I wrap my arms around them. “Thanks, you guys. You’re so great for talking me through this.”
They hug me tight, and we head out of the ladies’ room and back out to the table. After we sit back down, the head coach of the team—Coach Sawyer—stands up and raises his glance.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. I know the start of the semester has been busy for all of you, but I wanted to take thetime to welcome our newest staff member,” he says, nodding to the far end of the table. “Coach Tremblay, welcome.”
Everyone turns and looks at Coach Tremblay. He’s a tall, broad, leanly muscled guy in his mid-thirties, who looks more like a handsome movie star than an assistant college hockey coach.
He’s got a head of thick, dark hair, a ridiculously square jaw, and ocean blue eyes.
Every woman at the table is staring at him with a smitten look.
I catch Poppy and Anna exchanging a smile. They both glance over at me. Anna mouths, “Hottie, right?” I hold back a laugh and nod.
He stands up from his seat and flashes a smile. “Thank you, everyone. Coach Sawyer, thank you for the kind words. And for picking up the tab for tonight’s dinner. I ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. Hope that’s okay,” he jokes.
Everyone at the table chuckles.
“Apologies that it took us almost two months of you working for the team before we took you out for a proper welcome dinner,” Coach Sawyer says.
Coach Tremblay chuckles. “It’s alright. I’m just happy to be here.”
He sits back down, and everyone digs into the main course, which is beef tenderloin in a creamy peppercorn sauce with roasted veggies.
“I don’t know if I like how good-looking Coach Tremblay is. I can’t focus during games and practices. He’s too pretty,” Nick jokes to our end of the table. We all chuckle.
“So you’re into tall, dark, and handsome guys then?” Blake says to me.
I can tell by his easy tone and his smile that he’s being playful. I shake my head.
“Oh, come on. I saw the way you and every other woman at this table looked at him,” he teases, gently bumping my shoulder.
“He’s handsome for sure. But not my type.”
“Then what’s your type?”
Blake and I have been best friends since high school, but we’ve never talked about what we find attractive in the opposite sex. I avoided it because I was too shy to admit that my type is him.
But now that we’re flirting—now that I’m testing the waters of us being something more than just friends, and it seems like he’s into me too—I think I want to tell him.
“My type is tall with muscles.”
He nods. “Of course. Gotta have muscles.”
I giggle into my water glass and take a sip. I lock eyes with him. “Blue eyes.”
He quirks an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Yeah?”
I nod. My gaze moves to his hair. “Blond hair. Thick. Messy. A little wavy.”
His brow lifts slightly, and he grins. “Really?”
I nod. I look down at my plate and take a bite of steak, hoping I’m not blushing too much.
This is the most forward I’ve ever been with Blake, and my nerves are going crazy.
He’s quiet for a long moment. I start to get nervous. Maybe that was too much. Maybe he thinks it’s weird that I just admitted he’s my romantic type.
But then, a minute later, he leans his mouth to my ear.
