“What? No,” I cry, a little too loudly to sound convincing.
“Uh huh, suuuure.”
“It’s not like that. We’re friends.”
“Freya,” she starts as we approach the car. Sutton pulls the back door open and hops inside. “I get it. Cole Hansley is hot. There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be interested in what he has to offer.” I swallow thickly, unable to deny her words. “But I’m pretty sure he’s the most untouchable man I’ve ever met. He keeps everyone at arm’s length. Even the guys only know the version he wants them to know. But there’s more to our goalie than meets the eye. I’d put money on it.”
My mouth opens and closes as I try to process everything she just said.
“I could be wrong, of course.”
She isn’t, though. Casey is a good judge of character. She always has been.
“There’s nothing going on there. The only thing he wants me for is my cooking skills.”
“If you say so,” Casey sings as she ducks around the other side of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat.
No sooner do I join them, and Sutton starts reeling off stats about the Vipers’ opponents tonight. She lists players, their positions, and how well they’re playing this season as if she knows them personally. It’s mind-blowing how much this kid knows, while I can barely work out which way each team should be shooting.
I swear, she doesn’t come up for air the whole ride back to Casey and Kodie’s place.
The second Casey unlocks the front door, Sutton darts forward toward the living room. I soon discover that she already has ESPN on and is soaking up everything she can about tonight’s games.
“Did you hear that, Casey?” she calls. “Garcia is out with an injury.”
“That’s good news for us,” Casey replies as she pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Just a small one,” I say.
“There’s a guest room upstairs with your name on it,” Casey offers.
“I should go home. Mom and Dad will be expecting me.”
“Message them. Tell them you’re staying here.”
My need to argue lasts all of five minutes, helped by Casey as she pours me anything but a small glass.
“Fine,” I concede, snatching up the glass the instant she’s finished and taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“That’s always how good decisions taste.” She laughs before grabbing a soda for Sutton and moving toward the living room.
I grab my cell but leave my purse on the kitchen counter. When I wake it up, I find I’ve got a string of messages.
Cole: Nope. You want the one who’s going to be keeping all the pucks out.
Cole: Did my arrogance scare you off?
Cole: I’ll be the one in green. Number thirty-three.
Freya: I know your number, Hansley.
Cole: Is that right? I haven’t seen you wear it yet.
Heat surges to my face. Surely, he doesn’t mean…he doesn’t want me to wear his jersey, does he?
Freya: Good luck tonight.
Cole: Thanks. I’ll do my best to give you something to scream about.
