“Please.” I wave a hand. “I could drink most of the rookies under the table and still be up for morning skate.”
“Yeah, but you’re not twenty-two anymore, old man.” Kade grins, but his eyes narrow slightly as he studies my face. “Something bothering you? You had that look.”
“What look?” I grab my towel and wipe my face, mostly to avoid Kade’s knowing gaze. He has this annoying ability to read people—comes from being the team dad, I guess.
“That murder-face you get when you’re thinking about something that upsets you.” He nods toward my phone. “Bad press?”
I consider brushing it off, but Kade’s not going to let it go. He’s like a dog with a bone when he thinks something’s wrong. It’s what makes him a good friend—and occasionally a pain in the butt.
“Nah, just ... Cheyenne’s boyfriend, Garrett.” Even saying the name leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Kade leans back. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I pick up my phone again, unlock it, and hand it to Kade. “Look at this picture. Does Chey look happy to you?”
He studies the photo. “She’s smiling.”
“But not really smiling. That’s not herrealsmile.” I take the phone back and stare at the image. “The guy’s a tool, Kade. You should’ve heard the things he was saying last night.”
“What happened?” Kade’s voice carries that calm, non-judgmental tone he uses when trying to get rookies to open up about their problems.
I hesitate, suddenly feeling ridiculous. But the memory of Garrett’s words makes my skin hot all over again.
“He accused me of flirting with Chey.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Can you believe that? He said the way we joke around is ‘more than friendship.’ What kind of insecure crap is that?”
Kade’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Well, you twodohave a pretty unique dynamic.”
“Because we’ve known each other forever! She’s practically family.” I stand up and shove my phone into my gym bag with more force than necessary. “We basically grew up together. She’s Genna’s best friend.Of coursewe have inside jokes and stuff.”
“Sure, that makes sense,” Kade agrees, but there’s something in his tone that makes me look at him suspiciously.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I just wonder why it bothers you so much. If it’s not true, then who cares what Garrett thinks?”
My shoulders tense. It’s a fair question, and the fact that I don’t have a good answer makes me even more annoyed.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I insist, zipping my bag closed with a sharp tug. “It’s just stupid. And disrespectful to Chey that she can’t have male friends without him accusing her of it being something else.”
“Right,” Kade says, drawing the word out just enough to let me know he’s not buying it.
I busy myself with changing out of my sweaty shirt and repacking my gym bag. The thing is, Garrett’s accusation hit a nerve, but not for the reason anyone might think. It’s not that I have feelings for Cheyenne—that would be weird, right? It’s that her boyfriend clearly doesn’t value her, and Chey deserves better than some insecure, controlling tech bro who can’t handle her having friends.
“Besides,” I continue, “the guy’s all wrong for her. I mean, he barely even lets her finish a sentence. Too busy always talking about himself. Gen and I keep waiting for her to realize that he’s a terrible guy, and she just keeps ...staying.”
Kade’s expression becomes difficult to read, and I can already tell he’s about to go into hiswise old owlspiel. “Maybe he’s not as bad as you’re making him out to be. I mean, you only see them on what, holidays? I don’t recall seeing your sister and her friend all that often.”
“They come to my games every now and then—well, Genna does. Chey hasn’t really been coming since Garrett walked into her life four years ago.” I roll my lips against each other. “I just think the guy is a piece of work—and not the good kind.”
“And you haven’t once thought that maybe you’re just biased? Maybe he feels threatened by your friendship with Chey, and it brings out the worst in him?”
“Would you stop playing the devil’s advocate?” I snap, shooting him a glare that lacks intensity.
Kade remains silent, which is somehow worse than if he’d argued with me.
“What?” I demand again.
“I didn’t say anything.”
