Friends.
That’s what we were.
I put the phone away and went back to brunch, ignoring the knowing looks from across the table.
Tomorrow was just lunch.
Just tacos.
Just two friends hanging out.
Nothing to overthink.
Nothing at all.
Chapter 12
Skyler
The locker room sounded like a cage full of baboons who’d been given energy drinks. I could hear it from halfway down the tunnel: laughter, shouting, the thump of music cranked too loud, and underneath it all, the unmistakable sound of hockey players being absolute idiots.
Home games after a successful road trip always had this energy, like we’d been holding our breaths for two weeks and could exhale. Add our standing atop the conference and the distance between us and second place, and the inmates were running the asylum.
I pushed through the door and immediately ducked as a roll of tape sailed over my head.
“You missed!” Murph shouted from across the room.
“I wasn’t aiming at Shaw,” Kowalski fired back. “I was aiming at your giant forehead, but you moved.”
“My forehead is perfectly proportioned, thank you very much.”
“Your forehead has its own zip code.”
“At least I have a forehead. Yours disappeared along with your hairline years ago.”
A chorus of laughs and jeers preceded a glove whizzing by.
I navigated through the chaos, stepping over discarded equipment. A balled-up sock hit Erik square in the chest. The Swede looked down at it with the kind of icy disdain reserved for war and mosquitos.
“Who threw this?”
The silence was instant.
Nobody moved.
Even the music seemed to grow quieter.
“I will find out,” Erik said calmly. “And when I do, there will be consequences.”
“Sounds like a threat,” someone muttered.
“It is a promise. My people do not need threats.”
The mayhem resumed, with Murphy chirping about “Erik’s people,” while others offered colorful options for what those people should be called.
I reached my stall and started unpacking my gear, letting the familiar routine settle my nerves. The energy was infectious, but underneath the excitement, something else hummed inside my head. A low-grade buzz that had been there since this morning,since the text exchange with Jacks, since he’d agreed to lunch.
Tomorrow.
