Page 81 of For Crosby

“If he doesn’t wanna know,” Xavier said. “I assure you, I do.”

She huffed, obviously not getting the attention from me she hoped for. “Heard you scored tonight,” she said, seemingly taking a different approach.

I nodded.

“Twice,” Xavier added.

Her eyes never left mine. “If we take it back to my place, you might be able to make it three times.”

Xavier choked on the other side of me.

“Sorry,” I said to her. “I’m sure you’re a great girl, but I’m just chillin’ with Xavier tonight.” With that I focused back on the hockey game on the TV. I watched intently until I felt her leave my side.

“Dude,” Xavier said.

I looked to him.

“You’re either a rock star or a complete idiot.”

I laughed.

“The girl invited you home with her and you sent her packing.”

“I wasn’t interested.”

He snorted, his eyes searching the bar for wherever she’d disappeared to. “Who wouldn’t be interested in that?”

In the past, I assumed girls hit on me because I played hockey and had an impressive body. But now my father’s words played in my mind. And I hated the fact that anything he said stuck with me. But had he been right about girls’ motives? Would I ever really know why someone was with me?

Someone tapped my shoulder and my body tensed. I was in no mood to deal with any more drunk girls. I turned slowly.

“I thought that was you,” Caden said, standing there with his hands in his pockets.

Instinctively, I checked to see if the girls were with him.

“Sabrina’s not here.”

I nodded, realizing how obvious I’d made it. “How she doing?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. Finlay said she’s been disappearing a lot lately.”

“She seeing someone?” I asked, trying for nonchalance, though my gut clenched at the thought of it.

“Not that I know of. But listen,” his voice lowered, conspiratorially. “Finlay wanted me to come over here and check things out. You know, so she could report back to Sabrina.”

“Sabrina cut me loose,” I reminded him.

He chuckled. “I gave up trying to figure out girls a long time ago.”

Xavier held out his fist to Caden. “Congrats, man. Great game against Georgia.”

Caden bumped his fist. “Thanks.” His eyes jumped back to mine. “So, I can tell her you’re not seeing anyone?”

I nodded.

“Okay,” Caden said, looking to the TV as Chekhov shot and scored his second goal of the night. “I’ll let you guys get back to your game.”

“Later,” I said.

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