It’s my hat trick.
Three goals in the first period in under ten minutes. I remember the game as if it was yesterday.
“Well?” I ask her.
She bows her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if it was okay. I just wanted to see you in action.”
“I meant, what did you think?” I ask her, shaking the phone in my hand.
“You’re really hot.”
Her eyes go wide.
My brows lift.
“I mean… you’re a hot player.”
Her expression makes it obvious that she’s panicking. It’s so dang cute. Nervous Erin is adorable, and I wonder how much more nervous she can get.
Of course I tease her to find out.
I smirk. “You think I’m hot, Bookworm?”
“I meant that you’re an amazing player,” she says, laughing awkwardly and pulling on her sleeves.
Yep, nervous Erin might just be my new favorite thing.
“So, I’m an amazing player, but not hot?”
“Urgh. Fine. You win. You’re both,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Why do you even need me to say it? It’s not like you don’t already know that you’re a ten. I’m sure girls tell you all the time.”
“They do,” I say, giving her a grin. “But hearingyoucall me hot sounds so much better.”
Color blooms across her face, creeping from the tips of her ears to the curve of her jaw. I can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin, and I know I’ve used up my quota of pushes and teases for the day. I’ll have to wait at least twenty-four hours for them to reset.
“Did you set up time with Valerie to talk about your project?” I ask her.
She clears her throat. “Yeah, thanks for passing on her number. We’ve set up a date to meet.”
It’s then that I get an idea. A place I’ve thought about going long before Erin got this project comes to mind. I’ve always ended up chickening out, though. However, when I think about going with Erin, it doesn’t seem so scary.
“Hey, can I take you somewhere?” I ask her.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I think it could be useful for your project.”
“Okay.”
The words hang in the air between us as I lead her out to the truck. We don’t say much as we drive, but the quiet is comfortable. The hum of the engine and the song on the radio fills the space.
I think there’s a reason it’s Erin in my passenger seat and not anyone else as I drive to Henderson Rink. It’s clear to me that this trip is more than just for her project.
Byrdie rolls to a stop as we pull up. The pang hits before I have time to prepare for it.
Henderson Rink was Jack’s baby, built for those who couldn’t afford to go to camps or play in school because they didn’t have the means.
There are three rinks in Huxley Bay carrying out his legacy. Jack had this crazy dream that when he retired from the league, he’d coach before creating his own NHL team and fill it, comprised of players who came from nothing and trained at Henderson Rink.
