“Perfect timing, then.” Rafael opens a cabinet and takes out the game schedule. “We have games at the end of this week. Why don’t you join us?” He extends the publicity calendar we use at all our games.
Her eyes dart to mine, then back to him. “Uh, sure, I’d love to come.”
“Excellent.” Rafael turns back to his desk and picks up his phone. “I’m sure we can find room on the team bus.”
She blinks. “Bus?”
He looks up from the screen. “The games are in Charlotte. Back-to-back nights, so we’ll be gone for the weekend.”
“The entire weekend?” Rafael doesn’t notice the slight panic on her face. But I know she’s not thrilled about leaving her parents or the cafe for the weekend. “I…uh, don’t know if I can arrange to be gone that long.”
He tilts his head. “Why not? This would be an ideal opportunityto observe how food vendors operate in other arenas. If you’re serious about this position, and I assume you are, you need to start attending games regularly.”
I watch Scarlett go still for just a second as she does the math. A weekend away with the team. Which means a weekend away with me.
“Plus,” Rafael adds with a hint of a grin, “don’t you want to support Coach Marco?”
His eyes meet mine and that’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s not just testing her commitment to the team.
She looks back at him before she nods. “Then it looks like I’m going to Charlotte.”
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 ishot.
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 likethat.
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 thatandknows 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.