“Not all hockey players just want to get in a girl’s pants.” He chuckles. “And speaking of hockey players not interested in sex, have you seen the news?”
“No. I’ve been happily out of the loop today. Why?”
He pauses. “Westwood signed with the Saints.”
I sit up, the swing rocking violently under me thanks to my abrupt movement. I almost fall off of it. “What? The Saints? As in San Diego?”
“Yeah. He’s moving to San Diego,” Sebastian confirms. “It’s all over the news, but I had to call him myself to confirm it, because it’s like the last team I thought he would sign with. They suck.”
“He’s moving here?” I repeat, and stare out at my quiet little street. “He confirmed that?”
“Yeah, he did. I have no fucking idea what he’s thinking.”
“He said it was between Los Angeles and Manhattan. He said that the whole point of a new team was to be in a larger market with more access to endorsement deals.” It’s exactly what Avery told me in Maine last June. “He never mentioned San Diego.”
“Yeah, we’re all pretty stunned,” Sebastian says, and sighs. “You know Westwood, though. He doesn’t exactly like to share his thoughts. But he said it’s what he wanted.”
My heart feels like it’s been replaced with a hummingbird. Am I having a panic attack? No. I’m not panicked. I’m just…startled? Yeah, I’m startled. And I’m…excited? I don’t want to be excited. Being excited over Avery is not a good idea. Besides, it’s not like I’ll see him just because he’s here in the same city as me.
“I gave him your number,” Sebastian announces.
“Why?” The question flies out of my mouth too loud and too blunt.
“What? Is that a big deal?” my brother asks, confused. “You guys were friends here. I mean you got along when we all hung out, right? And he doesn’t have any friends in San Diego yet.”
“He’s going to have a whole team of friends.”
“Are you crazy?” Sebastian scoffs. “He’s the best player in the league: everybody hates him. It’s going to take a while to bond with them. I didn’t want him all alone.”
Something hits me and I say, “Alex is here, isn’t he? And they got along when they both played in Seattle, right? He can be Avery’s friend.”
Sebastian’s deep rumble of a laugh fills my ear. “Larue? Yeah he’ll be an ally in the locker room, but what about the rest of the time? Avery’s not exactly going to go pick up chicks with Rue, which is Alex’s only hobby.”
Alex Larue has bounced around from team to team every couple of years. He is a grinder on the ice, gets the job done, but there is nothing flashy or pretty or particularly skilled about it. He likes to say his claim to fame is he leads the league in sleepovers.
“Right. Avery doesn’t date,” I remind myself as much as my brother.
“Actually, he did date someone this summer,” Sebastian tells me.
It’s another jolt of surprise. I feel like my brother is a human defibrillator and he just keeps zapping me with one shocking announcement after another.
“He has a girlfriend?”Why is my voice so unsteady?
“Apparently. I heard a rumor anyway, but when I asked him about it, he said it was over.” He pauses. “So anyway, is it a problem? Can you hang out with him?”
“No. Yeah. It’s fine. I’m just surprised, I guess, that he’s coming here at all.” The wind picks up, and I’m suddenly chilled, so I grab the blanket and my Kindle and head inside. “When does he get here?”
“Well, training camps start next week, so probably like tomorrow or the next day,” Sebastian says, like it’s not a big deal. But my already racing heart picks up speed. “So be nice if he calls you. Remember, he needs a friend.”
“Okay,” I promise, and I can only hope that’s all he needs.
We talk about the vacation Sebastian just took with his girlfriend, Shayne, and some other mundane stuff, and then he tells me he’ll call me on the weekend and hangs up. I fold the blanket over the back of the couch and head upstairs to my room.
Avery is coming to San Diego? Seb was right; that didn’t make sense. New York or L.A. would have sold their souls to acquire him. And I knew that’s where his overbearing, micromanaging dad/business manager wanted him to go. San Diego is a new team—an expansion team—and has only been in the league for four years. They are fighting to steal some of L.A.’s fan base, and it is a struggle because they haven’t been doing all that well. They haven’t made the play-offs yet. Why would the best hockey player on the planet sign here?
The truth is I don’t want Avery Westwood in San Diego. San Diego is my place to start something new, and Avery is the past. It wouldn’t be that big a deal if I’d been able to stop thinking about the last time I saw him, at Jordan and Jessie’s wedding. Before that wedding Avery had been a comfortable but distant acquaintance. He lives behind a façade—a fake personality built for the media and sponsorships—and I don’t know a single person who could say they were part of his inner circle because he doesn’t have one. Even his close friends think he’s an island unto himself.
Then that weekend of the wedding he dropped the façade with me. He was funny and sarcastic and opinionated and charming. So damn charming. Seventy-two hours after he showed up for the wedding, I found myself on the verge of kissing him. And even though I haven’t seen him since that night, which was almost three months ago, I still feel if he let his guard down like that again, and kept it down, I might develop a hell of a crush on him.
