Summer Thaw (Summer Lovin’ collection #6)

Chapter One Hattie

Chapter One

Hattie

The hotel parking lot is filled with oversize vans and station wagons, cars with out-of-state license plates and window decals of little stick figure families. Weary-looking parents roll their suitcases toward the entrance with relieved smiles, corralling excited-looking children.

As I watch them file into the lobby, one family after another, the automatic doors open and close, letting in some of the warm night air.

Each time, behind the other travelers, I catch a glimpse of the men’s hockey team.

The group of them stand together, headphones hanging around their necks, heads bowed to stare at their phones, and large duffel bags on the ground beside them or hanging from one shoulder.

As I absently scan the group, one catches me looking.

Or I catch him looking? It’s hard to say, but the result is me looking away as fast as I can.

“Here are the key cards,” Coach says, saving me from the moment as he hands me a stack of hotel keys in paper holders with the number scribbled across the front.

Then he speaks louder for my teammates, spread out in the lobby area, to hear him.

“Get your room assignment from Cannon, and then get some rest. We start early tomorrow. Breakfast here at six. Bus leaves for the rink at seven.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, and then Coach heads to the elevators, presumably to get upstairs before all of us so we won’t know which room is his.

Last summer he gave out his room information in case we needed anything.

Except the only thing that we needed was to annoy him endlessly during our weeklong stay.

Girls stopped by to ask for tampons or pain meds, others checked up on him and asked if he wanted to hang out like he wasn’t enjoying every second of solitude he got from us, and then there were the outright pranks: door-knock ditching, calling and hanging up, and decorating his door with colorful and glittery handmade signs.

Although I think he secretly loved that last one because I caught a peek of one in his office back at Valley University last fall.

My teammates crowd around me with outstretched hands. Everyone is eager to get to their room and chill. We’ve been traveling since early this morning. A bus to the airport, two flights, and another bus ride.

The Moonshot Hockey Camp is worth the long travel.

One week, dozens of teams from across the country—both men’s and women’s teams, including the Valley U men’s hockey team that traveled with us.

We have practice or skill sessions in the morning, and in the afternoons we play other teams in a round-robin style tournament on a professional rink.

For the next six days we will eat, sleep, and breathe hockey. I cannot wait.

I pass out the keys as quickly as I can. My teammates murmur their thanks and then pack into the elevators. Two freshmen are left in front of me. I give them their keys and then realize I’m out.

I should have counted to make sure Coach gave me enough to start, but it’s too late for that now.

I glance outside in the breezeway where the men’s team is gathered.

Their captain, Colin Jettson, is handing out keys, the same way I just did.

His dark-blond hair is covered by a backward white hat.

He’s inches taller than most guys and easily visible, even though the rest of the team is huddled around him.

They’re pushier than the girls were, but Jett is unfazed.

He takes his time and stands his ground.

The boys are starting to trickle inside with their gear, so I sidestep to the front desk.

“Hi,” I say cheerily to the woman behind the counter. “I think we’re missing one room key.”

“For which room?” she asks without looking up.

“I’m not sure.”

Her stare lifts slowly, and she gives me a blank, dry expression.

“I handed them all out, but I didn’t get one.”

She taps around on the keyboard in front of her as slow as Flash the sloth in Zootopia. But less adorably.

“I checked in everyone for Valley University. Twenty-eight rooms on the fifth and sixth floors.”

She does not look like she’ll be researching the matter further. Got it. My problem.

“Thanks,” I say, slowly stepping back from the counter.

I text the team chat to see if someone is missing a roommate.

There are twenty-seven of us, and while my math skills are rusty from a summer off, I’m pretty certain that we should have fourteen rooms. Thirteen doubles and one single.

That single is supposed to be mine. One perk to being captain.

The cons, at least this week, are far greater.

It’s largely up to me to make sure everyone gets where they need to go all week.

Waking up our goalie, Annabelle, who notoriously sleeps through alarms and is perpetually late, is going to be a full-time job.

Texts start popping up faster than I can keep up. The first few let me know they have a roommate, then they go off topic. Girls asking if anyone brought dry shampoo or toothpaste or snacks. The next thing I know, someone is sharing recommendations for white noise apps.

I close out when it appears I did not hand out an extra key. Which means . . . I glance back at Jett. I’d almost rather beg the front desk attendant for another key than talk to him, but as the guys on his team scatter, I have a better visual of him. Him and the two key cards he’s holding.

He’s staring down at them, one in each hand, like perhaps he’s questioning his math skills too. Although I get the feeling Colin Jettson doesn’t question anything about himself.

He has that air about him. I wouldn’t call him cocky, exactly, but he has that touch of arrogance that makes people do what he says. It’s what makes him a great captain. I’m more of the lead-by-example type. I work hard, and the girls respect me for it. Plus, they know I would do anything for them.

“I think you have my key,” I say as I approach him.

The Montana summer air is a lot cooler than it was in Arizona when we left this morning. So much that a chill races up my arms. It’s that and not the icy expression Colin turns on me, I’m almost sure.

I’ve spent enough time around him to know that it’s personal—his chilly demeanor toward me. He’s friendly and personable with everyone else. I’ve tried to talk to him a handful of times—at the rink, on campus, at parties . . . He isn’t interested.

His brows lift, disappearing under the fray of light hair that hangs down on his forehead.

“I was one short,” I say when he continues to look at me without responding or making any move to hand me the extra room key. “I think the coaches gave me one less than we needed and you one more.”

The longer I talk, the more awkward I feel. Do I really need to spell this out for him? He’s a smart guy. It’s almost like he wants me to stand here feeling like an idiot for as long as possible.

Finally, he holds out one of the keys to me. Our fingers brush as I take it, sending a little zing through me.

“Thanks,” I say, and he gives me a slow nod in reply.

We head into the now-empty hotel lobby. I catch the faint sound of some of the guys in the elevator, but it’s already gone by the time we reach it. I jab the up button and turn to Jett.

He stands three feet away with his giant duffel bag, looking anywhere but at me.

“How’s your summer going?” I ask him.

His dark-brown eyes find mine, and he hits me with another nod. “Fine.”

He doesn’t ask me about my summer, but the silence that follows is so awkward I feel compelled to answer anyway.

“Me too. I went to California for a week with my family.”

He’s looking at me like he’s either listening or wondering why the hell I’m talking to him.

“I tried surfing for the first time, and we spent a day at Disneyland. The weather kind of sucked. It rained four out of the six days we were there. Other than that I just lay around at my parents’ house, skated and worked out in the afternoons, hung out with my old high school friends some .

. .” I trail off. Admitting that I’ve been looking forward to this camp for most of the five weeks since school ended makes me sound a touch pathetic.

I love hockey, and this camp has been amazing every year I’ve attended, but it was probably my recent breakup that made my entire summer feel a little off-kilter. I got so used to spending my time with Denny that I realized I’d made him my only other hobby outside of hockey.

“I took up knitting too.” I reach into the unzipped pocket of my bag and pull out the scarf—or what will hopefully be a scarf at some point. Right now it’s just a few inches of blue fabric.

The surprise dawns slowly on his face with more brow raising.

Any reasonable person would stop talking, but it really gets to me that he dislikes me so much.

I don’t usually have this problem. I’m friendly, and I like talking to people.

I especially like talking with hockey people.

I’m hoping to be a sports reporter when I graduate.

I can’t imagine anything better than traveling around and interviewing players and coaches.

I might even interview him one day. Colin’s already been drafted by the Minnesota Wildcats. He’s finishing out his collegiate career first, but I have no doubt he’ll be wildly successful when he finally makes his pro debut.

The elevator dings, and the doors open for us. I’m nearly sweating when I step inside. Talking to Colin is a workout. Also he makes me a touch nervous. Possibly because he hates me. Or possibly it’s because of the way he looks. As in, he’s hot. Really hot. Arizona-summer hot.

He steps in behind me, moving to the other side and putting as much distance as he can between us. Even still, he takes up a lot of space. This close I have to tilt my head back to look at him.

“Did you get taller?” I ask him.

“No.” He stares straight ahead as he delivers the dry reply.

“Are you sure?”

There’s a tick of his jaw, and then he lets out a long sigh. “Positive.”

We ride the rest of the way up to the sixth floor in silence.

When the doors open, he waves a hand indicating I should go first. I do, then glance around for signage and head the way to my room.

I can feel him behind me. He’s walking slower, like he’s keeping a careful amount of distance between us, but we’re the only two in the hall, and my room is all the way at the end.

I glance back and smile at him as I stop in front of my door, then pull out the key and flash it in front of the lock. It beeps and turns green, and I turn the handle and open the door.

Before I disappear inside, I notice Colin stopping at the door to my right.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” I say, then step inside because I’m no longer expecting an answer, but I swear he groans with disappointment.