The Golden Goal (More Than a Game, #1)

by Annah Conwell

I know the woman like the back of my hand but none of that matters if she won’t stop fighting me long enough for me to show her that I’m as in love with a person as you can be without actually being in a relationship with them.

My smile softens as I watch her slide into her car. I hate how she still worries about that sort of thing. She doesn’t worry about my opinion though, that’s for sure. She’s just herself. It’s like getting my own version of Sutton Jones that no one else gets to see. I know the real her, and even if she wouldn’t believe me, I love that version of her the most.

On performance days, she was effervescent. Her face shone with the kind of joy that always took my breath away. And the way she moved on the ice was a thing to behold. It was as if she was made to wear skates. My mind drifts into memories of tugging a ball cap down low over my face and sitting up atop the bleachers just to get a glimpse of her. If she had seen me, she’d have thought I was there to tease her or throw her off, so I made sure she never knew I was there.

One day, I hope to have all of it. All of her. I want all her dreams and fears, her sleepy smiles, her sick days, her uncontrollable laughter and her tears. Because I may know Sutton better than any person at this party, but I know there’s so much more to learn. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a lifetime of learning every little quirk and trait of hers.

“Your favorite color is Tiffany blue, not red.” Sutton eyes me, still holding on to her other two darts. "How do you know my favorite color?” I swallow, trying to come up with something other than I’ve memorized every detail about you because I’m in love with you.

Her unbridled laughter trumps every sound I’ve ever heard. My favorite song, birds on a spring morning, the score from my favorite movie–all of it pales in comparison. I’d give every penny of the money she’s teasing me about away if it meant I got to hear this every day.

“Here,” he says, his wrist coming into my line of sight. On it is a black silk hair tie. “Why do you have a hair tie?” I scrunch up my nose. “Is it some weird trophy from a girl? I don’t want a used hair tie. That’s gross.” Shaw sighs. “Jones, it’s brand new. I can show you the receipt in my car if you’d like. You said you always forget to bring them with you, so I got some just in case.”

She smiles back at me, pulling her hand away. I miss her touch immediately. Man, I’m a sap for this woman. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I look down to hide the lovestruck grin I’d bet is occupying my face. I might be a sap, but it’s worth it. Sutton Jones is one of a kind, and I don’t mind being a fool in love with her.