Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
With a cocky glint in his eyes, he glances in the rearview mirror. “I liked the surprise of bourbon last night.”
Excellent point. I turn my focus back to the woman who’s captivated me. “Me too. Now, Aubs, what’s a good surprise to you?”
She taps her chin, meeting my gaze with her eyes sparkling. “This,” she declares as she gestures to the windshield.
I follow where she’s pointing to the end of the street.
Yes!
That’s what I was hoping for. The road felt familiar because I was here last summer. The big sign on top of the structure reads The Sharon Abreau Ice Rink. This is where the Vancouver goalie holds his off-season camp. Ledger and I went to the camp last summer as guest coaches, playing with some of the junior high school kids. “We’re going to play…hockey?” My voice pitches up, and I’m not even embarrassed.
“It was Ledger’s idea,” Aubrey says, and her smile is as wide as the city.
“We both put it together,” Ledger says, giving credit where credit’s due.
My heart warms a little more, knowing both of them planned this. I squeeze his shoulder then I lean forward and give Aubrey a kiss on her cheek.
“You seemed like you were missing it,” she says.
“I sure was,” I say, in the understatement of the century.
I don’t even try to smother the joy that’s rocketing through my cells. We park, and I try not to run to the entrance of the rink. A sandwich board outside the doors says Austin Sanchez Skills Camp for Local Youth, then the hours for today and the rest of the week. The man behind the camp waits next to the sign. The sturdy goalie from the Vancouver team has his big arms folded across his chest, tattoos of vines snaking along his light brown skin. There’s a twinkle in his eyes.
When I reach him, he offers a fist for knocking. I knock back. “Sanchez, I have to crash your camp to see you? What’s up with that?”
“Maybe play a little better and you’ll get an invite to guest coach again,” he says.
I clutch my chest like I’m wounded. “See if you can drive the knife in a little more.”
“Sure. I can. Try to have a season as good as mine,” he ribs, since he’s no stranger to trash talk.
I hold up my forefinger. “You saved one more goal than I did.”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Then he smiles brightly and claps me on the back before he turns to Ledger, giving him a quick greeting. “Good to see you, McBride.”
“Thanks for doing this,” Ledger says.
Aubrey’s next, and for a few seconds, I just hesitate. Do I introduce her? Does Ledger? Obviously it’s no secret we’re here with her since Garrett posted that pic, but I don’t expect Sanchez to be stalking Garrett’s social. But when his eyes swing to Aubrey expectantly, I don’t hesitate.
“This is Aubrey Emerson,” I say, and I’m dying to add, “She’s this woman we’re seeing.”
But nope. I shut down that desire, stat. Swallowing those words, I add, “She’s a good friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Ledger and Dev’s friend,” Sanchez says smoothly.
The word friend lodges like a stone in my heart. It’s all wrong. She’s so much more than a friend.
She takes his hand. “And nice to meet you, Ledger and Dev’s…co-worker.”
Sanchez chuckles, then he lets go of her hand.
I steal a glance at Aubrey. There’s no weirdness in her expression. No awkwardness that says that moment was as wrong for her as it was for me.
Because…when this ends in two days, we’ll be just that. Friends.
That word twists in my gut, souring.
Sure, friendship ought to be enough for me. I shouldn’t linger on what the future definitely doesn’t hold.
This is the good stuff, the here and now, when your friends—and that’s what Ledger and Aubrey both are—know you so well, they surprise you with an impromptu chance to play the game you love.
“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” I say, full of the bravado I bring to the ice.
There’s one little problem. No gear. But Sanchez is running a camp. “You got pads and shit for me?” I ask him.
Sanchez scoffs. “What do you take me for? A newbie?”
“Cool. I can borrow your stuff.”
Another scoff. “We’ve got yours.”
Wait. What? “H-how?”
A wicked grin comes from the man running the camp. “Your teammates are here too.”
Not that I keep tabs on everyone, but I don’t remember any of the Golden State Foxes mentioning they’d be in Vancouver when I saw them a week ago at the gym. “Yeah? Which ones? Did you know about this?” I ask Ledger.
He shrugs, but he’s trying to fight off a smile. Aubrey has the straightest of straight faces as well.
“Some of his too,” Sanchez adds, pointing to Ledger.
“Sea Dogs?” I feel like I’m missing the punchline.
Ledger sheds his stoicism. “Stefan, Hayes, Chase, and Ryker flew up this morning for the concert. We called them last night and asked them to bring our gear. We’ll play with the kids. But first, get ready. We’re going to practice shooting. On you. You better hope your summer ass is in shape.”