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“Professionally,” Rookford corrected, refilling his cup. “All I can taste is tequila.”
“We play for the Hartford Hammerheads,” the redhead clarified, overtly aware of my confusion. “Rook’s defense.” With a pause, he turned and pointed at the blond. “Anders is right wing, and I’m center.”
“Really?” Ali was practically starstruck.
These men played for the AHL farm team for the New York Serpents.
I stared at the redhead, and he stared back. “Really. I’m Zach, by the way.”
“Jessa,” I replied at the same time as Ali.
Zach repeated my name with a soft smile and nodded. “Nice to meet you both. I guess I don’t need to show you the way…”
With awkward laughs, we followed Zach down the hall and into my old bedroom. It looked completely different with the way Zach had his bed set in the middle of the room instead of pressed against the furthest wall like I had. Our boxes were stacked where my bed used to be, and Zach motioned toward them.
“Here we are.”
“It looks so…weird in here without your things,” Ali mumbled with a frown.
“I know,” I agreed, unable to peel my gaze away from Zach as he pulled a well-loved t-shirt on with the Serpents’ retro logo on the front.
“This was your room?” Zach questioned, still wearing his unwavering grin. “I’m sure you had more in here than I have.”
“Jessa hassomuch shit.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled and reached for the closest box to me.
“Please, let me help,” Zach offered, and gently yanked the box from my grip.
I wanted to argue with him, tell him that I didn’t need his help, that I could haul around three—maybe four on a good day—hockey bags filled with gear, but I kept my mouth shut. Mostly because Ali was digging her elbow into my rib to keep me quiet.
“Thanks,” she replied in a singsong voice, grinning at Zach until he left his own bedroom. “Would yourelax?Three hot men live in our old apartment. This is total romcom shit!”
“Enough with your romcom shit. I’m not romcom material. I’m just the quirky sidekick friend who made hockey her entire personality…”
“Were you asleep for the entirethese are professional hockey playersthing?”
“Now who needs torelax?” I hissed and grabbed two more boxes.
I almost ran straight into Zach who was lingering just outside his door waiting for us. I muttered an apology that he accepted by stacking one of my boxes on top of his, resting his chin atop both.
“Which car is yours?”
“Uh…” I began, forgetting every single word as I met his bright blue eyes.
Damn him and his handsomeness. I didn’t have time to turn to mush for some AHL forward who would get scooped up by the NHL and never return.
Nope. I was too busy for that crap.
“The Elantra,” I finally replied and tugged my keys from my jacket pocket. “I’m parked on the road.”
With a nod, Zach turned and walked away. I followed, sucking back a gasp when the final box was swept out of my grasp by a grinning Anders.
“On your left,” the still-hungover, but surprisingly quick-moving Rookford slipped past me, tailed by a confused Ali.
We stood on the front lawn of our former apartment, watching three hockey players load boxes into our cars. They wouldn’t let us help, even when we tried to grab a garbage bag full of Ali’s socks and underwear.
Ali didn’t mind. She thought the entire thing wasdreamy, as she kept repeating, but I wasn’t sure how to feel. It was nice, but I felt like I would somehow owe these men for offering to help. I didn’t like having to owe people.
