Page 16 of For Crosby

I laughed, and the tension from my exchange with Mr. Hockey lifted slightly by the assurance in Jeremy’s words.

* * *

I twirled my spaghetti around my fork as I listened to Jeremy speak about growing up in Alabama. Our conversation flowed so easily. I felt myself drawn in by his adorable southern accent, the slow drawl making me hang on every syllable.

“So, what made a boy from Alabama play hockey?”

“Are you kidding? The fights.”

I laughed before taking a bite of my pasta.

He sipped his tall glass of beer, having already finished his meal. “How about you? You play any sports?”

I shook my head. “I may be a total daddy’s girl, but he never could get me to play anything for more than a season. I cheered. That’s where I gained my love for football. That and the hot guys.”

He laughed. “We hockey players aren’t so bad.”

I nodded. “I’m starting to see that.”

He looked away, almost sheepishly, and I liked knowing I affected him.

“So, what’s the deal with Mr. Hockey?” I asked.

His eyes shot back to mine. “Mr. Hockey?”

“Yeah. Douchebag who got himself tied to a tree.”

Laughter burst out of him. “You call him Mr. Hockey?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know his name.”

“You don’t know who he is?”

I lifted my glass to my lips and sipped my water. “I just said that.”

“His name’s Crosby. Something happened at his last school that got him shipped here.”

I placed down my glass curious about what Crosby had done to get himself shipped off to Alabama mid-semester. Had he slept with the dean’s daughter? Hazed a freshman? Fought his coach? He’d told me he transferred, but after that night, I hadn’t given it another thought. “What happened?”

Jeremy shrugged, but something flashed across his eyes that told me he knew more than he was saying.

“I heard he stole your captain’s position.”

“He didn’t steal my position,” Jeremy said, a sudden coolness in his voice.

Whoops. “I didn’t know you were the captain.”

“I am the captain. No one’s taking that from me.”

Whoa boy. “That’s not why you guys tied him to a tree?”

His brows pinched in the middle. “Who said we tied him to a tree?”

I looked for a shred of guilt—or coyness for that matter—behind his eyes. But either he was a great actor or he really had nothing to do with it because I found nothing. “I just got the feeling it was some type of initiation thing.”

“The guy’s a jackass. Don’t feel sorry for him.”

I grabbed a slice of Italian bread and tore a small piece from it. “For what it’s worth, he seems to hate being here as much as you hate having him on your team.” I popped the piece of bread into my mouth.

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