Very fit.
Hockey playingfit.
Ugh.
My fingers twitched at the thought of sending a picture of him to my roommates. We could hang him up on the wall right in our kitchen just to stare at him every day. Totally appropriate idea to haverightnow.
“Come on, I need a drink.” My dad grunted as he squeezed into a booth, manspreading so the hot hockey player and I got squished to one side. I went in first, holding my breath to not inhale Renier’s clean scent, and pressed myself against the wall.
I had so many questions, most of them having to do with the great-smelling, gorgeous guy scooting next to me. Like, why was my heart hammering in my ribcage? I was logical. I knew he was attractive, but boy howdy, his body made my insides go wild. I tensed when his thigh hit mine, but he gave no indication that my touch bothered him. I swore I could feel his warmth spread through his jeans and into my very soul.
Reiner relaxed and leaned his elbows onto the table, and it took all my effort not to ogle him. Which, in a way, was uncharacteristic of me. I liked nerds. Skinny, unathletic guys who listened to hipster music and drank cold brew. The guys who hung out in the library and got excited over a used book sale. Growing up with a dad who coached hockey and a twin sister who flirted with all of the players, I stayed clear.
Plus, theone fucking timeI tried dating a muscle-head, the dude played me.
So,calm down libido.I cleared my throat, adjusted my leg so it didn’t rest against Reiner’s, and narrowed my eyes at my father. “You asked me to meet you atLogan’sto talk about the...thing. This guy’s here too. Why?”
The thing in question was doing stats for the Wolves and completing my junior data analysis project on the results. Our junior class was competitive and boring—as my advisor so kindly put it, I needed tostand outif I wanted to earn an internship next summer.What better way than to combine my ingrained knowledge of hockey with data sets? Plus, maybe it’d help my dad see that we had something in common. I’d been trying to get even a sliver of his attention for years, but I always came in second place to hockey. My insides twisted up with bitterness. The missed quiz bowls. The birthday dinner he forgot about, even though he made it up to my twin sister. Despite being twenty-one, the baggage he created still caused a punch to the gut.
“Always to the point. That’s Naomi for you.” My dad’s face warmed for a second, and he raised his fingers into the air, signaling the bartender. The woman made a beeline for us so fast she stumbled, the stars in her eyes shining a bit too bright. “Hey, darling. Could we get three 312s, please?”
“Sure thing, Coach.” She curtsied before she strutted away, which made me roll my eyes. I hated this shit. It was ridiculous how people put hockey players on a pedestal—even my dad, a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly and eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own. They were just people who excelled at sports. I was great at spreadsheets and pivot tables, yet there were no fans wanting my signature.
Which was a shame. Data analysts could do some pretty cool things.
“Naomi,” my dad said, his stern tone telling me he saw my reaction. We both knew my thoughts on how people treated hockey players like royalty.
I raised my hands in surrender, and my face heated. Cami was a dancer at Central and seemed to get all the athletic and charismatic genes from my dad. They watched football together and had inside jokes that left them heaving with laughter. Everything I said or did around my dad made me self-conscious, yet I couldn’t seem to stop the continuous eye-rolls when people acted weird about my father’s profession.
“Sorry.”
He leaned back into his seat and looked between me and Reiner. “Thanks for both coming here. As Reiner so kindly said, this first drink is on me.”
“As it should be,” Reiner replied with an easy lilt I envied. They were already buds. How fitting.
My dad slapped the table and laughed. “You two are going to be spending time together as my interns.”
Reiner snapped his head in my direction, and his brows furrowed as his tongue wet his bottom lip. I had to squeeze my thighs together to avoid reacting to that movement. That little dip of his tongue had me wild.
“What are you interning for?” he asked, the deep timbre of his voice making me brush my hair out of my face. Guys didn’t find me attractive—that was all Cami. She was long legs and sleek hair and curves and beauty.
I was...not. I was messy buns and ripped jeans, small boobs and zero coordination. I liked murder podcasts and 90s alt radio. I was under no illusions that Reiner would ever actually date me, but the fact he let me use him to get Gage off my back made him all the more appealing.“Data.”
“Data,” he repeated, making the word sound sinful. “What type?”
“Excellent question, Reiner. She’s going to help with stats for the year, and as my intern, I want you to listen to the reports and make recommendations to me. How would you, as a future coach, use data to make decisions?”
“Sir, no offense, but stats are just one small piece of what makes a great team.”
My stomach tightened like I was preparing for war. In a way, I was. Data wasmy versionof hockey. “Excuse me, but data is transformational.”
“Stats don’t show the whole picture.”
“Then you’re not using them correctly,” I fired back, my lungs heaving at the confrontation. Reiner frowned and ran a hand over the back of his neck, really making the bicep bulge. It wasn’t even fair.
Thank god the bartender returned with the drinks, spilling some all over her hand as she set them down in front of my dad. I didn’t even roll my eyes once.
Point to me.
