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“Shit.” Levi rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think she’d come on the pod?”

“I don’t know,” I said, though getting her on the podcast would be pretty cool. Still, she’d just texted me. I wasn’t going to ask her for something right off the bat or even at all.

“So this…friend.” Levi paused long enough on the word to pique my mom’s interest. “Trouble.”

“Trouble?” Mom furrowed her brow. “What kind of name is that?”

“People have all kinds of strange names these days,” Dad chimed in. “Just the other day, I heard a man calling ‘Smoke.’ I asked him where the fire was, and he told me he was looking for his son. His son. Can you believe that?” Dad’s tone was incredulous. “You two better be grateful that Mom and I used some sense when it came to naming you.”

“Pretty sure ‘Trouble,’” Levi said, using air quotes, “is not their real name.”

Three pairs of eyes swung to me for confirmation. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, a touch defensively. “What matters is that they gave me the best Christmas gift ever.”

“They…” Levi arched a brow. “Is that their preferred pronoun, or just the one you’ve given them?”

“Levi!” I huffed.

He chuckled, turning his attention back to the football game. “Oh well. I guess since you already got ‘the best Christmas gift ever,’ I can return my present.”

I jumped over the back of the couch, tackling him. “Why are you such a pain in my ass?” I teased.

“You know you love it.” He wrestled me, a big grin on his face. And for a minute, I wasn’t worried about the podcast or the future or my relationship with Carson and how it would impact my brother. I was happy.

These past few months, all my hard work was finally coming together. I was on the cusp of everything I’d always wanted and even some things I’d never believed possible.

But no matter how much I told myself hockey came first, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about a hot hockey player who wore my jersey and had gone out of his way to get my idol’s phone number.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

February

“You going out with us tonight?” Zayn asked as he swiped on deodorant. We’d just won, but I wasn’t particularly in the mood for going out.

“Another time.”

Zayn and Boone shared a look that I tried very hard to ignore. They didn’t get it. They wouldn’t understand. They were single, and they liked it that way.

“Gabe,” Boone called. “Tell Kovi to stop moping and go out with us tonight. I mean, shit, Fizzy’s even going, and he never does.”

“Go out with us tonight,” Gabe called, parroting Boone’s words with little to no inflection.

I laughed at his feeble attempt. Gabe was known as the NHL’s “Golden Boy” for a reason. He had a squeaky-clean reputation, and he was determined to keep it that way. He rarely went out with us, unless it was for dinner. Definitely no clubs. He was a social guy, much like a golden retriever. But he much preferred hanging out at someone’s house, swimming, or playing golf.

Boone turned to face me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Kovi. It’s time for some real talk.”

I scrubbed my face. “Not this again.” I had a feeling I knew where this was headed.

“Yes, this,” he said, insistent. “You’re young, you’re hot, and you play in the NHL. You have women practically throwing themselves at you. And yet, you’re waiting by the phone for KT to call, text, whatever.” He pulled a face as if to say, “Make it make sense.” He took a deep breath, his expression turning more serious. “Look, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been doing this for months. She’s totally stringing you along. And as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you—that’s bullshit.”

I gnashed my teeth. Even if I could explain, I didn’t think Boone would understand. It wasn’t that Logan was stringing me along; it was about priorities. As much as we liked each other, hockey came first. Logan was focused on her goals, and so was I.

That didn’t mean that I always liked it. That there weren’t times I wanted to say fuck our goals. It wasn’t always easy to make time for each other between the distance, the conflicting schedules, the travel. We still texted nearly every day, and I always looked forward to connecting with her. But we were both so busy that at times it was difficult to connect in any meaningful way.

“She’s not—” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s not like that.”

“What is it like?” Boone asked. “Are you just friends? Are you friends with benefits? Dating? Like, what is even the deal with you two?”

“I—” I clenched my jaw, annoyed at him for asking. Annoyed I didn’t know how to answer.