“Oh, Zack Morris is by far superior,” Hayden answers, draining a pot of boiling noodles into a strainer.

“What?” I can feel my eyes bulge out of their sockets, my entire world flipping upside down. How on EARTH does anyone believe Zack is better than AC Slater from Saved by the Bell? “How can you possibly think that?” If I wasn’t so damn curious as to why he would think such a thing, I would be grabbing my purse and walking out of this quaint little cottage to my car to get as far away from this . . . this . . . anarchist as I can get.

“Well for one, AC’s real name is Albert Clifford.”

“Not by his choosing.”

“Two”—Hayden wiggles two fingers at me while he stirs the aromatic pasta sauce bubbling on the stove—“the dude has a curly mullet.”

“That was the style back then. You would have been so lucky to be able to have such luscious locks like AC.”

“Three.” Hayden pulls the pot from the stove and puts it on a trivet. Staring at me from over the island where I’m sitting, he grips the counter and says, “AC didn’t get the girl in the end.”

“What are you talking about? He had Jesse.”

Eyes shut, a smirk on his face, Hayden slowly shakes his head. “Jesse was a hot mess. She had a drug problem—”

Jabbing my finger into the counter, I can feel myself become far too passionate. “She took caffeine pills! It wasn’t like she was shooting up heroin in the girl’s bathroom at Bayside. It was caffeine pills.”

“That’s where it starts, with caffeine pills, then next thing you know, she’s doing Molly at Coachella.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I fold my arms over my chest.

Snagging a noodle from the strainer, he pops it in his mouth and says, “I’m right. The girl to get was Kelly. Every guy who ever watched the show will agree with me on this. Kelly was the it girl. Hell, even AC wanted to be with her, but who ended up marrying her in the end? Zack. Despite AC trying to throw his jock, macho-man status in Kelly’s way, she saw past his shifty veneer and went for the by far SUPERIOR guy.” Smiling like a fool and nudging me with his finger, he says, “Come on, you know I’m right.”

“You’re not.” I turn my nose up at him.

“Denial. It’s okay, I’ll let my logic sink in, because it will. Sooner or later, you will realize I’m right. Kelly was the voice of reason in Saved by the Bell and there was only one choice for her to make: the right choice, and she made that with Zack Attack.” Hayden pauses for a second and then adds, “Plus, he was one of the first kids ever to have a fucking cellphone . . . soo . . .”

“That ‘phone’ was a monstrosity.”

“That phone was an absolute dream and you know it.”

I fiercely press my lips together. “By the time we were old enough to watch the show, we had cellphones that eclipsed that phone in cool status. So frankly, I can’t take your word for anything.”

With a steady glare in my direction, he slips another noodle into his mouth and says, “I would have traded a Nokia for Zack’s phone any day.”

“Just goes to show”—I snag a noodle as well, slurping it past my lips—“you don’t have very good taste.” Hayden’s eyes are transfixed on my mouth.

He licking his lips seductively and gives me a full once-over, his eyes blazing a wave of fire up my body. “Pretty sure I have great taste.”

A blush creeps over my cheeks from his compliment and heated stare. Unsure of how to answer, I clear my throat and wave my finger over the steaming pots. “So how does this work? Uh, just put the sauce on the pasta?”

Posed, focus still on me, Hayden stares at me for a few beats before chuckling and shaking his head. “Yes, you put the sauce on top of the pasta. It’s as if you haven’t had pasta before.” The way he teases me, it makes me feel that much more comfortable around him, like we’ve known each other longer than a week. “Here, take the wine, and I’ll grab some plates of food.” He hands me two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “We’re going to eat out on the deck.” Winking, he adds, “Meet you out there in a second.”

Shakily, I take the wine and the glasses out the sliding glass door to a beautiful refinished deck that expands the length of the house and overlooks the valley below. The sun is setting over the lush-green oak trees surrounding the property, fireflies start to play in the darkened woods, and the sound of crickets chirping a lullaby fill the air. It’s the perfect northeast summer evening, even if the air has a small bite to it.

To the right, there is a high-density wood dining set with red placemats, napkins, and silverware already laid out with bright yellow flowers in a short vase decorating the middle of the table.

Well, that’s . . . romantic and thoughtful.

Taking a seat, I pop open the wine and pour us both a short glass. I swirl the liquid around, take a small sniff, and then let the wine slip into my mouth, a small taste.

What do the wine gurus have to say about this one? Herbaceous and spicy with a hint of tartness.

Damn good.

I go in for another sip as Hayden walks through the door, holding two plates in one hand a basket of garlic bread in the other. Next to the sliding glass door, he effortlessly flips on a switch, illuminating the deck with large-bulb string lights. The mood immediately switches from playful to romantic, the yellow lighting casting a soft glow over us.

Past the strong and powerful façade of this hockey player is an intimate and romantic man, with a smirk that can kill, and a stare so devastating, I’m not sure if my heart can take any other surprises.

Placing our plates on the table and the basket between us, he sits in his seat and turns toward me, his hand going to a wayward hair of mine, pushing it behind my ear, his hand lingering on my face. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since our lunch in the cafeteria.”

“Yeah?” I ask like a dweeb, unsure of what to say to this honest and sweet man.

“Yeah.” Pressing his thumb against my cheek, his eyes fixed on mine, I feel the breath from my lungs slowly evaporate as our bodies inch closer.

Eyes move from mine to my mouth and up again.

Lips are licked.

Fingers wrap around my neck, gently pressing me forward.

My breath hitches.

My body tingles.

My fingers suddenly feeling numb.

Another glance to my lips.

Another inch forward.

Another lick to his lips.

He’s going to kiss me. Hayden Holmes is going to kiss me . . .

Chest rising and falling, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his thick pecs, I await the press of his lips to mine, but just when I think he’s going to close in on the final inches keeping us apart, he clears his throat and slowly pulls away leaving me . . . yearning.

Picking up his fork and knife, he stares at his plate and clears his throat again. “Sorry about that.”

Sorry? Why the hell is he sorry?

Looking frustrated, he sets his silverware back on the table and plants one of his hands firmly in his hair where he pulls on the messy strands. “There’s something about you, Adalyn.” Head dipped, he turns slightly to look at me. “You make me a little crazy with those lips of yours, so pink, so goddamn plump. I want to taste them.”

“Wh-what’s holding you back?” Why am I stuttering? When have I ever been nervous around men? It almost feels like this is the first time I’ve ever . . . cared about a man, truly cared to get to know him, to be with him.

Hands folded in my lap, I turn my attention to my pasta, nervous about his answer.

With his index finger, he hooks my chin so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “What’s holding me back?” He shakes his head as if he’s in disbelief. “Those lips are lethal, Adalyn, and I know the minute I get a taste of them I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“So . . . it’s not because you don’t want to?”

His brows pinch together. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

Hating my question and the insecurity that slipped in there, I shrug my shoulders. “Forget that last question.” Picking up my fork, I say, “Let’s eat this delicious pasta.”

Swirling the pasta and sauce together, mixing in the parmesan cheese Hayden grated on top, I fork a few pasta spirals and bring the bite to my lips when I realize Hayden is still staring at me intently.

Fork poised mere inches from my mouth, I ask, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, you can.” Reaching over to my lap, he takes my hand in his and fuses our palms together. Picking up his fork as well, he gathers some pasta and says, “There, that’s better.”

With the lights above, the sounds of the nightfall surrounding us, we hold hands and eat a meal I don’t think I’ll ever forget. And it’s not only because Hayden made it for me, but because it’s one of the first times I’ve ever felt self-worth from a man who wasn’t one of my brothers.

“Who taught you how to cook?” The dishes are in the kitchen, the wine has been consumed, maybe a little more than I expected to drink, and we’re now lounging in a glider on the deck, with Hayden setting a light sway with his foot propped against the coffee table in front of us.

“My mom. She made it her mission to make sure her sons knew how to cook before they left for college. So every Sunday and Monday, we were required to make a meal with my mom. At the time, I was kind of annoyed, because I was a teenage boy wanting to do anything but cook a proper spaghetti sauce, but now as I look back on the time I shared with my mom, I cherish those moments.”

“That’s really sweet.” Turned toward him, my feet tucked under me, one of my hands in his, I take a small sip of wine. His fingers dance along my palm occasionally, sending a tingling sensation up and down my spine and a nervous flutter in my stomach.

“I spent so much time with my dad in the driveway, taking shot after shot at him, that the only moments I had with my mom were when I was in the kitchen cooking with her. It was our time.”

“And do you still cook with her when you get a chance?”

Small dimples settle in the corner of his lips. “She puts me to work right away whenever I go home for a visit, and she still has the apron she got me when I was in middle school.”

“Does she make you wear it?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“What does it look like?”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he says, “I knew you were going to ask.”

“Oh, it sounds embarrassing, I need to know what it is now.”

He takes the last sip of his wine and sets his empty glass on the coffee table. “It says Chef Hayden and has an embroidered woodchuck on the front holding a puck.”

Like there are two strings slowly pulling at the corner of my mouth, I can’t hold back my smile. “A woodchuck?”

With the hand not holding mine, he grabs the back of his neck. “This is really fucking weird and sort of embarrassing, but for some reason, back in middle school, I thought woodchucks were cool. Who knows where it came from, but I had a small collection of woodchuck figurines.”

I sit a little taller. “No, you didn’t.”

Shamefully he nods. “Yeah, it was weird. I might have one or two figurines left I couldn’t part with, but the apron, that’s still hanging in my parents’ kitchen next to my mom’s.”

“Oh my God, that’s so unexpected, slightly weird but really adorable.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Really adorable, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister.”

Squeezing my hand, he says, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I finish off my glass, and he politely takes it from me, setting it on the coffee table next to his. He turns to face me and edges a little closer. “So why did you want to become a nurse?”

Resting the side of my head against the cushion of the glider, the slow rocking lulling me into a very comfortable and relaxed state, I say, “My mom’s sister, Aunt Peg, used to live with us when we were growing up. She lived in the basement and helped out with us, especially when my mom was about to lose her mind having so many boys in close succession under one roof. My sister is the eldest, twelve years older than me, but then Mom had six boys, me, then my youngest brother.” He looks shocked . . . horrified really. Can’t blame him. “My sister helped out with lots of chores and was busy a lot of the time. And I grew close to Aunt Peg. I’d go to her room in the basement and play with her nursing gear and play doctor on her. As I got older, I knew taking care of people was what I was meant to do.”

Hayden nods. “Well, it’s an attractive attribute you possess, wanting to take care of others. You have a compassionate soul. I really like that.”

“Thank you.” I play with his hand in mine, our fingers seductively gliding over one another. “What about you, did you always think you were going to be a professional hockey player?”

Growing serious, Hayden says, “Well, I didn’t know if I was going to be a professional hockey player, but I knew that’s what I wanted.”

“And if you weren’t a hockey player, what would you be doing?”

“Hmm”—he smirks—“good question.” Pausing, he really thinks about his answer. “Are you asking, if hockey in general wasn’t an option, what would I be? Because if hockey is still on the table, I would probably say coach or scout.”

“Hockey is off the table. Pretend hockey doesn’t even exist in this scenario.”

“That’s a sad fucking scenario.” He chuckles but then grows serious again. He scratches the side of his jaw, his five o’clock shadow disrupting the peaceful night air. “I guess if hockey wasn’t an option on any accord, I would probably have gone to culinary school and hopefully own a restaurant somewhere in the city.”

“In the city?”

He winks. “Aim big, baby, never settle.”

“Apparently.”

“What about you, if you weren’t a nurse, what would you be?”

“Is hockey an option in my scenario?”

He arches his eyebrow in question. “Uh, sure.”

“Perfect.” Casually I pick a piece of lint off my pants. “If I wasn’t a nurse then I would totally be a hockey groupie, because I’m liking this whole hockey player persona. Very sexy.”

A drawn-out grin plays on his lips. With our connected hands, he pulls me closer until I’m practically sitting on his lap. Talking quietly, his forehead pressed against mine, he says, “Don’t let me fool you, I’m the exception. All other hockey players are massive dicks. You got lucky with me.”

Chuckling, I say, “Seems like you’re trying to distract me from finding myself another piece of man muscle on skates.”

His nose gently passes over mine as he talks low. So deep, so seductive. “Is it working?”

Oh God . . . is it working.

Pressed up against Hayden’s chest, his arm wrapped around me, his fingers playing with my hair, I toy with the buttons on his shirt as we look into the dark abyss in front of us. I have no clue what time it is, but I can feel my eyes starting to get heavy, and yet, I haven’t made a move to leave.

I’m too comfortable.

I’m too warm under this fleece blanket with Hayden.

I want to get to know him even more.

I want more time with him.

“What was Racer like growing up?” I ask, holding back the yawn that wants to escape.

“Racer?” Hayden chuckles. “Can you guess what he was like?”

“Hmm . . . a total tool?”

“Pretty much, but it was oddly okay in our group of friends. We knew he was the jokester, the one who pulled pranks, but he was also very sensitive, so we didn’t return a lot of his jabs. We let him have his fun.”

“He is sensitive, isn’t he?”

“Very, and now that he’s older, he’s very sensitive to people around him, compassionate and understanding when he needs to be. He can read a situation well and knows when he needs to stop joking around and be the incredible friend he is.”

“Mmm,” I hum in agreement. “That’s very true. He was there for me when everything with Logan went down.”

“He was?”

I nod against Hayden’s chest, his arm growing tighter around me. “Racer is not a fan of Logan, but then again, he doesn’t know him like I do, or like Emma does. He’s a good guy, and he’s been there for both of us from the very beginning.”

Hayden grows quiet, and I’m sure Logan isn’t one of his favorite topics, especially after the way he reacted when I told him what happened between us.

Not wanting there to be unnecessary beef between Hayden and Logan, I add, “He really is a good guy. I think you guys would actually get along.”

“Doubt it,” Hayden mutters under his breath.

Lifting off his chest, my hand against his pecs propping me up, I look Hayden in the eyes. Instead of the usual jovial expression he wears, his brow is creased, his jaw hard and set in stone, and his eyes are cast forward.

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t. He treated you like shit during a moment that needed more sensitivity. Doesn’t seem like a guy I would get along with.”

“It was an awkward moment. I’m sure he handled it the best he knew how to.”

Hayden shakes his head and lowers me to his chest. “There are about ten other ways I can think of off the top of my head on how he could of handled that situation. He didn’t have to be a dick to you and that’s what he was. The dude isn’t cool in my book, not sure he’ll ever be.”

Taking a small breath, I say, “He’s still my friend.”

Heavily sighing, Hayden presses a kiss against my head but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he rocks us back and forth, letting the night we’ve shared speak for itself. And it’s in this moment I appreciate why he and Racer are close. Why he and Racer share their dislike of Logan. They’re loyal. One hundred percent loyal toward those they consider theirs. Even in the small amount of time I’ve known Hayden, I can see if you are considered a friend, that invitation never goes away. And that’s possibly more dangerous to my heart than all other amazing attributes thrown together. That’s what I learned from my family. Loyalty and love go hand in hand.