Holland leaned back, amused. “That sounds very specific.”
“It’s universal,” Cole said. “The young guys are always excited and always trying to flirt with anyone who stands still too long.”
CC laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I wanted to tell her to keep more than that in mind. I wanted to tell her not to smile at them the way she had smiled at me, not to let some twenty-one-year-old idiot with fresh money and a new jersey think he had a chance. The feeling moving through me was not friendly. It was protective, yes, but not in the clean way it should have been. I was being a possessive idiot. She could not be mine.
The waitress appeared, saving me from my own thoughts. Cole ordered first, choosing brisket with jalapeño cheddar sausage, pit beans, coleslaw, and cornbread because retirement had apparently freed him from caring what a team nutritionist thought. Holland ordered smoked turkey with sweet potato mash and grilled vegetables. Jaden ordered a full rack of ribs, fries, mac and cheese, and a lemonade large enough to drown in, which earned him a look from Holland that he pretended not to see. CC ordered pulled chicken tacos with avocado slaw and a side of street corn, plus iced tea. I ordered grilled salmon with charred vegetables and a side salad because I still had a season to train for.
Cole looked at me after I handed my menu back. “Salmon at a barbecue place.”
“You say that like salmon isn’t food.”
“It isn’t, but I’m glad you’re still watching yourself on break,” he said. What he was really saying was that I wasn’t so young anymore. At thirty-three, I was reaching the end of my career on the ice.
“You’re eating enough beef for both of us,” I joked.
Cole shook his head and laughed. “Look at this guy.” He chuckled some more. “I’m happy not to be playing anymore.” Cole leaned back, looking deeply satisfied with himself. “You know what the best part of retiring from the ice is? Ordering what I want without some nutrition specialist telling me to consider quinoa.”
Holland looked at him with so much affection it made my chest hurt. “You hated quinoa before you knew what it was.”
“I hated it instinctively,” he agreed.
“That’s not a real thing, Dad,” CC cut in.
“I’m not a fan of quinoa either,” I admitted.
Holland laughed softly, and Cole’s whole expression changed when he looked at her. It was quick, intimate, and easy. The kind of look that came from years of choosing each other through all the hard parts.
I looked away. Beside me, CC shifted. Her thigh brushed mine. Bare skin against bare skin. It was an accident, but my entire body went up in flames. The contact lasted a second, but it was enough to drag me straight back to the pool house. Water on her skin. Her breath catching. Her eyes locked on mine while neither of us moved. CC stilled beside me. She must have felt it too. Or was I reading into something that wasn’t there? Something I wanted to see that was a figment of my imagination.
I stared down at my water glass and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Across the table, Jaden was building a tower from straw wrappers and pretending it was not on the verge of collapse.
“Jaden,” Holland said.
He kept his eyes on the tower. “I’m doing architecture.”
“You’re making a mess.”
Every nerve in my body was focused on the place where CC’s thigh had touched mine. I needed air.
I slid out of the booth carefully. “I’m going to the restroom.”
CC did not look at me. That was probably for the best. The bathroom was empty when I walked in. I braced both hands on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
“You’re thirty-three years old,” I muttered. “Get a grip.”
I splashed cold water on my face, then gripped the edge of the sink again. This was bad. Worse than bad. It wasreckless. CC was not some woman I had met at a bar. She was Cole’s daughter. Holland’s daughter. Isla’s former babysitter. A medical student about to spend months around the Blaze facility in a role connected to the team. I needed to stay far away from her. That would have been easier if my body had not decided one accidental brush of her thigh was enough to make me feel eighteen and stupid. I dried my face and stepped out of the restroom, only to be stopped halfway back to the table by a group of fans near the bar.
“Hunter Russell?” a guy asked, his eyes widening. “No way.”
The shift was automatic after years of being recognized in public. Shoulders back. Smile polite. Make people feel good without giving too much away.
“Hey,” I said.
The guy asked for a photo. Another man wanted a napkin signed. Two young women came over next, one holding out a pen while the other looked me up and down with a smile I recognized too well.
“You’re even hotter in person,” she said.