“Alright, pull him.”
He gave a nod and walked off.
I ran a hand down my face, already adjusting lines in my head, when I caught Mel walking up, iPad hugged to her chest, hair pulled back with small strands escaping, though she still looked pro. At five-five, she carried the kind of proportions that hada way of making sense, especially next to my six-one frame. I caught myself tracking that before forcing my focus back to her face.
She’d dropped her usual slacks. Today, it was a pencil skirt that sharpened her stride, paired with a soft pink blouse, more boardroom than bench. Something about the switch caught me off guard; she’d leveled up without warning, and I had to keep my expression steady.
She stopped beside me.
“Coach?” she called.
That threw me. We were fake-dating. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I wanted to ask… if I could sit out tomorrow’s trip to Vegas.” She paused. “Just this one. Sam’s graduation stuff is ramping up, and I need the extra planning time.”
Reasonable request, terrible timing. Not because I didn’t get it, but because consistency mattered. Also, I kinda wanted her around.
I straightened slightly. “You know I can’t play favorites.”
“I didn’t know I was one.”
Oh, the sass. I smirked, studying her. She pushed a dendrite of hair from her face. Her neck flushed slightly, and those eyes were like the daggers she sent in that text.
We could manage without her. Vegas was only an hour and a half flight. In by noon, puck drop by seven, out by midnight. Long day, but doable.
“I can spare you, this once,” I said, voice even.
Her shoulders visibly dropped, and she nodded but didn’t move.
I lowered my voice. “Are you avoiding me?”
That had her posture shifting and she glanced around the rink. “Not avoiding, being careful,” she said. “With the media stuff you mentioned, I didn’t want to feed rumors before the party.”
So I wasn’t imagining the distance, the chill.
“Fair. Don’t completely ice me out.”
She smiled. “Not icing. Just preemptive thawing.”
I huffed a laugh. Whatever that meant, I was into it.
She walked back toward the bench, and my eyes followed. I told them to knock it off. This was not the venue to run a hip movements study, even if I was only monitoring her stride integrity—for safety, obviously.
I drove up to Mel’s house and immediately slowed. Cars lined both sides of the street. Every driveway was full. Even the patchy front lawn across the road had become a makeshift parking lot.
Wow.Was this a party or a small-town reunion?
I hadn’t expected it to be this packed, especially after the financial mess they were still sorting out. Guesssimplecame with thirty cars and a trellis of balloons on the front porch.
I glanced at the bottle of wine in the passenger seat. No cards, no flowers, no game plan. Game 7? No problem. But showing up at a backyard full of strangers as Mel’s date was a play I didn’t know how to make. I needed a playbook on how to forecheck a very inquisitive aunt.
Gripping the wine, I sat there a second longer. Jeans, dress shoes, a button-down shirt, and a buttonless blazer, my last sprint-weekend staple. I stepped out into the crowd.
Music thudded softly from the backyard. I followed the sound through the side gate, nodding at a guy on the way in. Clean-cut, thoughtful brow, had that future-doctor look. One of Sam’sclassmates, maybe. The yard was strung with lights, picnic tables covered in disposable floral cloths, and trays of appetizers halfway untouched.
A wave of chatter moved around me as I walked through the yard.
Then I saw her.
