Page 40 of Lose You Twice

“My hair is always doing the weird thing, Lily. It’s called a slightly grown-out bob, and if I don’t treat it with the utmost respect, it sticks straight up sometimes.”

She giggles, instantly making me smile. Six years old and already brutally devastating with her lack of filter. Hey, at least she keeps it real. “I know.”

“Brush your teeth,” I tell them. “Shoes by the door in five.”

Daisy slides off my bed, still holding the waffle. “Do hockey players stink? Like a skunk?”

“Yes,” I say.

She wrinkles her nose. “Then you shouldn’t wear the jacket. It might start to stink.”

They leave before I can answer, and I turn back to the mirror above my dresser.

Cream sweater. Black jeans. Sneakers that are clean enough if no one inspects the sides. Hair is waved with an insane amount of dry shampoo covering the fact that I never got a chance to wash it last night.

Good enough.

Professional enough for a work-study interview where the job description includes laundry, inventory, and possibly handling equipment that has absorbed years of male confidence and sweat.

My phone buzzes on the dresser.

8:02 — INTERVIEW TODAY. DON’T OVERTHINK. LOL GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.

Past Me is rude.

Accurate, but rude.

I silence the reminder and check the email again, even though I already memorized the time.

2:30 p.m. Athletics building. Ask for Donnelly Pierce.

I can do that.

I can walk into an athletic department office, shake a man’s hand, explain that I am semi-competent, available, hardworking, and not at all emotionally compromised by the fact that this job exists directly beside the person I would rather avoid more often than not.

No problem.

Behind me, Holden appears in the doorway.

He’s wearing a hoodie and shorts, his tall frame taking up most of the doorway.

“Interview today?” he asks.

I grab my bag from the chair. “Yes.”

“For the hockey team.”

Not a question, but I respond anyway. “Yes.”

“The hockey team that Kai plays on.”

Again, not a question. “Yes.”

His jaw shifts. “You don’t have to do it.”

I zip my bag closed. “Actually, I kind of do.”

“No, you don’t.”