I flash him a fake friendly smile. “I can’t do coffee, but I will totally think about your offer,” I say with a wave, then waggle my phone, the universal sign for I need to take a call.
I hustle off, but once I round the corner and dart into the personnel hallway, my heart is beating too erratically, my mind racing to too many places. I stop, set a hand on my chest, and try to calm down.
Since now I have another thing to worry about, and it’s not how far to go with this fake dating.
It’s what happens when I run into Lake like this when our fake romance is over? How the hell am I going to handle having two ex-boyfriends in the same building?
I close my eyes and sink to the floor.
29
GOOD LUCK NUTS
LAKE
It’s good to be the rebound guy. On and off the ice. I snag two goals—one on a breakaway, the other off a rebound that I collected before their D-men did, shooting it right back into their net.
Man, it was beautiful.
“You can all thank me. My superstitions did it,” I say to the guys as I rip off my jersey at my stall after the final buzzer.
Miller peels off a leg pad. “Nah. Pretty sure it was me and my superstitions.”
I stare down our goalie. “Because you started imitating me.”
“And we started winning again. So yeah, that means I’m the fucking good luck charm,” Miller says, patting his chest.
Riggs hums thoughtfully. “Guess that makes you a squirrel, not a fox.”
Miller jerks his gaze to Riggs, who’s not even looking at us. Just tugging off a skate as he doles out animal facts.
“Explain,” Miller demands, but I know why he picked a squirrel.
Riggs looks up, expression thoroughly even-keeled as hetugs off a skate. “Squirrels organize their nuts. Like you organized your gear. C’mon, we’ve been over this.”
Miller grabs his crotch. “Organize this.”
Ivan chuckles from his stall, then pumps his hips like he’s about to perform a striptease. “Besides,theseare the good luck charms.”
I groan, waving a dismissive hand at the D-man, and the rest of my guys. “And you’ve all officially cured me of my superstitions.”
“It’s about time,” Corbin shouts as he wings his undershirt into the laundry basket. “It’s teamwork, men. Not superstition or good luck nuts.”
“Oh, I definitely have good luck nuts,” Miller shouts back at Corbin.
“Men, that wasn’t about luck.” The cool, commanding tone of Coach Ahmed cuts across the locker room shenanigans. He strides in, polished and proud in a sharp suit, and we snap our attention to the man in charge. “You played hard, you executed, you did your jobs.”
He spins toward me and tosses the game puck my way.
I catch it, and turn it over in my hands. Maybe I’ll give it to Remy. She could tell this story at the next wedding event, the shared shower or the spa or what-the-fuck-ever is next on the list. I don’t even care. But she could say I gave her a game puck and it’d be as true as the foxes and the succulent, and all the other stories of our romance. Like the cat tower she built for me this afternoon. The little sneak. I didn’t notice it till she’d left, but I’d like to thank her for it. Ideally with my tongue between her thighs. But a simple thanks with words will work too.
“And I expect you to do your jobs in Evergreen Falls as well,” Coach continues. The reminder of our schedule snaps my attention back to the here and now. Our crosstown rivals, the Sea Dogs, have a new minor league team in the Christmas-y town near Lake Tahoe about three and a half hours away. Sometimes they host games there to draw more attention to their affiliate.
When he mentions the plan, and the date for the team bus departure for the road trip, my thoughts race again. To the next item on the Five Things To Do Before I Say I Do list.
It’s about a road trip.
What if we could hit the next item on that list with the Evergreen Falls game? My fingers itch to text Remy but I do my best to give Coach all my attention.
