He waves a hand, brushing off the apology. “I’m just messing with you.” His gaze sharpens as he turns to Taylor. “And who is this?”
“Coach Carlyle, this is my friend Taylor.”
Taylor puffs out his chest and offers Coach his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Coach shakes his hand, giving it a solid pump. “Good to meet you too, son.”
“Taylor skates for the Junior Gliders,” I say, clapping him on the back, “and he’s got one heck of a slap shot.”
Coach looks him over, brows flat. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen, sir.”
Taylor’s slender, but that doesn’t stop him on the ice. There was a time when a kid with his build wouldn’t get a second look from a scout, but a lot of the younger guys coming up in the NHL are lighter, using their speed and agility to their advantage.
Hell, McGinnis is the perfect example.
The difference is, Ginny doesn’t have a humble bone in his body, while Taylor is one of the humblest players I’ve ever met.
“I need to check on dinner,” Coach says, wiping his hands on a towel. “But why don’t you join me at the grill? I want to hear more about the Junior Gliders. What position do you play?”
Taylor lopes after Coach, and I have no doubt the kid will yap his ear off until it’s time to eat. It’s what I would’ve done at his age.
I turn my attention to Ava and the stranger sitting at the bar, sipping their cocktails.
The team polo she wore earlier is gone, replaced by a flowing pink blouse that shows just a hint of cleavage. Her hair is pulled back in an intricate braid, and she looks like a goddess.
What I wouldn’t give to worship at her feet.
“Ava, you look stunning as always.” I turn to Coach’s other guest and extend my hand. “Knox St. James.”
A lazy grin stretches across his smug face, but he makes no move to shake my hand. “I know who you are.”
Fuck this asshole.
I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans, matching his smirk. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”
Ava shifts uncomfortably, her smile faltering. “Knox, this is Arlo. He’s an artist.”
Of course he is.
“He’s also my date tonight.” She spits the last bit out in a rush, like she’s ripping off a band-aid. “We met at the gym.”
What. The. Fuck. She brought a date? I thought she was avoiding me because it was easier than facing her feelings, not because she’d met someone else.
I give her “date” a slow once-over. There’s no way this douche canoe has spent any time in a gym. He looks like a skinny ass vampire, with dark hair and pasty skin that probably sparkles in sunlight.
In short, he’s my polar opposite.
Which only makes it hurt more.
I circle the bar and get myself a bottle of water from the fridge, taking my sweet-ass time. I twist the top off and take a long pull, studying the happy couple as the cool liquid slides down my throat.
I could go for a beer right now, but I’ve got Taylor to think about, and even one drink would be too many.
“So, Arlo, tell me about your art. What medium do you work in?”
“I’m a sculptor.” He arches a slender brow, doing his damndest to look down his nose at me. “I work with a variety of materials to reclaim treasures that have been discarded infrivolity and give new life to that which has been desiccated by the whims of man.”