Page 51 of Home Ice

"Um, yeah. I kinda have a work-adjacent injury."

She looks up from whatever she was doing and squints at her phone. "Are you okay? What kind of injury? How bad? How did it happen?" She spits out the questions faster than a rapper from 2003.

"Remember the Charity Bee thing I told you about?"

"The one where you wouldn't shut up about being Brant's partner?"

"I wasn't like that."

"Your pupils literally turned into tiny hearts when you talked about him. And you said you two would win, no problem."

"I didn't say that either."

I watch as Em swipes through her phone. "Your text says 'We're going to be the best team ever. There's no way anyone can beat us.' That sounds kinda like you're saying you would win."

"Look, I'm not going to worry about details or things I may or may not have said."

"The text goes on: 'And once we win, Brant is going to realize how gorgeous I am and finally fuck my big old smart brain from my very pretty head.'"

I put my free hand on my hip, which would be a lot more effective if I weren't sitting on the couch. And if she could actually see it. But it's the thought that counts. "It does not say that!"

"Fine. Maybe I made up the last part. So what happened? Burns from being too close to the hot net blocker person?"

I angle the phone away so she doesn't see me blush. We got a lot closer than she's imagining. "He's called a goalie, and no. That is not what happened. I might have a wee bit of a twisted ankle. That's basically what the PA at the urgent care said."

"You're an accent away from being a British grandmother who calls the bombing of London 'just a little rumble here and there.' You went to an urgent care, and you're missing work today. That's not a wee bit of anything. Also, why are you holding the phone like that?"

"Like what?" I try to will the blood from my cheeks so I can hold the phone normally, but it doesn't feel like it's working.

"You know exactly—hold on, that's not your house! Where are you?"

If I was making any progress with my cheeks, it is all gone now. "So, don't read too much into this, okay? But I'm at Brant's house." I turn the phone back to me just in time to see Em mouth Oh my god! "But it's just because I'm not supposed to put any weight on my foot until tomorrow. Brant overreacted and made me come here."

"So you spent last night in the home of the player you have a secret crush on?"

I look around guiltily. "I wouldn't say I have a crush on him."

Em shakes her head. "Don't make me pull up those texts. So?"

"So what?"

"There's a reason you called me and are acting so guilty. Tell me. I feed on gossip."

I set the phone down and bury my head in my hands, hoping that maybe my palms will make what I'm about to say so mumbled she won't be able to make it out. "Yesterday, we might have?—"

"Oh my god! You fucked Brant yesterday! Lily!" She screams so loud several dogs around her join in with their barks and howls, and why did I have to call her? "You had sex with your dream man who, oh yeah, is also a world famous net goalie player."

"Just goalie. And not supposedly. He is. And sorta. We were in the kitchen and he kinda?—"

"Oh my god! He went down on you in the kitchen!" The dogs had started to quiet down, but now even more of them are going. I think I even hear a couple of cats getting in on it.

"How do you do that?"

"Lilian Jade Richards! Don't you worry about whether I'm psychic. Give me the details!"

"You know my name is not Lilian and that my middle name is not Jade."

"No, but I'm not about to use your real middle name until you're ready to reclaim it from that piece of shit and make it your own."

---