Jacob laughs and claps a hand on Drew’s shoulder. “Have you spoken to Coach Summers since you’re both in Charlotte?”
Drew’s mouth pulls flat. “Pretty sure I’m the last person Summers wants to see. Haven’t spoken in over three years. Not since the incident.”
The incident?
The way he says it makes me think there's a hell of a lot more to that story, but I'm not stupid enough to push. You don't interrogate an NFL quarterback about his college drama on your first meeting.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I can’t help myself. I glance down quickly.
Unknown:Interesting company your girl's keeping these days. Wonder what else she does with the hockey team when there's “no signal.”
I frown, my jaw clenching as I reread the message.
“All good, Rookie?” Jacob asks, catching the tension in my jaw.
“Yeah, sorry. Just…” I shove the phone back in my pocket before I crush it in my hand. “Team stuff.”
I wish it were team stuff. I wish this wasn’t making my mind whir over all the implications. I’ve never received a message like this before, but I get why it makes Honey feel some kind of way. The worst part is, I can’t even talk to her without looking like an obsessed boyfriend.
I force a bite of my steak while Jacob turns to Drew. “Who’s next on your schedule?”
Drew clears his throat. “The Dallas Dune Devils, but it’s in London.”
“London?” Jacob leans back, letting out a laugh. “I forgot you were doing that series.”
“Yeah,” Drew sighs. “The team's signed a deal to go back for the next four years.”
Something unspoken passes between the two of them. Then Jacob tilts his head. “Are you going to see her?”
Her? My ears perk up.
“I’m gonna try,” Drew says, his voice low as he looks a little unsure. “Haven’t seen her in over two years.”
“Damn,” Jacob mutters. “That long?”
Drew nods. “We’ve texted, off and on, but it’s been… a while.”
“How long’s a while?” Jacob presses.
Drew smirks without humor. “Long enough I’m not even sure the number I’ve got is still hers. I’ll roll the dice.”
“You want me to ask Coach Summers when I talk to him tomorrow?” Jacob teases.
That makes Drew snort. “And give him the chance to feed me the wrong number on purpose? Hard pass.”
“Think she’s seeing anyone?” Jacob asks.
“Probably. Bella’s hot shit. I’m sure the British guys are all over her—same way I was.” His words carry an edge sharp enough to cut the steak in front of me.
Bella? That’s when it all snaps into place.
“Wait—Bella?” I blurt. “As in Coach Summers’ daughter?”
“Can’t deny the kid is quick,” Jacob says sarcastically.
Drew’s gaze sharpens. “You know her?”
“Not really. Coach mentioned she’s in London for a fashion school. I didn’t realize you two were…” I trail off, unsure what I’m walking into.