I huff out a laugh, glancing down toward my lap. "Hey, you didn't call me Mystery Girl," I throw back, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Drew drops his head, and when his eyes meet mine, the blue is so clear I can almost see my reflection. "Well, yeah. That's because I’ve finally got you all figured out.”
"Oh, do you?”
"I do.”
"Huh..." I roll my tongue over my teeth. "Well, that makes one of us.”
Drew grins and stands, extending his hand to me. I take it, and he yanks me up, but rather than stopping when I land on my feet, he continues the momentum and throws me over his shoulder.
"Don’t worry," he calls over my squeals. "I can carry the team.”
"Okay, Brett, tell me about yourself."
Burns glances around the players' lounge, his knee bouncing as he sits at the edge of the black leather couch. He tosses an M&M into his mouth before bringing his attention back to me. "What do you want to know, InstaBrooke?"
I huff out a laugh as he scans the room again, shaking the bag of trail mix in his hand. Trying to get his attention, I snap in his direction. "Well, first, I'd like to know what is happening right now?"
Brett looks over his shoulder, clearly still distracted. "I, uh..." He clicks his tongue. "I'm just—where's Cap?"
I throw my hands in the air, then press stop on my recording app. "What?" I ask slightly exasperated. We've been sitting here for ten minutes already, and all he has done is munch snacks and kill time.
"Where's Drew?" He wrinkles his forehead but smiles as if he's completely unbothered.
"No, I understood the qu—nevermind. I don't know where he is. On the phone or something, maybe. Why?"
Brett clears his throat, searching for another piece of chocolate among the mixed nuts. When he finds one, he throws it into the air, catches it in his mouth, then chews before responding. "Maybe we should wait."
"For Drew? Soyoucan tell me fun facts aboutyourlife?"
He shrugs and twists to study the other guys around the room. A few players I don't know well, because they rarely touch the ice, are posted up on the high-back stools by the bar counter, eating sandwiches and watching game film on the flatscreen TV. Hughes and Petrov sit together at opposite ends of the conference table, both of their heads buried in their phones, and Ward is on his back on the floor, his eyes closed and his legs up on the wall.
Brett finishes his scan then shifts closer to me on the loveseat next to him, tucked in the corner of the lounge. "Cap's my best friend, InstaBrooke. If he sees you flirting with me—"
"What? Brett, this is for social media. I am not flirting with you."
"Well, not yet. But that's why we need him here. So you don't get swept up in the Burns' Effect, eh?"
I stare at him blankly, wondering what twilight zone I've somehow entered—and why he'd say that anyway. "Okay, first, I think we're probablygood onthat." I reach forward and pat his shoulder. "But I appreciate the concern."
He smiles, and it's admittedly adorable, but, especially after today, I'm too far gone for his captain for it to have any greater effect on me. "Second..." This time it's me who leans in, curious. "What would even make you say that?"
He takes a long swig of his purple Gatorade, grinning at me beneath the bottle. He lowers it and swallows, then spins the lid back on and settles into the cushion. "Like I said, Cap's my best friend."
For the first time since we started talking, Brett makes direct eye contact with me without any sort of playful expression. My face relaxes as he stares at me knowingly. "You're good for him." I stare back, unsure of what to say, a slight case of whiplash hitting me from his two opposite sides. "Different than what people would expect," he continues. He lowers his voice. "But so is he. I'm just not supposed to know that."
My chest tightens at the thought of the Drew I know. The one who deserves for his true self to be seen. The one who, according to Brett, might be more understood than he thinks—at least by his best friend. "And how would you know that?"
He pretends to search the bag again, his hand digging aimlessly around as he stares at the light gray carpeting on the floor. "I just do."
I offer him a slight smile, and silence grows between us. I'm not sure how to respond, especially considering Drew's and my situation, but I want to hug Brett. To tell him he's right. Drewisdifferent than he pretends to be—and in the most beautiful way. But I don't. It's not my secret to tell.
"What's your favorite color?" I ask, hitting record again and moving on from the current topic.
"Cyan," Brett says without hesitation.
"Favorite food?"
