Page 29 of The Game She Hates

Pearl leans in close and her delicious fruity scent wafts into my nostrils, and she whispers to me, “We have communion every Sunday, but it’s not a ritual. It’s a meaningful way for believers in Jesus Christ to remember his sacrifice for our sins.”

I sigh in relief, grateful that Pearl didn’t judge me for not going forward—though judgment isn’t something I’ve ever received from her, not even for a second. Still, I’m glad she stopped me.

Communion must be a really special thing for Christians then. I make a mental note to add communion to the list of questions I have. Maybe Tyler would be willing and able to answer all these. He’s been dying to talk to me in his Christian language without me cutting him off for years now. I can’t wait to see his reaction when I approach him with all this.

After communion ends, Pearl signals for me to slip out before the service concludes. I realize I had a skewed view of church; I thought coming here would feel like hanging out, but we barely had a chance to talk. Now, all I want is more time with her.

I turn to Robyn, knowing she could help me convince Pearl, and ask, “If you’re free, how about coming over for lunch at my place? Both you and Pearl, please.”

“You know you really just want to invite Pearl. Why not just ask her to come along with you?”

“You’ve got me there,” I admit with a chuckle. “But she won’t come if you’re not with her. Plus, I can see us becoming friends too. What do you say?”

I can really see myself being friends with someone as down-to-earth as Robyn. She shows signs of rooting for Pearl and me, but in a very subtle way, probably because she doesn’t want to upset her friend.

“All right. Want a piece of advice?”

“Please!”

“She needs to trust you. She needs to know that your intentions are pure and align with her values.” Robyn may be my biggest fan when I’m on the ice but she could not be more loyal to her best friend. I respect that about her.

“Got it. You’re the best,” I say gratefully and turn to Pearl as she rises for another song. Leaning close, I whisper, “Lunch at my place. Robyn is coming,” and swiftly walk toward the exit, not giving her a chance to refuse.

It’s just a friendly lunch at my house.

21

Pearl Davis

Zane’s house towers proudly in a nice neighborhood. Inside, it’s like stepping into a catalog spread—everything’s shiny and new. The ceilings are so high, and there’s this big open space between the kitchen and the living room. The tile floors sparkle and guide us past some seriously comfy-looking brown leather sofas, with a big TV mounted above the fireplace, practically begging for a movie night with popcorn.

The staircase curves, leading to the upper floor. This isn’t what I pictured when I imagined his house, not that I spent much time thinking about it. For someone who’s always on the road and spends a lot of time practicing, I didn’t expect his house to be so well-coordinated. Despite its impeccable organization, there’s a distinct lack of personal touch. There are no photos, no knick-knacks—just a few ings that look like they could’ve come straight from a gallery. I wonder if he’s the one who painted them. He did mention painting and drawing during the off season.

Robyn and I share a glance, both feeling a bit like fish out of water as we take in the spectacle. Zane, leaning casually against the sleek kitchen island, watches us with that trademark smirk of his. The kitchen itself is a chef’s dream, with walnut-colored cupboards and shiny new appliances, including what looks like the biggest stove I’ve ever seen. Guy must really love to cook.

“You can both say it. It’s too big of a house for one person. I know it too,” Zane remarks, running a hand through his hair—a habit he seems to have when he’s not sure what to do with himself. It’s cute.

“You live here all by yourself? No roomie, no pets?” Robyn asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Zane nods, that smirk of his growing even wider. “Just me.”

Robyn gives me the side-eye, probably wondering why I didn’t want to come here with her after Zane pulled a fast one by inviting her instead of me, knowing she’d jump at the chance to hang out with him.

She’s living the dream, getting to chill at the abode of her favorite hockey player, while I’m here still grappling with where I really stand with Zane.

He keeps insisting that we can just be friends, but the tension that crackles between us whenever we’re in each other’s orbit is impossible to ignore.

We both feel it. The electric charge that pulses between us, teases at something more than just friends.

Only a girl who hasn’t been burned by male friendships would trust Zane and his intentions.

But at the same time, he’s been incredibly thoughtful toward both of us. It’s clear he enjoys seeing Robyn happy, and I suspect it’s his subtle way of trying to win me over.

He is standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and the top buttons of his shirt undone. I’m doing my best to avoid looking in his general direction.

“All right, hope you all love chicken fajitas. That’s what I’ve got going on today.” He definitely whipped it up fast, since Robyn and I didn’t prolong our goodbyes after the service like we usually do.

“How did he know?” Robyn squeals, shooting me a wide-eyed glance.

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