“Cool.” I pause to inhale the last of the smoothie and she laughs as she comes around the bar to stand next to me. I give her a grin. “You’re right. It didn’t taste like wet grass after all.”
She gives me a side hug as we walk to the changing rooms. “I’m always right. You’ll be saying that again in a few years when you’re all in love and settled down.”
“Ha!” I give her a shove and head into the men’s locker room to change.
The next morning I wake up feeling grounded and content…for about three minutes until my phone starts ringing. I grope for it on the nightstand knocking my bottle of water and the change I pulled from my pocket last night to the floor. I curse and rub the sleep from my eyes so I can read the name on the screen.
“Hey, Avery. What’s up?” Avery Westwood, former captain of the Winterhawks and current captain of the team I was just traded from, the San Diego Saints, is probably the person I’d consider my best friend.
“You’re banging Shay.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I’m wide awake now. I sit up so quickly I get light-headed.
“Someone took your photo with her. At the gym. You two look cozy,” he explains. “They posted it on Instagram and of course now everything thinks you’re sleeping with Seb’s girl. The puck bunny brigade are posting it everywhere else calling her a whore and you a dirt bag.”
“I am not—”
“I know. We all know,” Avery cuts me off with his reassuring words. “Stephanie called Sebastian as soon as she saw it and he knows it’s not true. But I would call him anyway, before the game.”
“I will. I fucking hate social media.”
“We all do, buddy,” Avery says with a sigh. “Hang in there and have a great game tonight. Just watch Seb’s left hook. It’s killer.”
Avery hangs up with a chuckle. Ugh. I never thought hanging out with Shayne would result in this.
I throw off the covers and grab a pair of sweats out of my suitcase and pull them on with one hand while I dial Seb’s number with the other. He answers on the second ring.
“I am going to rip your head off and shove it down your throat you son of a bitch,” he hisses. My chest constricts as my heart falls to the floor. But before I can make words come out of my mouth, he starts laughing maniacally. “I’m kidding, Rue!”
“Mon Dieu, tabernac,” I swear in French. “Not funny, dude. Not fucking funny!”
“Really? Because I can’t stop laughing,” he responds.
“I would never, ever touch Shayne. Not like that. I need you to know that,” I reply, dead serious even though he’s still laughing.
“Of course I know that. You don’t need to worry,” Sebastian replies as he finally stops laughing. “The girl who first posted has been stalking Shay’s classes for weeks asking about me and other hockey players. She’s a wannabe bunny and Shay’s finally got a reason to ban her from the gym. I gotta go. We have a morning skate. And then I want to hit the gym and practice some boxing so I can knock you out like I did Westwood.”
“Still not funny!” I bark but he’s laughing anyway.
I say good-bye, hang up and throw on a hoodie to head to the breakfast room. I Google my name and Shayne’s and the picture pops up from several different sources, including the infamous puck bunny site called the Warren. I click on it and my anger grows. It was taken as we walked to the changing rooms and she gave me that side hug. I’m looking down at her and she’s got her head kind of turned and it looks like we’re about to kiss. It was a millisecond in time that is totally misleading. Fuck.
As soon as I walk into our meal room, the snickering starts. I glance around. “It’s all bullshit.”
“What else are you going to say?” a rookie asks and I flip him the bird as he shovels oatmeal into his mouth.
Jordan, Luc and Devin are all sitting at a table near the buffet and I grab some oatmeal and berries and a blueberry muffin before joining them. “It didn’t fucking happen.”
“We know,” Jordan says and Luc and Devin both nod.
“But there would be no picture to explain if you’d just stayed in like I suggested,” Devin mutters.
“You’re right. I fucked up.” I scoop some oatmeal into my mouth and then almost choke as Coach walks in.
“Morning, boys,” he says in his usual gruff tone. His eyes scan the room and make contact with my own but he keeps moving toward the buffet, grabbing a coffee and taking his time as he pours cream and stirs it. I force myself to look innocent and shovel another spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth. I try not to look at him as he leaves the buffet but I have no choice when he stops beside our table.
“Everyone get a good night’s sleep last night?” he questions and Jordan and Luc nod while Devin gives him a verbal “‘yes.” He turns his eyes on me.
“Slept great. Ready to go.” I try to smile but I’m certain it looks far from natural.
