I nod like I totally believe him. “Sure you were.”
“Now that we’ve established that we both know things about suits and that everyone watches women’s sports, can you please come inside?” He steps back to hold the door open wider.
I let out a small laugh. “Well, since you’re clearly desperate for my company.”
“Right,” he chuckles as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Clearly.”
I walk in and, suddenly, I’m uncomfortable. He’s not watching film. He’s trying on suits. What exactly am I doing here? Trying to get my Beckett time, not that I can tell him that. And maybe a bit of Finley time. The few minutes a day when I’m notCoach Blake, not the first female head coach, but just Finley, the woman.
“Water?” he asks. “I have sparkling and the kind out of the fridge.”
“Fridge water?” I ask. “That’s so fancy. In fact, I remember it being very tasty the last time you offered it to me. Who could turn that down?”
“No one. I’ve heard it’s even kept people alive,” Beckett replies, grabbing two glasses out of his cupboard and filling them both. He hands me one, his eyebrow raised as I stand in the middle of his kitchen.
Real smooth, Finley.
“So, um, with the trivia competition coming up, I thought it would be smart if we spent some time together. You know. For research.”
Beckett doesn’t say anything, just searches my face.
When the silence has gone on too long, I add, “For the kids, of course. So they don’t lose out to the sea lions.”
“For the kids,” he replies, like it’s an answer to a question he’s been considering for a long time.
“Well, and Sabrina. And the team. Lots of people, really.”
“It’s almost a requirement,” he says, nodding slowly. “No option.”
“Right!” I agree. “It might actually be part of our contracts.”
Beckett’s smile pulls wide across his face as he leans his hip against the counter. “I’m in. What’s with the computer, though?”
“Film,” I answer with a nod. Because, yup. “I thought we could prep for Winnipeg together. Team things, you know?”
“Team things. I… I like that. Want to get it set up on my TV while I go get changed?”
“Not planning to wear your suit all night?” I ask. I could be convinced it’s a good idea. I could also be convinced it is theworld’s worst idea and would end with me getting fired and letting down literally everyone.
Beckett smirks. “This is a game-day suit, Finley. Not a film suit. Don’t be ridiculous.”
When Beckett returns a few minutes later in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt that’s stretched across his chest and shoulders, I regret that he’s changed. Even the suit was safer than this.
Why, oh why, must men look so good in sweatpants? Me in sweatpants? Homeless raccoon. Beckett? So fucking terrible. I mean, really, really yum—yucky. Gross. I definitely don’t want to lick… anything.
“So.” I force my gaze back to my computer screen. “Want to start with the Blizzard at the Guardians?” I ask, naming the team we are about to play and the one we just beat. “Or do you want to watch the Blizzard’s most recent game against the Riptides?”
“What would you normally do?” he asks, like he might want to know because it’s something about me, not because he can’t decide.
“I’d start with the Guardians since we just saw them, and then move to their most recent game. Doctor Pearce also put together a file of specific plays I need to see, so I usually finish with those.”
“Let’s do that, then,” he says.
I pull up the video, navigating Doctor Pearce’s ridiculous folder-naming conventions, and mirror the game from my laptop to his large TV. Luckily, he kept the one that came with the place, so it’s like mine and my adapter works.
He drops onto one end of the couch, clearly leaving the other side open for me.
“Okay,” he starts as I sit as far from him as possible. “What’s your usual night look like?”
