Page 57 of Golden Goal

“We’re friends. That’s it. Besides, I swore off dating.” I shake my head. “Not that I want to date her,” I rush out.

“Right.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

Wes claps me on the back. “Kitty Kat was a bitch. Don’t let what she did to you ruin the rest of your life.”

I nod, unsure of what to say to that.

Hunter leans closer, whispering, “Whatever she said to you isn’t true. I hope you know that. You haven’t told us what really went down, but whatever she said, it wasn’t true. It isn’t true.” He meets my eyes. “Don’t let her words stop you from living your life. Being happy.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

Can he read my mind?

Is that what happens when you become team captain? You also gain mind reading capabilities. Because how else would he know?

The better question, is what the fuck did I do to have such great friends? Friends that have stuck around through all of my bullshit.

Whatever it was, I just hope I never lose them.

Chapter twenty-three

Rebecca

I stare at my phone for a second before squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again, half expecting the notification saying “@HAbbott1 requested to follow you” to be gone, but it isn’t. I only logged onto my account because I’m early for my date with Cyril, the guy from speed dating. I figured scrolling social media would be a great way to waste time and not get more anxious about tonight.

Except in the process of trying to ease my anxiety about my date, I’ve created more for myself by finding Holt’s follow request from last week. I thought all these hockey guys’ social media accounts were run by PR firms. That they didn’t go on Social, or if they did, they had private accounts.

Apparently not the case.

I contemplate texting Sutton to ask her what to do, but then I do something crazy and hit accept. I already accepted Wes’s request a few weeks ago, so what’s one more? Besides, it would be weird if I didn’t accept it.

I click on Holt’s profile, because now I’m curious about what he posts and if he’s active on this account, but there are only a few pictures from a while ago. One where he’s holding the Stanley Cup from when the team won a few years back. Another one of him, Wes, Hunter, Coach Thompson, and a few other guys I don’t recognize. I half expected to see posts featuring his ex-girlfriend, but there are none.

I exit out of the app and shove my phone back into my purse before heading toward the restaurant, where I spot Cyril waiting outside.

He greets me with a hug, which is a bit awkward if I’m being honest, but I chalk it up to it being a first date, and we head inside.

“What made you decide you wanted to get into physical therapy? Why a physical therapist instead of a real doctor” Cyril asks a few minutes later after we’re seated at a table near the entrance to the kitchen.

For fuck’s sake.

“Well—” I fiddle with the edge of the menu.

I’m saved from having to answer his question by our server arriving with glasses of water and a basket of bread.

“Can I get you folks anything to drink?” he asks after greeting us.

“I’ll have whatever lager you have on tap,” Cyril says.

The server nods and turns to me.

“Water’s fine,” I say, unwrapping my straw and putting it into the glass.

“You’re not ordering a drink?” Cyril frowns. “They have a lot of wine options if you don’t enjoy beer.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? Do you prefer sweet or dry? I’m sure one of us can make a recommendation.” He gestures between himself and the server.