2
IT’S A THING
CORBIN
Sometimes you just need to pivot. Like when you’re skating backwards, but you need to open up to receive a shot.
Or, say, when you’re at a Webflix event with your buddies before a game, and one minute you’re checking out cookies, and the next, you spot your best friend’s little sister landing in the middle of the cake she’d been making.
Sure, Mabel was ad-libbing like a pro, but a good teammate has your back. That was all I’d wanted to do back there.
Now, I shut the door to the closet-sized trailer and place the towel Ronnie’s assistant gave Mabel on the few square inches of counter. There’s a tiny couch, a dollhouse-sized table, and a bathroom smaller than one on an airplane. The sink there is too small to be useful, but there’s a bigger one between a microwave and a coffee machine. That’ll do to get her ready for the pic.
Tossing my suit jacket on the couch, I turn to Mabel and finally ask, “Smash cake, huh?”
“It’s a thing,” Mabel says with a little jut of her pretty chin.
“That save you attempted was worthy of a top goalie.” Even if that faux-badass judge wasn’t impressed with her song and dance,I sure as hell was.
“Thanks,” she says dryly. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll need a new career after that.” Her shoulders drop, and she shudders out a heavy breath, slumping against the trailer door and groaning like a wounded creature. “What have I done?”
Ah, hell. Can’t let her go all woe-is-me. “Hey now,” I say, reaching for her shoulders, cupping them to reassure her. “You handled that with aplomb.”
She peers at me, the corner of her lips screwing up. “Aplomb? Seriously? More likeI bombed.”
“Nope. You fell down and you picked yourself right back up.” I rub her shoulders through her T-shirt. I’m not usually a shoulder man, but hers feel damn good under my palms, strong and toned, probably from lifting heavy bags of flour and mixing batter. But I probably shouldn’t be rubbing Theo’s sister’s shoulders with so much—I look down at my hands—gusto.
I drop my arms to my sides.
“Didn’t do much good. I’ll never get my—” Mabel’s voice catches, and she doesn’t finish the thought.
“Never get what?” It sounds important to her, what she didn’t say.
She blows out a breath, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. It’s one contest. I’ll move on after the photo opp.”
I want to reassure her that no one will remember what just went down. But I don’t like to make empty promises.
She waves toward her hair, the swoopy tendrils tumbling out of her clip. “I’ll move on if I can ever get this frosting out of my hair, that is.”
NowthatI can promise. “Let’s do it.”
She lowers her hand and studies me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you have a game to get to?”
“Yes, but the arena is three blocks away, and for a six-fifteen puck drop, I don’t need to be there till four-fifteen.”
But that doesn’t satisfy her. “What exactlyareyou doing here, Corbin? Did you come with Theo? Is he looking out for me? That would be just like him.”
True. Checking up on her is her brother’s style, but I’m not here with him. Officially, I’m here for my teammate Riggs, who has a dangerous crush on the hostess ofRomance Beach. This morning in the weight room, while scrolling socials in between reps, the left winger blurted outHoly shit, my future girlfriend is in town.I’d bet a hundred bucks she’d never give him the time of day. Our goalie, Miller, got in on the action. So, we’re here to check on our investment and, fine, wingman if Riggs needs it.
But I have ulterior motives too. Retirement from the ice is still a couple years away, but someday, when I hang up my skates, I’ll open a bakery in Cozy Valley like my mom always wanted but wasn’t able to. It never hurts to keep up with trends in the baking world.
I flash her an easygoing grin. “It was field-trip distance from the rink,” I say, then move the hell on from mywhy.I hold out a hand so I can get her to the sink. “Let’s de-cakify you.”
Mabel gazes at her arm, coated in frosting, which is…hmm. Sort of gray, maybe white? “Goodbye, cake,” she says to the remains of her creation. “You were a good cake. One of the best. You would have served me well.”
Ah, hell. There’s real sadness in her cake eulogy. She’d been working hard on that confection before it all went south with a rogue butterfly. I can’t let her wallow.
I swipe a finger through the sugary mess coating her arm. “You’re right. It did go out in a blaze of glory.” I bring the frosting to my lips for a taste. “It’s fantastic.”
