Page 110 of Rookie Moves

I slide the card out that’s in the power socket, and I hear my dad curse behind me as the TV goes off.

“I was watching that!” he calls out as I open the door, and I can’t stop the nervous laughter from slipping out.

“Yep, I got one. Okay, later,” I say over my shoulder and head out of the suite.

I take the elevator up to the rooftop bar and wince at the brightness of the sun as the doors open.

Taking my sunglasses from the top of my head, I slip them on, then look around for Beau. It’s not too busy, so he’s easy to spot standing at the bar. His dark hair is an unruly mess, kind of like mine, and my mouth twists into an amused grin.

Tyler would get such a kick out of this right now. He’d probably tease me for being so giddy over meeting my favorite player.

But that spark of amusement soon fizzles out and is replaced by a sense of mourning.

It’s been six weeks since I last saw him.

Six long, agonizing weeks where I’ve been torn up over whether to message him and tell him I miss him or respect his need for space.

But maybe I’ll text him tonight after the draft. I can let him know where I’ll be going, that I miss him like fucking crazy, and I’ll be waiting for him for however long it takes.

Stepping out of the elevator, I head in the direction of where Beau stands, resting his hands on the bar top. His gaze slowly bounces around the space, like he’s clocking each person up here, and as I get closer, I notice the tension lining his jaw and the stiffness in his spine.

He’s on edge, and a knot in my stomach coils tightly.

Is this going to be me in the future? Unable to relax in a public space in case someone is watching, waiting to catch me out?

Fuck, is he going to hate me for asking him to come here?

My pulse quickens as panic sets in. Stepping up beside Beau at the bar, I clear my throat, then say quietly, “Hey. Thanks for meeting me.”

Beau turns toward me, and his face softens as he greets me with a warm smile and holds out his hand. “Hey, and anytime. Do you want a drink?”

I shake his hand and nod. “Yeah, please. Just a soda.”

Beau orders me a soda and a light beer for himself, then spots an empty booth at the end of the terraced space.

“Let’s take a seat over there,” he says, picking up his beer.

With my soda in hand, I follow him in the direction of the booth, my gaze catching the slight limp in his gait and how he’s overcompensating to try and make it less obvious.

When did he get hurt? I saw him take a nasty hit during the conference finals, but he continued to play right up until the end.

We slide into opposite sides of the booth, and he angles his body to shield himself from the rest of the bar, like he doesn’t want to be seen. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’s okay when he speaks first.

“I feel kinda honored to be in your presence, to be honest. I’ve been keeping an eye on your stats, and fuck me, you’re making big waves.”

My face heats in embarrassment, and I chuckle nervously. “So people keep telling me.”

“Are you looking forward to the draft tonight?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“Honestly, yes and no,” I answer truthfully. “Yes, because I’m eager to get started on the next chapter, and who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of playing in the NHL, but also no, because I’m kinda scared of what it’s going to entail.”

Beau furrows his brows in a confused frown. “What do you mean?”

Glancing down at the table, I fiddle with the coaster, rotating it between my fingers and the table.

This is the first time I’ve talked to someone about this outside of my parents, Callie, Tyler, and Coach Vaughn. The fear of being perceived as ungrateful has nausea churning in my stomach.

Beau Rousseau is someone I look up to, someone I greatly admire, and the whole point of us meeting was to get his advice, but the thought of him thinking negatively of me has my palms turning damp.