“What’s up with our goalie today?” Jakowski huffs as he unwraps another stick of gum.
“Miles?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the wall, keeping an eye on the goalie. “He’s blocked the last nine out of ten shots.”
“Well, he still missed one,” Jakowski points out with his usual, glass-half-empty perspective.
Logan Piper, our up-and-coming right winger, skates toward the goalie like he could practice this drill in his sleep.
“Come on, quit messing around,” Jakowski mutters, like a father who’s annoyed by his kids.
“No, let Logan take his time. This is good mental prep for Miles.”
If there’s one thing the military taught me, it’s learning to deal with pressure. Miles Morgan has the skills; what he doesn’t have is the confidence. Logan prepares for the shot before snapping the puck over Miles’ right shoulder. The goalie is a beat too late, but it doesn’t matter—the puck blasts past him as a perfect bottle rocket, exploding Miles’ water bottle in a spray across the top of the net.
Jakowski shakes his head. “See, what’d I tell you? Waste of time.”
I look at Logan’s smug grin as he high-fives Leo and realize that shot was planned.
“That’s where you and I disagree.” I turn toward Jakowski. “Nothing is wasted in practice.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, expecting something from Carmen about the welcome dinner on Sundaywhich will kick off our weeklong wedding extravaganza at Rafael’s place.
I’m already worried about it. When I asked Scarlett to be my wedding date, I never expected it to be more than a chance to keep Laila away while keeping my family happy. But now it’s become a complicated arrangement where I’m breaking my own “friends only” rule while trying to keep my promise to her about the vendor contract.
At least there’s one good thing about the next week: I’m getting her out of that disaster of a living situation.
When I check the message, I’m surprised to see it’s from Scarlett.
Scarlett
Hey, are you free tonight?
I glance over to make sure Jakowski isn’t watching, then type back:
Brendan
Yeah. What’s up?
Scarlett
Want to do dinner?
Dinner, as in a date?
Scarlett’s never asked me out before. And since we’re about to spend a week together, I’m surprised she’d want to hang out now for fun.
Maybe she thinks we should discuss our fictional dating history before the wedding festivities begin, since my relatives are already pressuring us for the full story. That would be smart, actually. But it’s not why I want to see her tonight.
Ever since that moment at the boutique, I can’t stop thinking about her—can’t stop replaying the image of her in that dress, remembering how her skin felt under my fingertips—even though she was never mine in thefirst place.
Against my better judgment, I type back a quickyes.
As I pull into her driveway, I grab the flowers I bought and take a deep breath.
When I passed the florist on my way here, I knew the pink roses would make her smile, and that seemed like reason enough to buy them. I don’t even care about the tuba practice next door or the funky stairwell smell. A few hours with her is exactly what I need after a long day of dealing with Jakowski.
Scarlett opens the door before I can knock, and for a moment I can’t get a word out because she looks incredible in her pale-yellow sundress with tiny straps, with her brown hair hanging in soft waves around her shoulders. She smiles, and for a second I think it’s because she’s happy to see me.
But then she grabs my arm and pulls me inside with a quiet, “I need to talk to you.”