Page 9 of Elite Player
“You know a lot about cock cages?”
He elbows me. “Unlike you, I know how to keep my hookups on the down-low.”
Cubby frowns at me. “No more going out?”
He’s been my partner in crime this whole time, always up for a drink or two. But I guess that’s all done, and I shake my head. “Sorry, bud. You gotta pick up chicks on your own now.”
He grins widely, displaying his missing incisor next to a half-missing front tooth. “More for me.”
He often invents wild stories about how he lost those teeth as a way of entertaining women, and it works. About fifty percent of the time. The ones who want to hear about him rescuing a puppy from a fire seem to really dig it. The others usually end up in my bed.
Endedup in my bed.
“Let’s go!” Coach calls us back onto the ice as one of the assistant coaches blows a whistle, and Sheffy takes off to return to his place, one of the alternate captains for a reason.
It’s Davey who sticks next to me as we skate, and I barely hear him through his helmet when he says, “It’s always the girls you least expect who change everything.”
I can’t answer him because he takes his place in goal, but I don’t know what I’d say anyway. It is a special kind of person to want to have small projectiles shot at them at ninety miles an hour, and goalies often tend to be a little…odd. They either talk a lot or not at all, have strange rituals, and are often isolated by the nature of their position. Davey is no different.
He married an Aussie, a woman he met while diving with sharks off the coast down there. She’s a marine biologist, and I can only guess he’s making some point about how he and his wife don’t appear to have anything in common on the surface, but underneath they do. At least, I think that’s the point he was trying to make. Yet I’m not sure why—what that piece of advice would do for me. I’ve been put in a time-out, not forced into a lifetime of celibacy.
Not that it matters, because Coach explains the next setup, and I’ve got to get my head back on the game instead of the sad-looking girl in the hospital bed.
After practice, we have lunch then a short workout session and, later, head to meetings and film. Our preseason games start in a few days, and even though they’re only exhibition, it’s a time for the coaching staff to finalize the roster, and since I’ve already been put on notice, I need to show up and bepresent. Prove to them my skills on the ice are more important than my reputation off it. Before, my goal was to solidify my spot on the second line, though now I’ll be lucky if I’m even still on the team in a few weeks.
Unless I can show them I’m an integral part of a winning team. Because, at the end of the day, everyone wants to win.
Instead of hanging around to eat with whoever’s staying for the dinner provided by the team chef, I grab a couple of to-go boxes and bump a few fists on the way out, so I can go to the hospital. There, I toss a few waves to the medical staff who are so kindly taking care of my pal, then make a left down a short corridor toward Josephine’s room, but the sounds of multiple people already there stop me in my tracks.
Josephine and I didn’t talk about family or friends yesterday, but clearly, she has some visitors. I briefly reconsider what I’m doing here before I recall the way she timidly bit into her lip andlifted her hand to me after I promised to come back. The barest hint of a smile when she said, “Thanks, Nico.”
Her voice has a breathy quality, like she doesn’t use it much, and with the way she said my name, it was as if it’d be a miracle for me to come back and see her. As if she’s not used to peopleseeingher. It twisted something in my gut. Activated some innate protectiveness.
I don’t know much about her, but what I do know, I like, and she deserves to be noticed, acknowledged. I may not have before, much to my shame, but I’ll make it up to her.
I push open the door and step inside. There are so many visitors crammed in here, I can’t even spot Josephine. So many voices, I can’t quite make anything out. I scan the room and clear my throat, garnering the attention of a young woman next to me, as well as a gray-haired woman. “Hi. I’m here to see Jo?—”
Someone grabs my arm. “Oh! This must be the fiancé!”
I freeze.
Becausewhat?
CHAPTER 4
JO
Mamaw yanks Nico forward,and he walks like a baby giraffe, all stiff legs and craned neck swooping side to side, obviously confused. His bewildered focus eventually lands on me, and I’d like to speak to him, but all of my words have literally evaporated from my brain.
I expected my mother to show. But I didnotexpect her to bring my grandmother, sister, brother, and Waylon. Of all people, I really did not want him here, seeing me like this.
Being from a small town in West Virginia, my mother thinks Philadelphia has serial killers on every corner and drugs in every school. She didn’t want me doing my “little art projects” and certainly didn’t want me moving away. This accident has proven all her theories correct—that Philadelphia is a hellhole.
Sure, it has its problems, like any other big city, but I’ve found my place here, and I don’t know how to convince her that I don’t need to move home. If it weren’t for the fact that she believes I’m engaged, she’d force me in the car right this second.
So what do I do now that I’ve woven my web of lies a little too big, and I’ve caught myself a giant blond fly who wears a stunned expression? I’m not sure.
“He’s handsome,” Mamaw coos, touching Nico like he’sherfiancé.
