now. Pops, on the other hand—”

“I think your phone is buzzing,” I cut her off.

I feel bad because her phone didn’t really buzz, but just like I knew it would, it draws her attention and sends her rushing toward the other end of the truck where she keeps her purse just in case it has something to do with Macie.

Miller tips his head, watching me expectantly like I’m going to finish where Stevie left off, but I’m not. I don’t want her spilling our personal details to him, so I’m not about to either, especially when I’m still not sure what his endgame is here.

I ignore him and continue mixing the sprinkles and the frosting. I’m sure it’s plenty combined by now, but I don’t want to not have anything to do with my hands, not with him standing there with that damn cold brew and those damn watchful eyes.

“Oh, I’m all good. It wasn’t mine,” Stevie says, pocketing her phone and coming back to the front. “Maybe it was yours? It could be Carla ready to come and actually do her job for once.”

“Who’s Carla?” Miller asks.

“My other baker,” I answer, and Stevie huffs. I shoot her a glare, though she doesn’t see it because she’s back to working on her own project. “She called in today.”

“And every other day she was scheduled this week for absolutely no reason.”

Another glare Stevie’s way.

Miller’s face goes from carefree to cloudy in a split second, like he’s the one angry about Carla not showing up. “That’s bullshit, Scout. You shouldn’t let her use you like that. Hell, you shouldn’t let anyone use you. You’re worth more than that. You should talk with her, lay down the ground rules. And if she gives you shit, fire her. You’ll find someone better—someone who values your time and your business the way you do. That’s what you deserve.”

His tone…the way he sounds like he’s talking from experience…it has a lump forming in my throat because I was not expecting that. I’m used to lectures from Stevie, but this? This felt different.

I find myself nodding and saying, “Okay.” Mostly because I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to respond. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. He lifts his drink. “Thank you for the coffee.” He looks to Stevie. “It was great to officially meet you. Let me know if your dads ever want anything. I’m happy to bring it by.”

“I will,” Stevie promises, a sad smile on her face that Miller definitely doesn’t pick up on. “Nice meeting you, Grady.”

He turns his attention to me, and I swear my body hums from the way his eyes bore into mine. “I’ll see you soon, friend.”

“Goodbye, Miller.” This time, the eye roll I give him comes a little more reluctantly, but it doesn’t bother him either way. He just sends me that same charming smile before heading for his car, and I watch him walk away yet again.

Stevie watches too, only it’s not him she’s looking at. It’s me.

Her stare is burning a hole in the side of my head. I can practically hear the hundreds of questions she’s hurling my way without saying a word.

Unable to take it anymore, I finally say, “Just say whatever it is you’re going to say.”

“I was just going to say that I like him. He seems nice.”

I huff out a laugh, dragging my eyes away from Miller as he climbs into his fancy-pants sports car that probably costs more than I make in a year. “Don’t forget that he forgot who I was just three weeks ago.”

“I didn’t forget, but he seems determined to make up for it.”

“He’s trying too hard.”

“Or…” She stretches the word out. “He’s just a really nice person who made a mistake, and we shouldn’t judge him. You’re willing to give Carla all the room in the world to make mistake after mistake, but not Grady? Why is that?”

Because Carla can’t hurt me like Miller can.

I don’t say it out loud. I don’t have to. Stevie knows my reasons for keeping Miller at arm’s length.

“He could be good for you, Scout. He could get you out of this truck and out of the apartment. He could be a good inspiration for the novel you still haven’t finished.”

Or started. But I don’t tell her that.

The last time I touched the book I promised I’d write was three years ago, and that was to delete it. Every time I’ve sat down to write since then, the words won’t come, which really sucks for someone who wants so badly to be published.

I know the reason I can’t write. I know the reason my mind is all blocked. I’m lacking inspiration, lacking excitement.

I need both badly.

I’m just not so sure I’m ready, especially if it means that inspiration and excitement come in the form of Grady Miller.

He’s a hotshot hockey player, and I’m not sure I want to play his game.