Like for peace of mind.
I shrug. "Sure."
He mulls it over, silent while maintaining eye contact. When his lips crawl into his signature grin, my body reacts as it usually does, and I start regretting my decision. "You sayin' you want to hang out with me, Mystery Girl?"
"No, I—that's not what—"
He adjusts his stance, shaking his head. "I'm fucking with you, Brooke. Jenny did this before with Ward. Why she'd want to spend the day with a goalie is beyond me." He blows out a breath as if his opinion's exhausting. "Those dudes are weird as hell."
I catch myself snickering, and he definitely notices. "But yeah," he says, striding half a step closer. "Sure. You can be my shadow."
I nod and remove my phone from the tripod clamp. I shove it into my back pocket as he continues.
"Under two conditions."
I peer up at him. "No dates."
He cocks his head back and looks me over quickly. "Well, someone's awfully confident." My gaze turns to a glare. "But no. That's not one."
"I'm listening."
Drew switches his stick to his other hand and tugs one glove off, tucking it under his arm. He removes his helmet next, balancing it on the top of his stick and runs his free hand through his hair. "The first is you have to lean in. You want to spend a day in my shoes, you're walking in them right alongside me." When my eyes finish their quick detour to his hair raking, they return to his. And of course, he's smirking at me knowingly. "You have to commit, Mystery Girl."
"Perfect," I say, dripping in false confidence. "That's exactly what I've been working on."
"It'll be good practice then."
I tip my chin down, popping a hip out and scooping up the tripod. "And the second condition?"
His voice flattens, his tone serious. "I say what makes it into the highlight reel. If there's something I don't want on social media, you have to respect that."
His final term throws me. Mr. Spotlight doesn't want his life on full display? Instinctively, my thoughts go to something messy—something dangerous, risky, maybe a bad habit he can't seem to shake. But in that case, I wouldn't want to post it anyway. I'm not trying to stir up trouble for the one guy who could possibly write me my first everrealletter of recommendation. And honestly, seeing he's still got shit he's dealing with would only help me with the real reason I want to tag along.
"Yeah, okay. Deal," I say. "You get final say."
"Alright then. Tomorrow?"
"Sure, what time?" I lean down, shoving the tripod into my black, quilted bag, the end of it jutting out of the top.
"6:30?"
I snap up, the bag in my hand swinging with force and landing on my shoulder, the metal rod sticking out practically taking out an eyeball. "In themorning?"
Drew chuckles. "I can pick you up if that's easier."
Why did I think that this man would need his beauty sleep? Maybe time to flush out the hangover? "Oh my God, you're serious," I deadpan.
"Uh, yeah, Brooke. I'm serious."
My ass starts vibrating as my phone goes off in my jeans. First taken aback by the time and now distracted by the message, I don't manage much more than an, "Um..."
I slip my cell from my pocket and glance at the screen.Unknown Numberis sitting on top of a new text. I slide it open curiously.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
In town for a few hours, Brookie. Meet me for coffee?
My current attitude does a complete one-eighty. There's only one person in the world who calls me Brookie, and the last time I saw her, she had just swooped back into town after spending Christmas in Iceland under the Northern Lights in nothing but her birthday suit.Typical Ivy.
