He hesitates, then looks up at me. “Have you ever thought about moving Cole Sharkey up to the first line?”
I freeze. I had. More than once. “I’ve considered it.”
Something softens on Sam’s face, something like relief. Maybe it’s validation. Maybe it’s just relief that he didn’t say something I thought was stupid.
“I think he’d do well on that line,” he says.
“Explain.”
“He’s got a really strong right shot that the line could use. And he’s a hell of a forechecker. Plus, Alexei’s been slowing down. The second line might do him some good.”
“You know,” I say, leaning back against a locker, “for a kid who doesn’t play hockey, you have a pretty solid grasp of the game.”
A faint blush creeps under his freckles. He shrugs, eyes dropping to the floor. “I like the strategy. It’s kind of like chess. Thinking ahead. Planning your move. Figuring out how to adjust when someone blows that plan up.”
“That tracks.” I nod. “What other advice do you have for me, Coach?”
He considers that, chewing on his bottom lip. The gesture makes him look a lot like his mom. “Just keep pushing Austin’s offensive starts. I think that’s going to matter in this next series.”
“Agreed.” I pause. “Anything else I should know?”
“My mom’s birthday is in three weeks.”
“It is?”
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face.
Shit. “I mean…that’s good to know.” I clear my throat. “We don’t really do birthdays in any official capacity, but if I mention it to Cal she’ll probably make sure there’s a cake or something.”
“I know you’re dating my mom.”
Well, hell.
“What makes you think that?”
Sam hops up onto one of the wooden benches, swinging his legs. I take the one across from him.
“She stopped being your physiotherapist.”
Is that all he’s got? Maybe this won’t be a disaster. “Our schedules weren’t compatible,” I lie smoothly. “I’m seeing someone else.”
“But you’re still texting her. A lot.”
Fuck.“You shouldn’t read other people’s texts.”
“I don’t,” he says mildly. “But when my mom’s phone lights up every five seconds, I’ve seen your name on the screen.”
I give him my best authoritative look.
He meets it without blinking. “I’m a child,” he says, perfectly innocent. “Curiosity is one of our most natural characteristics.”
This kid is more mature than half my players.
“Alright,” I say, trying to sound tough. “Is that all you’ve got? The fact that I’ve texted your mom a couple times?”
Sam shoots me a look that screamsreally, man?
“Fine. More than a couple times. How do you know I’m not texting her about work?”
