“Yep. Nothing real there. You should probably just sleep with him, get it out of your system, and move on.”
“That is not the conclusion we just came to, Charlotte. I’m his coach. I do nothing,” I suggest instead.
“Oh, sure. Let the lust fire you started grow until you end up fucking your star defenseman on the center of the ice. I see absolutely no flaws in that plan.”
“That sounds so cold. In this scenario, are we naked? Or is it more of a drop-the-pants-a-few-inches, hurry-fuck kind of thing?”
“He obviously takes his jersey off and lays it down for you to lie on. Don’t be ridiculous, Finley.”
“Why am I friends with you again?” I ask.
Her serene smile is an act. She knows the seed she just planted. And damn it, if I don’t want to let it grow and see what happens.
Chapter 24
Beckett
AsIstandina concert suite full of famous athletes, the musical notes of Jaxon Steele’s opening act continuing to play in the background, I can only focus on one thing:Finley Blake is amazing.
When she walked out of her apartment, my first thought had been, “Thank God I don’t have to spend my whole day with her looking like that. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Apparently, though, I’ve pissed off God, or karma, or some higher power because here I am—not just at the same concert as her, but in the exact same suite. We’re mingling as if we’re a married couple doing the rounds before we head home to fall into bed together—I force that thought out of my head before it can finish.
Because Finley Blake can never be more than my coach.
And yet, instead of focusing on the concert, or, hell, what I’m going to do about the fact that my hip is getting worse, my gaze keeps finding her, my soul soaking in every flash of happinessthat crosses her face. Iwanther to be mine. And after hearing her come, my name on her lips, Ineedher to be mine.
She’s talking and laughing with Charlotte, and it’s like I’m finally getting to see all of her. I know I’m one of the fortunate few who sees behind her mask, but Finley Blake at a Jaxon Steele concert is another level. She’s excited. Maybe a little tipsy. Chatting with Charlotte, making her laugh like we’re at a stand-up comedy show.
She seems happy. And it makes my heart do funny things I likely shouldn’t be feeling.
“Kane,” Callan starts, handing me another beer. “I see you haven’t gotten any friendlier since moving to Denver.”
I take a long sip of my beer. “I’m friendly. I just don’t see the point in making small talk with a bunch of people I’ll never see again.”
“Or you could consider seeing them again. We live in the area. Everyone I know here is a good person, who you’d like if you got to know them.”
“This is the only time we all have off, so what, we hang out once a year? Seems like a lot of work.”
Callan stares at me, his gaze penetrating and a little sad, before he seems to shake it off, his ever-present smile returning. “We get together for dinner or poker at least once a month. You should join us.”
I shake my head. “I truly don’t know how you do it. How do you stay on top of your game, make time to be friends with all the guys on your team,andstill socialize with other people?”
Callan runs a hand through his hair, his eyes flitting around the room. “I was in a bad spot a few years ago. Constantly focused on making sure I was in peak physical condition, that I was ready for every game, but I was in a bad place mentally. I realized I needed to connect with someone. So I started with my team. And then I ran into some of the same guys at events andwhatnot around town and realized there are a number of older athletes in town who are… alone.”
A faint buzzing fills my ears as the truth of his statement hits home. I know that loneliness viscerally. Except, it’s been missing lately. Since I started intentionally engaging with the other defensemen, probably. My mind flashes a montage of images of Finley and me in one of our apartments. Sitting on the couch. Eating dinner together. Briefly making eye contact at practice when Larsen says something dumb.
Right. My teammates.
My gaze flits across the room, the tension releasing from my shoulders as I chase a dark flash of hair to find Finley. She’s dancing to the song, she and Charlotte both singing into the tops of their beer bottles.
With a sigh, I refocus on Callan, who is introducing me to another guy in the room. “Kane, let me introduce you to Nate Riley.”
I take in the man, at least a few inches taller than me, though I have at least twenty pounds on him, and make an educated guess. “You play for the Mountaineers?” I ask, naming the professional basketball team in town.
“And you’re the Yeti’s new defenseman and resident social media star,” he replies, as we shake hands.
I sigh. “Yes. I’ve spent years trying toavoidbecoming an internet sensation, and yet, somehow, here I am.”
“It’s not a bad place to be. There are worse things than the world trying to ’ship you with Finley Blake.”
