“What?” I ask.
“No,” Sutton repeats. “I do think he’s attractive. But he’s…”
“A total bad boy,” Andi says. “Probablya lotto handle. Very experienced. Very?—”
“The one guy my brother can’t stand,” Sutton breaks in.
Andi frowns. “You can’t let Beckett get in the way if you like him.”
“I have no idea if I like him,” Sutton says, shaking her head. “I don’t really know him. He’s hot. That’s what I know.”
But she’s not making eye contact with us.
“Nothinghas happened?” I press. Then a terrible thought occurs. “He hasn’t done or said anything that made you uncomfortable, has he?”
Now Sutton looks up quickly. “No. Definitely not.” She presses her lips together. “I feel totally safe around him,” she adds. “There’ve been a couple of times it’s just been the two of us before or after practice, and I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. There’s just…” She leans in.
So do Andi and I.
“Chemistry,” she says softly. “But, like Andi said, he’s got avibethat tells me he’s way out of my league and—” She sighs. “The Beckett thing.” She sits back. “So, no, nothing has happened and nothing will.”
“That’s bullshit,” Andi says, biting another fry in half. “This shouldn’t be about your brother at all.”
Sutton opens her mouth, but Andi continues, “But?—”
Sutton closes her mouth again.
“I don’t have a brother I’m super close to like you guys are, and I’m talking about sex, not love. If you’re thinking about something besides letting that tattooed, broody hockey player try to break your headboard, then don’t listen to me.”
Sutton reaches over and grabs two of Andi’s French fries. “Deal,” she says. “I won’t listen to you.”
I laugh. “Well, then everyone can just lust after Lawson andnotAlex.”
Sutton doesn’t lookthrilledabout that idea, but she doesn’t say anything.
The door to the shop opens, and I look over, my heart tripping when Alex strides inside.
He clearly showered at the arena. His hair is slightly damp, and he’s got different clothes on.
There are numerous greetings called out as people notice him. He returns them absently as he looks around.
Then our eyes meet, and he seems to relax.
I give him a smile, and his lips curl up, though the smile looks a little tight. Or tired.
I point toward the bar, and he nods, heading for the table with his teammates rather than straight up to his apartment.
Everyone else in the place is boisterous and happy and talking about the scrimmage, and personally, I’m feeling great.
Opening the scrimmage up to the fans was a great call, and Astrid has already gushed to me about how much she loved it. I’ve had numerous people approach me and tell me how they’re looking forward to the season now, and a local radio station in New Orleans wants to do an interview with me, Astrid, and whichever of the hockey players we can get. I think it should probably be Beckett. But of course, the station dropped Alex’s name too.
No matter how enthusiastic and online Beckett is, Alex is our big star name.
I’m right behind him with the tray of food for the table.
Even though he readily came to the table with the rest of the players, he’s frowning and is clearly not in a sociable mood.
I should not find it funny that he’s grumpy about this scrimmage. But what can I say? I like pushing Alex out of his comfort zone. I have a feeling I know therealAlex and I like that. A lot.
