Page 264 of Cross Check

“A thrift store.”

“A game worn, hand-signed jersey, that’s at least fifteen years old? Yeah. I’m sure there are a dozen of these down at the Save A Lot.”

“Fine. Maybe I spent months stalking eBay and auctions until I found the one I wanted to bid on. So what? Mind your business, Hartwell.”

“She’s going to love it, by the way.”

“You think?” I brush a piece of lint away from the C patch stitched over my heart. “Not too over the top?”

“Never. I’m going to get changed. Coach Green should be here any second.”

I wait patiently, pretending to occupy myself with my phone so I don’t look like I’m loitering. The stragglers bring up the rear of the group, and then I hear voices.

One in particular I’d know in my sleep stands out, and I’m already smiling.

“Everett?” Amelia asks, and I look over at her. Her eyes shift to her assistant coaches who disappear in the locker room, leaving us alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Afternoon, Coach Green. As the alternate captain for the Stars, I wanted to check in and make sure there wasn’t anything you or the team needed.”

“That’s nice of you.” Her eyes spark with glee. “I believe we’re all set, but thanks for checking in.”

“No problem. If that changes, let our Equipment Associate know. He’ll take care of you,” I say.

“Appreciate it. We’ll—” Her gaze drops to my jersey. She steps back, a hand on her chest. “What are you wearing?”

“I love a theme, especially when it involves legends.”

“You told me you were going to wear Emmy’s jersey.”

“Come on, Lia.” I drop my voice low, our conversation hushed. “Do you honestly think there’s a version of tonight where I don’t wear your jersey?”

“I don’t know what to say.” Amelia bites her bottom lip. She plays with the bracelet clasped around her wrist, eyes scanning the Wisconsin lettering across my chest. “I’m used to seeing girls wear my jersey, not men.”

“And what do you think?”

“I like it very much,” she whispers. She touches the stitching that’s turned soft from years of wear and washing. The color is faded, the letters starting to peel. “Where did you even find this jersey? We wore it for one game during the holidays my senior year. Green accents on the back, red on the front. The design made no sense, but people loved them.”

“I have been stalking several online auctions for a very long time,” I admit.

“I got a hat trick while wearing this.” Her laugh is soft, reminiscing on a favorite memory. “Immediately after scoring my third goal, I was sent to the sin bin for a cross-checking penalty.”

“Bullshit call, I’m sure.”

“Total bullshit.” Lia smiles. “This has made my entire year.”

“You asked me once if I’d ever wear your jersey, and I lied when I said I wouldn’t. I have more at home in a drawer, waiting to be worn. I wanted this one to be the first.”

“You picked the best one.”

“Glad you think so.” I step back, putting distance between us. “I need to run. I’m late.”

“Want to make things interesting?” she asks. “A friendly wager.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure, but it should definitely involve our jerseys.”

“How about this for a bet? Loser has to wear the other’s jersey in bed tonight,” I offer.