Chapter 7 Scarlett
SEVEN
Scarlett
I drop my carry-on in my trunk, second-guessing every single item I packed for this weekend’s hockey games. I’ve never been to a Crushers game before, let alone an away one, so I have no frame of reference for appropriate road trip attire or what I’ll even be doing, besides watching the game.
But I want to send the right message to Rafael Marco—that I’m serious about supporting the Crushers and understanding the business, while proving I’m doing my homework for this vendor position.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I’m more nervous about this weekend than I was about telling my parents we got pulled over because of my car acrobatics.
This arrangement between us was supposed to be simple—one wedding date and that was it.
But it’s spreading into every corner of our lives like some kind of super-virus.
Because that’s what gossip does. It multiplies faster than rabbits, and pretty soon you have an entire commune of cute, little bunnies taking over the space under your porch.
When I pull into the arena parking lot, Brendan is standing beside the bus, completely absorbed in a hockey game on his iPad. He’s so focused, he doesn’t notice me staring—which is unfortunate for him, because I absolutely take advantage of it.
He’s dressed nicer than his usual coach uniform of Crushers gear and joggers.
Today, he’s in a crisp, white button-up that fits him a little too well, outlining broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and, when he shifts the tablet, a chest that makes it painfully obvious the man is ripped.
Not that this is shocking. He is the definition of disciplined, thanks to the Marine Corps—working out seven days a week and following a strict plan of weight training and running.
But most days he hides all that under hoodies and team jackets, which honestly feels rude in hindsight.
I know I shouldn’t be staring. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Standing here now, I can’t help wondering how I managed to miss this for so long.
Because Brendan Marco is hot.
Not that it matters. He’s been very clear about our relationship all along. We’re just friends. There’s nothing quite like being reminded of that fact while openly admiring a man who looks like that.
Something heats in my chest uncomfortably, and for maybe the first time, it’s not from my spicy breakfast burrito.
How in the world am I going to survive the weekend with a man who looks like that and knows it?
He doesn’t know it, actually. That’s the worst part.
I lift my chin. I can do this. I just need to keep my feelings out of it.
Undeterred, I approach him and clear my throat. “Hey, Marco.” I throw a casual smile his way, hoping he doesn’t see the guilt on my face for how I’ve basically been ogling him.
“How’s my favorite assistant coach?” I step closer to him, which only makes him step back like I’m carrying something contagious.
Weird.
“I’m fine, Scarlett,” he says flatly. He glances around, then drops his voice. “The guys are watching and I’m their coach. So let’s keep it professional this weekend.” He says it to the parking lot, not to me. Like he can’t quite look at me directly right now.
I glance past him at the group of players gathered on the sidewalk outside the bus. Sure enough, at least four players are looking our way.
So that’s how it is. In front of his family, we’re the happy couple. In front of the team, apparently we’re just friends.
I look at the game he’s watching on his iPad. “Ready for this weekend?”
He shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I glance around at the staff. “Is your uncle here yet?”
“He’s flying to the game in his private jet,” he answers without looking up. “Never rides the team bus with us.”
“Bummer,” I sigh. “I wanted him to see me here, supporting the team. You know, like we planned?”
He looks over at me before turning back to his tablet. “Yeah. The vendor position. I know.”
“I brought my vendor research questions too.” I rifle through my bag for my notebook. “I want to interview the Charlotte staff about operations, sales data, management.”
“I’m sure it’ll be very informative,” he says vaguely, still absorbed in his screen.
Informative? That’s it? I straighten my shoulders, feeling a little put out that he doesn’t seem nearly as excited about this. “Am I bothering you, Brendan?”
“No, Scarlett. You’re not bothering me.”
“Are you sure? Because I can talk to someone else…”
He pulls his attention away from the game, his coach face falling away for a second. “I’m just not used to having you here. This is my job, and I need to stay focused.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to remind myself this isn’t personal. He didn’t sign up for me tagging along—Rafael arranged that particular complication. I’m just in the way of his game preparation. “Don’t worry, Bren. You don’t have to entertain me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He studies me for a moment, like he doesn’t believe me.
I shouldn’t feel stung that he doesn’t have time for me.
What did I expect? The man’s entire existence revolves around hockey—strategy, plays, opponent analysis, team preparation—all requiring his complete attention.
I’ve seen him at the cafe, totally absorbed in game footage, barely acknowledging my existence unless he needs a coffee refill.
He was the same way as conditioning coach, always researching the latest strength-training techniques.
Now he’s transferring that focus to his new role, which means there’s nothing left over for his fake girlfriend tagging along.
Not that I’m complaining. This is a business arrangement between us, not a weekend away.
I just need to be the invisible, supportive, fake girlfriend who doesn’t create any distractions.
This strategy works for exactly ten seconds.
The moment Leo Anderson spots me standing next to Brendan, he nudges a few of his teammates. Brendan looks up just as they approach and gets a pained expression on his face.
“Finally.” Leo slaps Brendan on the shoulder as they circle around him. “Someone to keep Coach Marco in line. Not that he needs it. He normally works the entire bus ride. Most boring travel companion in professional sports.”
These guys: Miles, Brax, Leo, and Tate—along with Rourke and Jaxon—are Brendan’s inner circle. The ones who’ve known him long before Brendan became the assistant coach.
“Not all of us want to play video games on our phones the entire trip,” Tate Foster says, pushing up his glasses. “I’m with Coach on the benefits of quiet bus rides.”
Miles frowns. “Your girlfriend is anything but quiet, Sheriff.”
“Speaking of girlfriends,” Brendan says, interrupting. “You all know Scarlett, right?”
Leo’s mouth twitches. “Yes, we know all about your girlfriend.”
Brax coughs into his fist. Tate fights to hide his smile.
Miles grins. “Yep, we know everything.” Then he winks at Brendan.
I look between them, trying to figure out what I’m missing.
Brendan catches my eye and gives me a subtle headshake.
Oh. So the inner circle knows. The rest don’t, which is why he’s introducing me as his girlfriend—for everyone else’s benefit.
“Scarlett, you know Leo Anderson?” Brendan continues.
I look up at the enormous left wing known for his cockiness. “Ego? Who orders a blueberry muffin and black coffee? Yes, I do.”
Miles’ eyes widen. “Impressive. Do you know everyone’s orders?”
“Only the regulars, which probably just proves how much I’ve been living at that cafe.”
Leo points at Brax MacPherson. “What’s our center order?”
I tap my lips thoughtfully. Brax is the anchor of the group—tough on the outside but a total softie underneath. “Cinnamon roll or cheesecake, depending on his mood.”
“Does time of day factor into the decision?” Tate asks, intrigued.
Brax grins sheepishly. “Nope. I ate half a cheesecake for breakfast last Tuesday.”
“How about Sheriff here?” Leo asks, slapping the defenseman on the shoulder.
I turn to Tate. “Sheriff likes coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon. And he’s rarely without a book.”
“And our rookie?” Leo says, nodding at Miles.
“The goalie is very fond of our lemon poppy seed muffins and the cafe’s part-time barista.”
Miles’ cheeks flush at the mention of Gabriella.
Tate’s eyebrows rise. “She’s good.”
“Where’s Rourke?” Leo asks, turning around.
“Here he comes.” Tate checks his watch. “Late as usual.”
Brax turns to me. “We thought Coach would never work up the courage to invite you to a game.”
Brendan gives me a self-deprecating grin. “Only took a few years, right?”
“To be honest, I’ve been working evenings forever, so it’s not entirely his fault.” I give Brendan an apologetic look. “I just hope I don’t embarrass myself by cheering for the wrong goal.”
“Just look for the number eighteen jersey,” Rourke says as he joins us, pointing to his shirt. “I’ll be the one making all the goals.”
“You’re a defenseman. You’re supposed to leave that to me,” Brax claps back.
“If I don’t get there first,” Leo challenges with a smug grin.
Pretty soon the guys are bickering about who’s going to score the first goal, while Brendan looks at the sky like he’s about to lose it.
“See what I have to put up with?” he mutters, then turns back to the group. “Guys, just shut up and worry about winning. That’s it.”
“Don’t worry, Scarlett,” Rourke says sagely, draping an arm around Brendan’s neck like they’re brothers. “Coach Marco can teach you everything you need to know about hockey. We’re just glad you’re here. I’m not sure we could survive another attempt at him singing to you.”
“I thought it was sweet.” I press my lips together to hide my grin. “In a slightly mortifying way.”
The guys howl with laughter, but I’m the only one who notices the tips of Brendan’s ears turning pink.
“He was driving us crazy talking about you,” Rourke adds.
I glance at Brendan curiously. “I had no idea I ever came up in team conversations.”
His jaw clenches. “You just came up…occasionally. Very occasionally.”