“You, too.” Her response is aimed at him, but she’s still focused on me, her expression full of curiosity. “I, um, heard Cole invited someone. He usually only brings family, so I wanted to introduce myself. Do you mind if I ask how you two met?”
I uncross then recross my legs, trying to ignore the hint of unease that swirls in my belly at the scrutiny. “At the Bobcats opening party thingy. We’re… friends.”
Friends is probably a generous term.He’s more of an acquaintance.Man I want to ride like a cowboyis definitely the most honest, though it’s the least appropriate answer.
“How do you know him?” I brace myself for her response. Is this Cole’s thing? Lure multiple women into a private box and then make them duke it out like they’re in an episode ofThe Bachelor? Because if so, she can have him.
She nods at one of the TVs in the suite. A camera is zoomed in on a player with the number 35 emblazoned on his jersey. The ticker at the bottom of the screen readsCameron Davies. “That’s my brother.”
I blink, hit with a mix of surprise and relief. And maybe embarrassment over my brief burst of jealousy.
The screen shifts to another player—Logan Clark, according to the caption. He’s got the sun-kissed California surfer thing going on with his shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes.
“He’s hot,” Elliott murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear.
My brother and I don’t usually have the same type, but even I can agree that blondie is objectively hot. Especially with his “fuck around and find out” smile.
With the whole reality-show scenario officially off the table, I relax a little. Sophie sits beside me, and the two of us fall into easy conversation as the players stretch and warm up. When she mentions she’s going to the bar after the game, I sigh a breath of relief. I’m not exactly nervous about seeing Cole again, but I’m guarded. I can’t tell what he wants, and as someone with enough trust issues to send their therapist to therapy, that puts me on edge.
By the time the puck drops, Sophie and I have followed each other on Instagram. I’ve picked up details about hockey from reading romance books, but without Sophie explaining the finer points of line changes and penalties, I’d be lost.
It’s a challenge to focus on the game when Cole’s on the ice. He moves with a fierce grace that makes me warm, despite the chill of the arena. Every time he jumps the boards and backs onto the ice, I find myself ignoring my nachos in favor of standing and cheering alongside the cacophony in the stands.
The game is full of nonstop action, and I don’t have to be a hockey fan to recognize Cole’s talent. He hurtles toward the other team’s goalie like it’s his life mission, and every time the puck races into the net, I’m on my feet screaming like I’m at a sold-out concert. I thought Cole was attractive before, but seeing him in his element adds a whole new level to his appeal.
It’s only once he scores the winning goal for the Bobcats that I realize I haven’t even touched the book buried in my bag.
CHAPTER FOUR
cole
If my teammatesare surprised that I’m out after a game, they do their best to hide it. It’s not that I don’t like celebrating our wins or commiserating over our losses. It’s just that I’m in bed by ten unless we have a late game. During what little free time I have, I’m typically too tired to do anything but sleep or lounge around. I tend to turn down plans if there’s a chance they could interfere with my sleep or training schedule.
Tonight? I didn’t just say yes to these plans, I initiated them.
The moment I step onto the semi-sticky bar floor of O’Leary’s, the team’s go-to bar, I’m met by a crush of regulars. The TVs are all playing games, each a different sport. Guinness flows like water, and the whole place hums like a quintessential Irish pub.
As I weave my way to the back of the bar, I spy Maya sitting with Cameron, his younger sister Sophie, and a guy I don’t recognize. A guy I instantly dislike, purely because of his clear familiarity with Maya. Her dark brown hair is tied back with a hot pink scrunchie that clashes horribly with the Bobcats’ gray and blue color scheme. Not that it matters, since Maya isn’t wearing team colors. Just a black sweater and jeans.
Ignoring the teammates jostling to get my attention, I head over to the high top where she’s parked.
As I approach, the mystery man greets me with a welcoming smile. “Hey, man. Great game.”
I level him with a blank stare. He’s objectively good-looking: dimples, stubble, the works. Logan thinks so too, based on the way he’s not so slyly checking him out from across the bar.
Cameron elbows me in the ribs, and I snap out of my one-sided glaring contest.
“Thanks,” I grind out, turning to Maya. “Hey. I’m glad you made it.”
“We shook on it.” The smile she gives me is infectious, her dark blue eyes glinting. “And I’d never miss out on nachos.”
The guy nods a little too enthusiastically. “The nachos were unreal. The jalapeño they put on top was amazing.”
The thought of the two of them sharing nachos has my hackles rising. “I’m sorry… who are you?” The question comes out more aggressive than intended. I’m not the kind of guy who flexes for dominance, but seriously—who is he?
Cameron coughs loudly in a bad attempt to cover up a laugh, which isn’t appreciated by meorSophie, who shoves him so hard he wobbles in his seat.
“Elliott,” he answers. Like he’s Cher. Or Madonna. No last name necessary.
