The image of Maverick hovering in front of me yesterday floods my memories. The setting sun burning behind him, the soft orange light hitting the corner of his smile warm enough to make even the strongest girl melt. But as I’ve come to realize with these moments with him, it’s not the way he looked at me that lingers, it’s his whispered request that I hold onto the most. I should feel relieved knowing that catching feelings isn't even in his realm of possibilities. Instead, something uncomfortable settles in my chest at the thought, that to him, this is all just a game.
“It won’t get messy. We’ve both agreed. It’s all just an act.”
“Well then.” She raises her glass, lifting her chin toward the front of the bar, and I follow her gaze to the group of hockey players that are now filling the doorway. “Let the show begin.”
“Oh, God. Be cool.” I point a finger at her, and she holds both her hands up.
“I’m Frank Sinatra, baby.” Her smile is teasing and then quickly morphs into one of pure happiness when Noah appears at her side, wraps his arm around her shoulder, and without any shame as to who might be watching them, he kisses her. His free hand cups her jaw, holding her face to his and I look away.
“Hey, Coop,” Noah calls over the M.I.A song now playing.
“Congrats on your win the other night,” I say, returning his contagious smile.
“Thank you.” He dips his chin. “Mav said you’re coming to the next one.” He grabs the drink in front of Savannah, bringing the straw to his lips.
I feel my eyes narrow as I try to figure out what exactly his buddy has told him, but his face gives nothing away. I open my mouth to tell him he might have got the wrong information, but his chin lifts as he waves to someone behind me.
“Milly!”
My shoulders tense, and I don’t move. If Noah just called Silas Miller over, I know the third musketeer isn’t far behind.
“Beer?” Silas carries five bottles by the neck between his fingers before setting them on the table between us.
“Or shots?” Maverick’s voice sends goosebumps down my neck as he comes up from behind me, setting down the tray of shot glasses. “We wouldn’t want you having to sucker some poor unsuspecting fellas tonight.”
I roll my lips between my teeth at the memory of meeting Maverick last year and conning him into buying Savannah and me tequila shots.
Maverick leans his elbows onto the high top, lowering himself until he’s eye level with me. “Plus, I figured we could use something to help take the edge off our first date.”
My first reaction is to scan the table to make sure no one heard him, but for the life of me, I can’t pull my eyes away from him. His eyes are so blue, they shouldn’t be able to shine the way they do in this bar. They should fade out the sameway everyone else’s do under the single neon heart sign and the dingy stained glass light fixtures.
“Tell me, Chloe. Do you kiss on a first date?”
“This isn’t a first date,” I whisper.
“No?” He leans in close enough that I can feel his warmth, and all it takes is a simple grin and a snap of his gum to somehow dismantle all my composure.
“No.”
“Good. That means I don’t have to follow the rules.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I stare at the condensation sliding down my glass, focusing on the chill of my palm instead of the warmth coming off him.He’s just a hot guy in a bar.I try to justify the reaction to the close proximity and a little bit of alcohol.
“I brought you something else, too.”
When he stands to his full height, I feel like I can finally draw a breath, and with a clear head, I’m able to look around. I’m not sure where Silas has gone, but after scanning the crowd, I find Savannah leaning against the wall on the other side of the dance floor. Noah towers over her and they have moved their make out party from our table to a dark corner.
When I look back at Maverick, he extends a thick piece of black and green fabric, and I think I physically recoil.
“It’s my jersey. So you can wear it to my games.”
“Oh.” I choke. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be needing that.”
“You don’t plan on coming to my games, or you don’t plan on wearing my name across your back?”
“I don’t think we wrote that anywhere in the rules.”
“Well, get out your Pilot G2 or whatever your favorite pen is, and scribble it down somewhere, because I know Nathan. That dude shows up to every one of our games when he’s not playing his own. Even football players know hockey is the superior sport.”
