UNKNOWN: Hey, it’s Cole Thibault. My mechanic bailed. The storms are too bad tonight. She’s going to meet me in the parking lot tomorrow morning at ten. I’ll have her look at your car first. You can meet us there if you want, but otherwise I’ll text you when she has an update.
The storms had cleared out, so I ate breakfast and then walked back to the arena parking lot, stopping to get two coffees from the convenience store on the way. Cole and the mechanic were standing over my Bronco’s open hood when I got there.
“I don’t know how you like your coffee, so I got one black, and one with cream and sugar.”
“Cream and sugar, please.” He smiled as he accepted the cup. “It’d be better if there was Fireball in it, though.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
The mechanic, to my surprise, was a butch woman with long brown hair tied into a single thick braid. She glanced at Cole and said, “Bringing you coffee? She’s a winner.”
Cole shot her a warning look. I wondered what that was about.
“How’s it look?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Spark plug’s dead. Just like Cole’s.” She jerked her head toward the other Bronco. “Storm must’ve fried them both.”
I shared a look with Cole. “My car was dead before the storm.”
“Don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged. “Only thing I can think of that would brick both cars at the same time. Maybethere was static electricity in the air or something. Gimme ten minutes and I’ll grab two replacements from the store.”
“How was the boozy cider?” Cole asked while she was gone.
I let out a happy noise. “After walking in the rain? It was like heaven. You missed out.”
“I spent the rest of the night wishing I’d accepted,” he said with a smile.
“Oh?”
His smile wavered a moment. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t have any warm drinks at my place. I settled for a shower beer, then went to bed.”
“Ah.”
The mechanic returned and replaced the spark plugs. It was still early in the day, and we had a game that night, so I went home and spent a few hours catching up on chores around the house. By the time I was done cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry, it was time to head to the arena for all the pre-game routines.
When I got there, Cole was waiting for me in my office. “Hey,” I said, surprised. “Didn’t expect to see you here with the guys on the IR. Is your knee bothering you?”
“A little, but that’s not why I’m here,” he said. “I wanted to ask you something.”
I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Okay. Ask away.”
I could tell what was bothering him. He had a new injury, something probably small, and wanted to ask about it without setting off any alarm bells because he didn’t want to be benched. I’d seen it over and over at Georgia, and since I started working for the Reapers.
He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Do you want to go out sometime? On a date?”
It was, quite literally, the last thing I expected him to say. “What?” I blurted out.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, holding up a palm. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”
He started to leave, so I jumped forward and grabbed his arm. “Hold on.”
He stopped and looked at me, then down at the ground. For the first time since I’d met the captain of the Reapers, he looked… nervous.
“You caught me off guard,” I said. “I thought you were going to ask about an injury. Are we allowed to go on a date? When I worked for the University of Georgia Athletics Department, dating players was strictly prohibited.”
He stood up a little straighter. “As far as I can tell, it’s notnotallowed. There’s no rule against it.”
“We wouldn’t have to, like, disclose it to HR or anything?”
