She wrinkles her nose as water drips from the end of it. “Is that so?”
“Cold water. Uh, sorry about that. I thought I’d give the coach or whoever was here to greet me a Declan Printz dousing?—”
She clutches a damp file folder to her chest and the situation comes into focus.
I lower the squirt guns. My new coach isn’t short, but she’s not tall either. She’s fit, but curvy where it counts. Her gaze doesn’t meet mine and her hair hangs limply around her face with no thanks to me.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Is this the job overseas you mentioned?”
“Sure is, and it seems you’re my client. Er, student.” She steps closer and I catch a gust of sweet rosewater perfume.
“Then let the fun begin!” I lift the water pistols like a cowboy ready to conquer the west, now that he’s been reunited with his partner in crime.
She slowly shakes her head. “Declan, I need this job and I imagine the fact that we know each other would be a conflict of interest, so as of right now, we do not know each other. Got it?”
I frown. “You’re asking me to pretend I don’t know you?”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling you to,” she whisper-hisses. “They’re serious around here.”
I glance around to make sure we’re alone, then tackle her with a monster hug despite her orders.
She tries to shrug away. “Declan, the headmistress could walk in at any second.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take after not seeing my best friend in what feels like forever.” I squeeze tight enough that I feel her soften a little.
“You’re not going to let go until I give in, are you?” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
“Nope.” Something crackles inside me.
At last, she wraps her arms around my midsection, hugging me back. She sinks into me as if she needs this embrace as much as I do. For approximately twenty seconds, I feel at home, at ease. Like if my football career doesn’t recover from the #BruiserButt scandal, I’ll be okay. A deep breath, the first in a long time, fills my lungs.
When we part, Maggie looks up at me, hazel eyes bright. Maggie Byrne is so sweet, she’s the kind of girl that could give a guy a cavity.
“How long has it been? Someone was supposed to come to my birthday party but stood me up.” I wag my finger.
“I was there, but the line to meet you was too long.”
“Ouch,” I say, mock flinching. “You’re still wearing the charm I gave you at graduation. But it’s not around your neck.”
Her fingers reach for it. “Yeah, I guess so. The chain broke.”
The crackling inside intensifies and spreads to my chest. “You should’ve told me. I’d have replaced it. And for the record, if you ever show up anywhere I am and there’s a line, Miss Mags, I want you to cut right to the front.” I reflexively grip her wrist and rub my thumb over the charm. If I had my druthers, I could buy her one covered in diamonds instead of this little silver thing—it’s a wonder she still wears it.
“Cut to the front? Ha ha.” The way she drops the sarcastic laugh suggests she’s not the kind of woman to wait in line for a guy, nor should she. In fact, if a guy ever made her wait in line, I’d introduce him to the Boston Bruiser bust-up. It would involve my fists and his ears.
“I’m not joking,” I say out loud as a dark thought creeps in. What if I’ve been that kind of guy to someone’s best friend?
“Joking? But that’s what you do.” Instead of the smile I want to see, her lips dip like she carries disappointment. It can’t be about #BruiserButt because that’s just par for the course. I think back to our most recent text and everything seemed fine between us, business as usual with our easy-going banter.
“Ready for your life makeover?” she asks, glancing at the contents of the folder.
“I don’t need a life makeover.”
Her eyes, not meeting mine, land on the water pistols. “Declan, I beg to differ.”
I’ve never seen this version of my best friend. Instead of a cheerful reunion, I get cold, dead-eyed, irritable outlaw Maggie.
Again, the water probably didn’t help.
