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That is, if I’m still here.
Coach’s expression now mirrors the one he wore when he passed out the cards—pure pride.
“We’re doing the whole big wedding thing,” Coach continues. “Some of you will be there, I hope. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that Millie—that’s my daughter, Amelia—said she’d happily marry Drew with or without the giant wedding. To be honest, I wish she would. It would save my moneyandmy sanity.”
He chuckles lightly, lifting his baseball cap to rub the top of his balding head. Even though he’s making it sound like the wedding is a giant pain, he also looks like he could talk about his baby girl getting married forever. Meanwhile, I am officially done with this conversation and eager to get back to practice where I can hopefully find someone to knock into.
“I’ll bet.”
“Think about it.” Coach grins and gives me a hearty slap on the back. “When it’s love, you don’t need all the bells and whistles. Just each other.”
I get that. When it’s real, the relationship is what matters. Not the cake or the flowers or whatever else.
But youdoneed an actual woman to marry.
Despite having been useless at practice and not feeling remotely social, I join some of the guys at Felix’s loft for dinner. When someone offers to make you homemade lasagna, the answer is always yes. Especially when the someone is Felix and the recipe is his grandmother’s. He makes a few alterations so it’s less of a cheat meal for us. More protein, gluten-free noodles, and I happen to know he adds finely chopped spinach to the sauce for guys who hate vegetables—the same way moms sneak vegetables to picky toddlers.
Maybe ricotta will improve my mood. Ricotta therapy should totally be a thing. If I can’t face Bailey again after having embarrassed myself so badly the other day, ricotta will be my poor substitution for puppy therapy.
“You've lost your spark, Speed Bump,” Alec says as I set a plate down in front of him. The rest of the guys seem content to laze around while Felix finishes the food and I set the table.
Do none of the guys have mothers who worship Emily Post and her many, many manners?
I roll my eyes at the nickname, which unfortunately seems to be sticking. “I’m not aTwilightvampire,” I mutter.
“I saidspark, not sparkle,” Alec says.
Van snorts. “I don't think mensparkeither.”
He tugs at his V-neck, the only style of shirt he wears. Says the way his chest tattoos peek out makes women go crazy with curiosity and the need to seeallof his tattoos.
It’s a solid strategy, I guess, and it works for him. Van isn’t often alone. Not unless hewantsto be. And I’ve never known him to want to be.
He might be the only guy on the team as extroverted as me. I’m not even sure if, for him, it’s about having the company of women so much as …company. Period. But I’m not about to suggest that to him. Or say that even though he may not often be alone, I suspect he’slonely.
With plates and silverware for everyone, I take my seat between Van and Logan, who passes me the breadbasket. A big bite of garlic bread is the best way to avoid contributing to the conversation so I jam a whole piece in my mouth before handing the basket to Van.
Logan kicks me in the calf under the table. Not hard. But hard enough to draw my attention. “For real—are you okay, man?”
I shrug and work to locate an acceptable response as I swallow down the last of my garlic bread. “Okayis a relative term.”
“That's a no,” Felix says, bringing over the steaming pan of lasagna.
His oven mitts look like a gift from his girlfriend, Gracie, who’s a professional cellist. The relationship is fairly new, which means Felix has been smiling more. Alotmore. He’s also held almost every team scoreless for the last few weeks with his save percentage up to .920, so none of us are going to mention the oven mitts.
They’re pink and have music notes all over them. His apron sticks to the theme, the stiff black fabric printed with the wordsNothin’ but Treble.
“Doesbabywanna talk about it?” Van asks in a tone like I’m a kid with a skinned knee, crying over a boo-boo. Or throwing a tantrum over not getting the biggest chocolate chip cookie.
The man who happens to be my best friend on the team treats almost everything like a joke. Even when he’s serious. It’s hard to know which he is right now. I’m not in the mood either way.
Someone tosses a piece of garlic bread at him. Van catches it and takes a bite, smiling around a wide grin. “Thanks.”
“No throwing food,” Felix says, slicing the lasagna. As the guys hand him their plates, he dishes up heaping squares. “But seriously, Hop—you okay?”
Van swings his gaze back to me, and he’s not the only one. They all look curious. Even Camden and Wyatt, two of the newer guys who joined us for the first time tonight, are listening intently. I definitely don’t want one of my first interactions with these guys off the ice to center around my stupid predicament.
From what Iknow, they’re decent guys. Camden is as quiet as he is fast. Wyatt rivals Nathan in surliness and Alec in the pretty-boy looks department, though Wyatt is the lighter version with dirty blond hair and pale gray eyes. Neither Camden nor Wyatt has said much tonight. Maybe because conversation keeps circling back to me and my mood.
