Now, the two dumbasses are practically rolling around on the floor, and Coach is looking quite pleased with herself. I’m apparently suffering from a minor heart attack because it seems to be beating about four times its normal speed.
“I have to go to a community event this afternoon, Kane. Do you want to stop by my place once you finish up here?”
I nod. “Sure, it’ll be around—”
“Six fifteen.”
“Are you stalking me, Coach?” I ask, feeling pleasantly surprised that she knows my routine.
“In the sense that I know what each and every one of my players is doing at almost any given moment when they’re in the barn, yes.”
“Yessss,” Larsen whispers. “Iknewshe was obsessed with me.”
“Dude,” I bark at him.
“What?” he asks, holding his hands up. “My farm team coach was obsessed with me, too, and he was even bigger than you are, Kane.”
“Sounds good,” I respond to Queenie, completely ignoring the rookie. “Though, let’s meet at my place. I can have my chef leave meals for two. I’ve seen firsthand what your culinary skills are.”
“I wasn’t offering to feed you, Kane,” she clarifies. I swear Larsen and Li look like they’re in a movie theater with a bowl ofpopcorn. “And even if I was, I assure you I can cook steak and broccoli just fine.”
“Um, if you’re offering, Coach—”
“Certainly not, Larsen.”
“We’re better chefs, anyway.” Li is slightly less confident than Larsen but still willing to jump in on the chirping. “Three unbiased judges said so.”
I catch the slight smirk at the corner of his lips and let out a laugh. “I think you two might have paid off the judges.”
“Never!” Larsen boasts, chest puffed and ready to defend his honor.
“Mm ’kay, boys. Well, this has been fun,” Queenie says, turning her attention to our captain, who has been quietly gearing up by his locker. “J.D., when you get a chance, can you come to my office? I’m worried idiot-itis might be contagious, and I can’t risk catching it in here.”
She leaves, and for the next five hours, all I can think about is having dinner with her. During drills with Rob, I push myself and Li hard to make sure we don’t have to stay late. I practically run to the first available physical therapist, not caring that I had to shove Dom out of the way. He’s the backup goalie, anyway.
Finally, I’m showered and changed, and following my chef’s directions to heat up the miso-cod-and-asparagus meal for us.
At exactly six fifteen, there is a knock, and with one last glance around the apartment, I pull the door open.
Fuck. Queenie—she would hate it if she knew how often I refer to her as that in my head—has changed out of the pantsuit she was in earlier today and is now in joggers and a long-sleeved Yeti tee. Her hair is pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. It’s the least put together I’ve ever seen her.
“Kane,” she says, stepping in. Her tone is professional—almost cold—and I miss the banter from the locker room. She takes in the room around me, and I do the same, suddenly realizing justhow cookie-cutter the place is. Besides my gym bag taking up a corner of the living room, I haven’t changed a single thing since I moved in. No pictures on the walls. No blankets thrown over the couch. No game console hooked up to the TV.
“It’s the flipped version of mine,” she observes.
I pull on the back of my neck. “I’m sure yours has a few more touches of home,” I offer, not sure why I’m embarrassed. It’s been over a month since I was traded to Denver, and we’ve had seven away games since then. Though I never got around to decorating my place in Florida, either.
She considers it. “I don’t really think so. I guess I have a picture of my dad and me on that little table between the couch and the window, but otherwise…” She squints. “No. I think they’re exactly the same.”
“Do you want it to feel more like… home?” I ask before I can stop myself. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s a part of me that wants to learn every detail about Finley.
Her gaze flicks to mine, quick and guarded. “I’m not even sure what that means at this point.”
It’s the way her jaw clenches that tells me she wishes she hadn’t answered at all. “I didn’t mean to pry,” I mutter. “Just… curious, I guess.”
“It’s fine.”
“Plus, the apartments are nice as they are,” I state, wondering where the funny woman who argued that Stevens wasn’t the best defenseman of all time at dinner the other night went to. The one who poked fun at Larsen today.
