Chapter 125: Reid’s plan

We ended up at a usual spot, a quiet diner a few blocks away from the rink that the team frequented because the booths were actually big enough to fit pro hockey players.

And while we were there, I kept telling myself this was standard. Just a post-practice breakdown over eggs and black coffee.

​"Eat, Cap. You’re staring at that toast like it owes you money," Reid murmured, leaning his forearms on the table as he pushed a plate of hash browns toward me.

​"I’m thinking about the Avalanche’s neutral zone trap," I lied smoothly, taking a bite.

​Reid just smirked, his eyes tracking the slight movement of my throat. "Right. The trap. Let’s discuss that."

So, we talked about it a few times, and how we could get out of the trap if we ended up getting caught. Reid actually had some great ideas. It seemed like he studied them while I wasn’t looking.

​Once we paid the bill, I assumed we were heading back to the team building to look over tapes of what we discussed. Instead, Reid bypassed the highway entirely, steering his car toward the downtown commercial district.

​"Where are we going?" I asked, my brow furrowing as he pulled into a subterranean parking garage.

​"Need to pick up a few things," he said easily, killing the engine and throwing me a casual glance. "Come on. You’ve been cooped up all weekend. I’m sure you also need a change of scenery."

​That was mistake number one. I followed him out of the garage and straight into a high-end streetwear boutique.

I figured he just needed new training gear, but the second we walked in, Reid started pulling casual sweaters and heavy jackets off the racks, holding them up against my shoulders.

​"What are you doing?" I hissed, batting his hand away as my face warmed up under the store’s bright track lighting. "I don’t need clothes."

​"The front office wants us looking sharp for the press wall tomorrow, Cap," he replied, his voice dropping into that smooth, reasonable tone that always made me lower my guard. "Just try it on. For the team’s image."

​Before I could argue, he practically shoved a ridiculously soft, oversized charcoal knit sweater into my arms.

It seemed like I had no choice but to play along.

When I stepped out of the fitting room, Reid was leaning against the mirror, his grey eyes darkening as they swept from my boots up to the high collar that perfectly hid my adhesive patch. He didn’t say a word, just slid his black card across the counter to the cashier before I could even reach for my wallet.

​"Reid, I’m paying you back for this," I muttered as we walked out, the heavy paper bag swinging in my hand.

​"Sure you are," he chuckled, his large hand casually resting on the small of my back to guide me through the crowded sidewalk. It was a brief touch, gone in a second, but it left a burning sensation through my shirt.

​Mistake number two happened an hour later.

​"I’m thirsty," he announced, stopping right outside an upscale cafe that smelled heavily of roasted beans and expensive pastries.

"Reid," I called but he grinned.

"It’ll just be for a moment, Cap. Come on."

​We ended up tucked into a small, secluded booth in the back corner. Reid ordered some ridiculously sweet, iced drink for himself and a hot Americano for me, along with a small plate of lemon tarts.

He didn’t talk about hockey once. Instead, he asked about my first year in the league, listening with a strange, intense focus as I rambled on about rookie hazing rituals.

He was resting his chin in his hand, a soft, uncharacteristically gentle expression on his face that made my throat go completely dry.

​By the time we left the cafe, the sun was already dipping below the skyline, painting the city in shades of amber and violet.

​"Alright, it’s late. Let’s go home," I said, checking my watch.

​"One more thing," Reid said, pulling two tickets out of his jacket pocket with a smug flourish. "The new thriller movie just opened today. Russo said the action sequences are insane. Let’s go."

​"Reid, we have a game on Friday—"

​"It’s Tuesday, Cap. Practice isn’t until tomorrow morning. Missing two hours of tape won’t kill us."

​I blew out a harsh breath, but my feet were already moving toward the theater entrance.

​The theater was dark, the air-conditioning blasting a chill that made me grateful for the heavy sweater Reid had bought me.

We sat in the very back row. Ten minutes into the film, Reid casually lifted the armrest between our seats to take out any distance between us. I didn’t object.

Twenty minutes in, his large, warm hand slid across the fabric of his jeans and firmly covered mine, our fingers naturally interlocking in the dark.

​My heart did a violent, chaotic flip against my ribs. Who interlocks fingers when watching an action movie? I was expecting him to pull away or make a joke, but he just kept his eyes on the screen, his thumb lazily tracing the back of my knuckles in a slow, comforting rhythm.

​It was right then, sitting in the dark with my hand melting in his, that the realization finally slammed into me like a body check against the boards.

​The diner. The shopping. The cafe. The movie.

​This wasn’t two teammates killing time after practice. This wasn’t a standard Tuesday afternoon either.

​How the hell did I fall for it? I thought, my mind completely reeling as my face flushed a furious, hidden red. This obnoxious bastard dragged me out on a date.

​I looked over at his profile in the flickering light of the screen. Reid’s jaw was sharp, his expression relaxed, but the smug, thoroughly satisfied curve at the corner of his lips told me everything I needed to know.

He knew exactly what he had done. He had completely bypassed my rigid, stubborn defenses without me even noticing.

This sly bastard. He got me.

​I tried to tug my hand back, but his grip instantly tightened, his fingers clamping down securely around mine as he leaned over, his rough whisper vibrating right against my ear.

​"Stop squirming, Cap," Reid murmured, his eyes never leaving the screen. "You’re ruining the movie."