She nods, her plump lips puckering in the cutest little pout. “Yep. Needless to say, they aren’t putting me in charge of that again anytime soon.”
I shake my head, bewildered.Who is this chick?“So what’s that leave you in charge of then?”
She comes and sits next to me on the bench, angling her body toward mine. “That leaves the numbered balls, which Annette already has on lockdown, and the daubers.”
“What about the little spinney thing the balls go in?”
“Oh! The bingo cage. Nope, that’s out too because Mark has been in charge of that one for ages.”
This chick is cracking me up. What’s a young, spry twenty-something-year-old doing running a meet-and-greet for singles over sixty? “So that leaves the daubers—those are the marker things, right?”
She nods her head, “Yeah, I suppose I could make a play for those, but that means taking John out, and I kind of like him, so—”
“Oh, I know what that leaves,” I say, as a sly smirk makes its way across my face.
Her eyes light up, turning a warm honey color. “Pray tell.”
My eyes crinkle with mischief. “Vanna White it.”
“Ohhh! I like where this is going.” Her index finger comes up to tap her chin. “I could totally do that. Put on a sparkly dress, maybe some heels.” Her face scrunches up into an adorable little pout before she says, “Maybe scratch the heels part. I definitely need to work on my hand motions though.” She suddenly pops up from the bench and stands in front of me. Her left hip juts out as her hands wave erratically in the air.
I can’t help the smile that consumes my face. She’s so fucking weird, but I think I kind of like it. I start shaking my head. “Not like that. Slow and fluid motions. You really gotta sell it.”
Her eyebrows pull together with a level of concentration that surprises me but also has me cracking up. She places her right foot out in front of her demurely, then one arm comes up in a slow dance, her wrist extending out until she’s almost perfectly mimicking a Vanna White pose.
I clap, enjoying her antics. When she bows, I place my thumb and index finger in my mouth and let out a low whistle of approval. “Bravo, bravo.”
Her bow turns into a curtsy. “Thank you, thank you, kind sir.”
When she sits, she turns toward me once again. “What’s your name?”
“Rowan.”
Her hand juts out in front of me once again, taking me by surprise. “Rowan, I’m Millie. It’s very nice to meet you.”
I look down at her hand, then my gaze finds hers as our palms connect. I shake off the little zing that traces up my arm at the contact and smile at the slightly wacky, maybe a little crazy girl named Millie.
Her eyes twinkle, and her smile is wide as she shakes my hand up and down. Something in my chest loosens—that suffocating feeling eases for just a moment.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Millie,” and I actually mean it.
Chapter Two
Rowan
“What the hell was that, brother?” Luka asks as he skates up next to me. I’m still staring at the damn net that the puck should have gone into but didn’t.
Nash, our goalie,skatesforward and drops the puck down onto the ice out of his gloved hand. I hear the ping of the little black disc hitting the ice. I should be rather impressed with my goalie, if I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for missing the shot in the first place.
It’s Friday night and instead of chilling at home with my best friend and teammate Luka, or going out to a party on frat row, we’re at a practice that Coach Cunningham called just yesterday morning.
We wouldn’t know aslap shotif it hit us between the eyeballs. His words, not mine. After our game Wednesday night, Coachdidn’t like what he saw, so he called a last-minute practice and told us to be here, or risk being benched.
“I’m tired is all,”I say as I continue to stare at the damn empty net, my stomachclencheswith apprehension. My glove hand spreads wide before itclenchesdown on my hockey stick.
“Go again,” I command.
“You just said you were tired. Maybe take a break, then we can go back at it,”Luka suggests as he watches me closely.
