“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Turn on the TV and watch.”
“I can watch a bunch of guys chase a stupid puck around a rink all I want, I still won’t be able to understand the rules.”
“How dare you call my favorite sport stupid.”
“Jessss…” I plead. “What am I going to do?”
She crinkles her nose. Then her eyes go wide. “I’ve got it. Shadow your brother.”
I give a quick shake of my head. “No, he’s on the road, and he won’t want me hanging around.”
Jess goes quiet again, and that hollowed-out spot inside me aches as I think about Cason. I miss my brother so much and wish we were closer. Cason and I grew up in a family where there were no hugs or words of affirmation. I know Mom and Dad loved us, but as busy investment bankers, work consumed their lives. Sure, they put me in figure skating, and Cason in hockey when we were young, but they never shared in our passions, or really supported our pursuits.
I guess I can’t expect my brother to display love, when none was ever displayed to him.
“Why don’t you teach me?”
“It might be my favorite sport to watch, but I don’t really know all the rules. I think you’d be better off getting your brother or…” She straightens. “Wait. I got this,” she says, and I cringe when she tosses my three-word email response back at me. A warning shiver skips along my spine, and I get the sense that whatever she’s about suggest, is going to take me right down the rabbit hole.
“What about Cole Cannon?”
I groan, plant my elbows on the table, and cover my face with my hands. “Never,” I mumble through my fingers. “Not in a million freaking years.”
Jess removes my hands from my face. “Why not? He’s your brother’s best friend. I’m sure he’ll help you.”
“Cocky Cole Cannon, aka, The Playmaker. Do I need to say any more?” I reach for my latté and take a huge gulp, burning the roof of my mouth. Damn.
“I know you hate him, Nina, but—”
“Of course I hate him. You remember the nickname he used to use when we were kids—Pretty BallerNina. I was a figure skater, not a ballerina,” I could only assume he was mocking me about being pretty too, but I keep that to myself.
“At least he worked your name into the moniker, and hey, it could have been worse. He could have called you Neaner Neaner, like Cason did.”
I glare at her and she holds her hands up. “Okay, okay. I get it. But Cole’s been home for a month, recovering from a concussion, and his team—the Seattle Shooters, in case you don’t know the league’s name,” she adds with a wink, “are probably going to make it to the playoffs, so you know he’s watching all the games. You don’t have to like him to ask him to explain a few of the plays, right?”
“I suppose.”
Wait! What? Am I really thinking about asking The Playmaker to help me? I reach for my latté and blow on it before I take another big gulp.
“And if you ask me, while he’s helping you learn the plays, I think you two should hate fuck.”
I choke on my drink, spitting most of it on my friend as the rest dribbles down my chin.
OMFG, how embarrassing. All eyes turn to me. Mortified, I grab a napkin and start wiping my face, but Jess is laughing so hard, I start laughing with her.
“Couldn’t you have waited until I swallowed?” I ask.
“That’s what she said.”
“Ohmigod, Jess. How are we friends?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You know you love me because I’m hellacioulsy funny.”
“I do, just stop cracking jokes when I’m drinking.”
She leans towards me conspiratorially, and I brace myself. “I wasn’t joking. You and Cocky Cole Cannon should hate fuck. He’s as sexy today as he was when he used to hang out with Cason at your house when we were teens.” I give her a look that suggests she’s insane. She ignores it and wags her brows. “He’s explosive on the ice, but do you know why they really call him the Cannon?”
“Because it’s his last name.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the only reason.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“Okay, then why?” I ask.
“’Cause he’s loaded between his legs.”
Yeah, okay, I totally set myself up for that.
“You don’t know that,” I shoot back. My mind races to my brother’s best friend, and I mentally go over his form. He’s athletic, tall and—as much as I hate to admit it—hot as hell. The perfect trifecta. Could he be packing too? Working with some top-notch equipment?
Jesus, what am I doing? The last thing I should be thinking about is Cole’s ‘cannon’.
“Come on.” Jess grabs her purse. “I’ll drive you there.”
I flatten my hands on the table. “I’m not going to his house, especially not unannounced.”
“Give him a call then.”
“No.”
She sits back in her chair and folds her arms, a sign she’s changing tactics. “And here I thought you liked your condo and food in your cupboards.”
I groan at the direct hit.
Her voice softens and she touches my hand. “But you know you always have—”
“Fine.” I stop her before she brings up my trust fund. Yeah, sure, Mom and Dad set money aside for me, but I don’t want to use it. I want to live by my own means, make it on my own merit. Besides it wasn’t their money I wanted, then or now, it was their attention, their love. I moved out years ago and only ever hear from them on my birthday or at Christmas.
I pull my phone from my purse. “I’ll text him. If he doesn’t answer, we don’t talk about this again.” I go through my contacts and find his number, having stored it years ago when he called to check on me after my injury. The call had taken me by surprise; so did his concern. Maybe my brother put him up to it. I don’t know. Nor do I
