Chapter 15
Finley
He’sbeenhomeforalmost an hour.
Not that I’m stalking him. I just happened to be near my door around the time when he got back from the arena.
So, I heard him walking down the hall. And his door close.
It’s not a big deal. We just need to practice. Not for the next competition, which is going to be some sort of maze or skills event with other professional athletes from the area, but for the one after that. The one where we’re tested on how well we know each other.
It’s our duty, to the team, to practice. Sabrina said so. More or less.
I pull out my phone and type a quick text, asking Beckett to come over. I stare at it for a minute before deleting the whole thing. Too formal. I try a few more times before finally giving up. I have no idea how to casually text. Plus, putting anything in writing makes it seem official.
It’s fine. I’ll just go over. Knock on the door. He’s probably watching game film tonight, anyway. It’s what I should be doing. We could watch it together. While we chat. Two hockey team–based things that must be done.
It’s the only efficient solution, really.
Knowing it’s what any respectable coach would do, I slip on my tennis shoes and grab my laptop. Laptops are the height of professionalism.
I walk across the hall and knock twice.Fuck. That’s how I announce myself at the locker room. Making a snap decision, I lift my fist and knock a third time.
“I said I was fucking busy tonight, Larsen!” Kane yells, pulling the door open as he finishes his sentence.
He looks good. And, holy mother above, what is that smell? Is that him? I scan his fresh-from-the-shower hair, past his navy suit jacket, down the seams of his tailored pants, to his expensive-looking leather shoes before bouncing up to his face, where his gaze meets mine.
Smile, Finley.I squeeze my short nails into my palm, determined not to feel anything about the fact that Beckett isclearlyabout to go out on a date.
“We can do this another day.” I nod toward my laptop. “Should’ve texted first.”
“Finley.” Beckett’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Want to come in?”
I shake my head. Definitely not. I can’t stay this close to date-ready Beckett for one minute longer. I might cry… or institute a no-dating policy for the team. Neither of which is acceptable. “You’re busy. No worries. I wouldn’t want you to be late for”—I gesture sporadically at his various limbs—“your thing.”
He quirks his head to the side before looking down at himself. “Oh, it’s okay. No thing.”
“You just said you were busy. And you’re wearing a suit.”
Boy, is that an understatement. Like he’s somehow in the same league as the accountant who has to put on a suit to go sit in a cubicle all day. He is fuckingwearinga suit that is hugging every single inch of his immaculately toned body like it was made for him.
Beckett chuckles. “I’m only busy if it’s Larsen asking.”
“And the suit?”
“I just got a delivery of game-day suits from a designer I like to work with. Since I was freshly showered, I figured I should try them on.” He holds his arms wide. “What do you think?”
Good.Sooogood. “Not bad,” I say instead. “Do you always try your suits on with shoes?”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course, Finley. Do you know nothing about trying on suits? The shoes tie the whole outfit together. They can make or break an entire ensemble.”
“Oh, I knowallthe things about trying on suits,” I tease. “I may not be Kim Mulkey, wearing sequins and feathers for my games, but I still know a thing or two about them.”
He cocks his head to the side. “She’s the…”
“Women’s basketball coach, yeah.”
“Right. I was getting there.”
