“No, personal.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow, and Country tried to appear nonchalant as he angled himself so neither of them could see his screen as he typed.
I've never swung for a broadcaster, but I could be convinced
Country pressed send and immediately regretted it when he imagined Jenna's response. She’d wanted to be a broadcaster back in the day—maybe she still did—and he didn't want her to think that he was taking a jab at her failed prospects. Maybe they weren’t failed. Maybe she’d chosen the production position. He didn’t know anything about her at this point, did he?
He jammed his phone back in his pocket and pulled out of the parking spot onto 10th. A car honked behind them, and he raised a hand in apology. Jack held up a folded slip of paper with another riddle on it. Right, another clue.
Country focused on that slip of paper, avoiding Tyler's eyes staring at him in the rearview mirror. “What does it say?”
Jack read it out loud, and Country worked to make any sense of the words. They seemed to bounce back out of his head the second they entered. All he could think about was the buzzing in his pocket.
He was texting Jenna McAllister.
He had to repeat that in his head three times before he could convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. Before moving back to Calgary, he’d almost been able to convince himself that she didn’t still have her flag staked on the torn up plot of his heart. When he’d come back to the ranch, he’d been met every single day with hidden landmines.
The Snowballs had been his lifeline, but even joining the team had been like a knife in the back initially. Curtis and Ryan were there, and all the memories he had with them up to that point included her. It had felt like slogging through mud to build new ones, and now that he finally had his head above water, there she was. Pushing him back under.
“What do you think?” Jack asked, flipping the paper.
Country blinked. “I?—”
“Sean wants us to play dress up. Read that line again,” Tyler pointed over the seat.
Jack repeated the last line. “Where past pucks slide and fashion died, seek the threads where boldness tried.”
Jack looked between the two of them, and Country laughed. “Oh, he definitely does. Type in directions to Value Village and make sure it’s in the northwest.” He had a feeling they’d be ending up at the practice rink next.
“Do you want me to drive?” Tyler asked.
Country scoffed. “There's no way in hell I'd let you put your hands on my girl.”
“I might be better suited to handle her at the moment. You seem pretty distracted.”
“I'm not distracted.”
“You keep glancing down at your crotch like you just got to second base for the first time and you’re worried she’ll see proof.”
“I'm not—” Country clenched his jaw. He had been glancing down, damn it.
Tyler laughed. “Who's the text from?”
Country didn't want to talk about it, so he did what he always did. “An old hookup. She's back in town.”
Jack smirked. “Like she’s old or the hookup was old?”
“Both. She’s surprisingly flexible.”
“Foul. But I’m impressed you made enough of an impression for her to call you up.”
Country grinned. “With this mug, you can’t be that surprised.”
Jack held up his hands. “Hey, you gave that whole song and dance about being middle-aged, I assumed things might not be . . . you know. Working right.”
Tyler laughed out loud. “Yeah, you’ll fit in here just fine.” He held out a hand to Country. “Hand me your phone, bud. I’ll read the love letters for you.”
Country didn't have to see his own face to know the blood had drained from it. He was not pulling lackadaisical off well. “It’s fine. She can wait. Anticipation always makes it better.”
