As I’m forced to talk to the media—where I give one-word answers that definitely don’t show myfun side—I’m wondering what Remy’s doing now. Is she curled up on her couch alone? Drowning her sorrows with friends? Torching the jackass’s things? That thought brings a sinister smile to my face.
But as I walk back to the locker room, post-media scrum, I spot a brunette in a Golden State Foxes ball cap and hoodie at the end of the corridor, head down as she counts a basket full of stuffed animals.
She’s…working.
That’s just not right.
I march right over to her. When she looks up, she squares her shoulders and adopts a smile, but her face is paler than before, like she’s washed off her makeup or something. Because that fucknozzle made her cry.
“Do you need a tissue?” I don’t have one, but I’ll find one.
But it’s like she didn’t hear me. She just turns up the wattage on her grin. “Hey, I didn’t know you were going to show off your stick skills tonight.”
Hmm. Didn’t expect a peppy response. “I didn’t either.” Inarrow my eyes, trying to figure out how she’s really doing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” She pushes up the brim of the hat as if to show that she’s absolutely, definitely, totally fine. “Also, thank you—I’m so grateful. You were very helpful with your attention stealing.”
I call bullshit on her “fine” act. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Of course. I’m just sorry that you had to deal with that. I feel bad that my whole situation ruined the fox toss for you.”
That’s a deflection if I ever saw one. “I’m all good. I was asking about you.”
She waves a hand, like she can dismiss the whole night. “It might have been worse if you hadn’t stepped in.” Her tone is bright, with the no-big-deal-ness of, say, getting the wrong order at a coffee shop. “The Jumbotron operator probably didn’t realize what was happening. I guess it seemed like a real?—”
She can’t utter the last word, but I can do the math—one ring box plus a Jumbotron screening equals proposal.Instead of finishing the sentence, she looks down at the basket full of stuffies. “I should go home,” she whispers.
Her quiet voice twists something in my cold heart. I can’t fix the night for her. But I can offer some small crumb of help. “Do you need a ride?”
The way I want her to say yes is a little ridiculous. Or, really, a lot.
3
HIS STICK SKILLS
REMY
Do I need a ride?
Such a simple, practical question. The same one my friends asked when they texted post-Jumbotron Dump. Did I need a place to crash, someone to hang out with, burn effigies with, binge noodles with—anything?
I couldn’t face them, so I said I was fine.
I can’t seem to admit to anyone that tonight is all my fault. That I should have done a lot of things differently after I found that jewelry box. It’s extra embarrassing since I’m building a burgeoning career as a romance designer-slash-dating coach where I plan swoony romantic moments starring you and your beloved, not catastrophes starring me.
A fresh wave of tears pricks the backs of my eyes as I consider the offer from Lake. Jameson picked me up. Jameson drove me over here. Jameson didn’t even ask how I was getting home after he popped thewill you still be friends with mequestion.
Yes, I definitely need a ride, but I don’t want to inconvenience my friend’s brother, let alone a high-profile player onthe team I work for. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll just grab a Lyft.”
His ice-blue eyes are no longer cold, but fiery, forged with determination. “Let me drive you.”
I shake my head. “You really don’t have to.” He must have a hero complex.
A clatter from down the hall draws my attention. A reminder we’re not alone.
Andre, the equipment manager, lugs some sticks and shoulder pads into the equipment room. He’s a middle-aged gentleman with deep brown skin, the lines around his mouth creased from decades of smiles. I give him a wave, and he waves back.
One of the centers exits the locker room, checking his watch as he leaves. Like he’s looking out for my privacy, Lake reaches for my elbow and guides me a few feet away, around the corner. My elbow is warm from his touch, and when he lets go, I miss the heat.
