Page 11 of Blueline Baby

“Toronto lost, by the way.”

“Toronto had an off night.” She shrugs. “You had a nice game.”

“Baby, that was the best game I’ve played all season.”

“The season only started a few months ago.”

“Still counts.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I know you’re good. A good defenseman having a good night is barely impressive.”

I actually laugh because she just admitted she knows I’m good. She knows who I am. She’s definitely watched me before. For once, I have absolutely nothing to say back. I just know I need to keep her standing here talking to me.

“Next time, I want to see you in my jersey,” I tell her.

The words are out of my mouth before my brain can stop them. She blinks and it takes her a second to process what I just blurted out. Then the corner of her mouth hooks up into a little smile she doesn't catch in time.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than seats behind the glass to get me in your jersey.”

She pushes off the wall, thanks me for the tickets, then collects Britt and walks out of the lounge in the other team’s colors.

I stand there wondering what the hell just happened.

Because this has always been incredibly easy. The building. The goals. The seats behind the glass. It’s the only move I’ve ever had to make and it has always been enough.

She just looked at the absolute best I have, and told me it’s gonna take more.

Okay.

I can do more.

6

CHLOE

I DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOUR MOUTH HAS BEEN

I have a biology exam at nine, and because I aggressively overplan my entire life, I have a built-in sixty-minute window to drive to campus, park, and sit in the hallway reviewing my index cards before I go take the test. Even though all of those things will take up barely 20 minutes of that time.

Except my car is leaning at a bizarre angle when I walk into the parking garage, and as soon as I round the front bumper, I realize why. My front left tire is flat. Not slightly low. Flat flat. The rim is basically resting on the concrete.

I consider my options and discard them all immediately. I don't know the bus routes, a cab would take too long, and Britt will be unconscious until at least noon.

I’m frantically doing the math on the exact percentage this zero will cost my overall GPA when a large vehicle idles to a stop right behind me. I don't even need to turn around to know it’s him.

“Hey there, Backcheck Girl.” He calls out of the open window. He takes one look at the tire, and then at me.

“That’s flat,” he says.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter, but he hears me anyway and just grins.

“It’s not a big deal, we’ll just call someone.” He gets out of his truck and walks over to where I’m standing.

“I don’t have time to call someone. I have a test at nine, which I’m now going to miss. So if you’ll excuse me while I quietly lose my mind⁠—”

“Pop your trunk.”

“Why?”