Chapter 3 #2
He shakes his head after them, smiling, then his gaze slides back to me and Penn. He skates toward us. “Seriously, thank you both for coming this week.”
“It was our pleasure,” Penn says.
I nod my agreement a second time.
Grady and Penn shake hands. Whitney catches my eye, expectantly, but I’m too slow to realize she’s waiting for me. Grady extends his hand to me next, and Penn holds his out to Whitney. It makes it so the only natural thing for me to do after Grady and I unclasp is to shake with Whitney.
I’m aware that I should not feel as nervous as I do about shaking a woman’s goddamn hand but here we are.
Her grip is tighter than I imagined. Small, cool fingers slide against my palm and send a chill up my arm.
“We can’t thank you enough,” she says. “The kids will be talking about this week for years.”
I say nothing because . . . of course I don’t. She pulls her hand back, but the tingling sensation remains.
“If you don’t have plans this afternoon, then you’re welcome to join us at my house. A little backyard barbecue and swim,” Grady says.
I give him my best apologetic smile, expecting Penn to make excuses for us.
Instead, he places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes in a way that tells me not to argue as he says, “We’d love to.”
What the hell? Penn wants to go to a barbecue? That’s more surprising than . . . wait a minute. He’s grinning too big and way too excited about socializing, which can only mean one thing . . . he’s doing this for me.
I fight back a groan and clench my jaw. It’s too late to argue.
Grady is visibly excited that we’re coming and deep down I know it’s probably the right thing to do.
We spent all week with the kids, but it was all hockey and drills.
In a more relaxed environment, we can show them we’re just normal guys.
I think I must have blacked out for the rest of the conversation because the next thing I know, Grady and Whitney are skating off in one direction and Penn turns to face me.
“Do you want to ride together?” he asks like this is a totally normal scenario, and he didn’t just sign me up for an afternoon of torture being around Whitney. Maybe I can just keep avoiding her. Yes, great plan. Keep ten feet of distance between us at all times so there’s never a reason to speak.
“Why did you just agree to that?” I ask him.
“Come on. You know why.”
I keep watching him, waiting for an explanation, anyway.
“You like the coach.”
“I don’t even know the coach.”
He rolls his eyes. “She’s hot, smart, funny, loves hockey, and you’re obviously into her because you said, like, three words to her all week.”
I wish I could argue any of his points but can’t.
“And what does going to this barbecue have to do with that?” I ask, tension filling my limbs like a weight. “As you’ve so aptly explained, I can’t talk to her.”
“Yes, you can.”
I stare at him blankly for several long seconds. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“You can because it’s your last chance. Do you really want to wake up in a month and still be kicking yourself for not asking her out?
” He gives me that big brother face, slight head tilt, serious expression, half smile, that says, I know better than you.
I’ve seen it before, but never had it directed at me.
But the truth is, I’ve felt that feeling so many times, I can summon it on command. My gut swirls with unease and a giant lump forms in my throat. Regrets . . . I have many.
His brows lift when I wait too long to reply. I open my mouth but can’t come up with a single rebuttal.
I sigh. He’s right. He knows it. I know it.
“Well, fuck.” It really is now or never.
He grins.
When Penn and I arrive at Grady’s place, the kids are already in the pool, splashing around, doing cannonballs off the side. They cheer and shout their hellos. A few kids beckon us to join them, but neither Penn nor I knew to bring trunks.
Instead, we join Grady on the back deck. He’s manning the grill.
“You made it,” he says, looking more relaxed than he had at the rink. He’s pulled on a wide-brim hat and sunglasses and is wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
“Smells great,” Penn says, nodding toward the food. “Do you need help with anything?”
“Nah, I think we got it covered.” He waves in the direction of the open sliding glass door. “The pool isn’t exactly warm, thanks to the rain this week, but I have extra trunks if either of you feel up for a swim.”
Penn chuckles softly. “Freezing-cold pool water or hover near the food . . .” He moves his hands in front of him like he’s weighing the options.
Grady laughs along with him. “I’m with you, but the boys are impervious to temperature apparently.”
I glance around before I realize I’m looking for a certain someone at the same time Grady adds, “Whitney is grabbing ice for the coolers.”
On cue, she comes into view, carrying two bags of ice so big, she can barely see over them.
Penn nudges me into action.
“Let me get those,” I say as I reach for the ice.
“It’s okay.” She resists, but only for a second. As soon as I take some of the weight into my hold, her body relaxes.
“Thanks.” She stares at me over the bags. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail with several dark strands hanging loose around her heart-shaped face.
We’re standing so close, I can count the long, dark lashes that frame her brown eyes.
They’re a warm, dark brown with flecks around the iris that are a reddish orange.
It reminds me of staring into a fire as the embers spark.
The longer I stare, the more captivated I am.
She smells like coconut—sunscreen, probably, and something else sweet and feminine.
She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts and a threadbare white T-shirt that has the words moonshot high school hockey across the front in faded red letters.
Thin yellow straps peek out from the collar of her shirt and tie behind her neck.
Her swimsuit. A bikini? I’m struck with a visual of her in it that has my mouth going dry.
Aaaand I’m still standing entirely too close.
I step back quickly and blink the rest of the world into focus. My body flushes hot. Thank fuck I’m holding ice because it cools down the heat coursing through me. I need to get my shit together before I embarrass myself more than usual.
Whitney walks ahead of me as we step outside. She goes to the cooler and raises the lid.
I set the bag down on the porch and we work together to open and dump the ice into the cooler, then fill it with soda and waters.
Penn and Grady are chatting a few feet away from us about . . . I have no clue since all my energy has been laser focused on Whitney, but it leaves me in an uncomfortable silence with the only other person nearby.
We stand after the coolers are full.
“There are some chips and other stuff to bring out.” She hitches a thumb behind her.
“Yeah,” I say, a little too eagerly but thrilled to have another task. Just keep moving, that’s the plan. Leave no room for idle chitchat, that’s where I seem to struggle. How I’m going to ask her out without talking is a whole other problem that I’m choosing not to think about for now.