Our eyes meet.
For one suspended heartbeat, the whole room blurs. I hear the murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs, but it is all background noise to the heavy thud of my pulse.
He does not smirk.
He does not wink.
He just looks at me, steady and unreadable, like he is waiting to see if I will run.
I look away first.
Of course I do.
“Nice of you to join us, Blackhorn,” Coach says.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bryce answers, dropping into the empty seat across the table.
I can feel his attention like heat on my skin. I stare at the agenda like it contains nuclear codes.
Coach continues. “Tonight is New Year’s Eve. Most of you idiots will be at that hotel event downtown. There will be cameras, fans, alcohol, and poor life choices.”
Dex leans over to Eli. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
Coach pins him with a look. “You embarrass this team, you embarrass me. You embarrass me, you begin the new year on the bench. Clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, Coach” fills the room.
“Good,” he says. “No shenanigans. No PR nightmares. No kissing anyone in a place you can get caught.”
My pen makes a tiny, traitorous squeak against the paper.
Bryce’s mouth curves, just a little.
I pretend I don’t see it.
***
A few hours later, I am at lunch with the wives and girlfriends in a deli near the arena, clutching a Diet Coke like it’s holy water.
Harper, Mia, Janie, and a couple other partners have become my unofficial support group. And today, I invited Shari, too.
“This is my best friend, Shari,” I say. “Shari, this is Harper, Mia, Janie… the brains behind the idiots on ice.”
“Hi,” Shari says, eyes bright. “Your husbands are very hot. In a completely respectful way.”
Mia grins. “We appreciate your honesty.”
“This is the best sandwich I have ever eaten,” Shari announces around a mouthful of turkey and avocado. “Is this what rich people eat like?”
“We are not rich,” Mia says. “We are just heavily invested in carbs.”
Harper laughs. “Speak for yourself. I married a man who considers boiled chicken a food group.”
Janie leans in. “So, Annabelle. New Year’s Eve. Are you going to the big party downtown with most of the Outlaws?”
I take an enormous bite of my sandwich to stall. “No,” I say once I have chewed enough to avoid choking. “I am not. I am going to have a quiet night. Pajamas. Cheap wine. Emotional support chocolate. Maybe a movie where no one has abs.”
Harper lifts a brow. “Mmhmm.”
