Page 35
We spend all day at the mall, wandering in and out of almost every store. Sienna buys a hell of a lot more than just a dress for Fletcher Ferguson’s birthday party. And despite my arguments, she even gets me into the lingerie store and spends the entire time asking my opinion as if anything I say about women’s sexy things holds weight. I just want a man in a nice tight pair of boxer briefs without any holes in them. Actually, no. Commando is much hotter. Easier access for when the mood strikes.
As predicted, we end up going back to the very first store on our way out of the mall, so Sienna can buy the dress she tried on first. I want to say that I swallow my comments about how much time we’ve wasted, but because I’m her asshole little brother, I don’t. I love my sister dearly, but I also love pushing her buttons. There is nothing more entertaining than her face just before she unleashes on me.
When we get back to her apartment, we both crash onto her couch and let out exhausted groans.
“Thank you for today. I needed it after that interview,” I say, wincing as I think about the shit show that was this morning.
“Anytime. The right job is out there. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” I just don’t want to wait too long. I prefer being busy. If I’m not, I start to go stir crazy.
My cell buzzes loudly enough that Sienna hears it.
“You gonna tell me about him yet?” she asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know all that much. He doesn’t seem keen to meet. But we’re having fun anyway. He’s hot. Or at least, the parts of him I’ve seen are.”
“I’m assuming that means you haven’t seen his face.”
My chuckle is all the answer she needs.
“I like seeing you smile, Garrett. I hadn’t realized before that you’d lost your spark.”
I shrug one shoulder.
“I’m sorry New York didn’t work out. I know you had high hopes for it. But selfishly, I’m so glad you’re back here.”
“Me, too,” I say, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “I’m back where I’m meant to be, and I’m not going anywhere.”
11
COOPER
Sweat drips down my face and my entire body aches as Rovvy and I continue working on drills with Rivers and Storm.
Practice technically ended ages ago, but after a grueling session where Rovvy was struggling to keep the puck away from our tendy, we reluctantly agreed to keep working with him a little.
He’s played the third line for almost two seasons. He hasn’t seen much ice time, but Coach isn’t the only one who sees his potential. He just needs to put in some extra time to hone those skills and prove that he deserves his new spot.
Rivers and Storm take turns to come at us so we’re two on one.
“Yes, that’s it, Rovvy,” I say, pride swelling inside me when he steals the puck from Rivers’ stick and shoots it down the ice, clearing it to where Storm is watching.
“Much better. How’d it feel?” Storm asks, coming over to join us.
“Good. It felt good,” he says with a smile.
“Perfect. Let’s run it again,” Rivers states, ever the bossy asshole.
I look at him, and the second our eyes connect, a whole clusterfuck of emotions rolls through me. For a moment, the familiarity of a friend you trust with your life wins out, but then everything comes crashing down on me.
“You got a problem with that, Nash?” Rivers barks.
“No.”
“Just remember, we don’t need to be here. I could be home with my kid right now.”
“No one made you stay,” I point out. It was Storm who overheard me giving Rovvy advice as everyone else headed toward the dressing room after practice was over. Sure, having a winger involved helps, but we could have handled it alone.
