Page 110 of The Fake Out Flex

It takes me a few moments to recover from that.

"You know," I say, nudging the side of his hand with my pinky. "I don't think you're as bad at this whole peopling thing as you think you are."

He doesn't move his hand. "Thanks, Evie."

I stare up at the ceiling, my heart beating faster in my chest.

How is it that I'm only now just realizing that Fraser is the total package?

There's so much more to him than the aloof next door neighbor with insane hockey skills.

Yes, he's exceptionally talented on the ice, but he's also smart, reading books I haven't even heard of.

He's thoughtful, always keeping me well stocked with food, even if it means driving two towns over to bring me my favorite pastry.

He listens when I speak, and he remembers what I say, like about me deciding what to study, and then asks follow-up questions.

And he's cute. Like, really, really cute.

And wow, okay…I think I've got a crush on my brother's best friend.

14

Fraser

"Dammit," I grumble, as we lose control of the puck again.

We've squandered a 2-1 lead to be trailing the Philly Panthers 4-2 with only a couple of minutes left in the game.

For whatever reason, we just haven't been able to get in the zone tonight.

Myself included.

Despite having scored both of our goals, I've also missed twice.

Something's off, and I don't know what it is.

Evie's in the stands, having flown out earlier today. Losing always sucks, but knowing she's here, seeing the team unravel in person, only makes it hit harder.

The guys are tiring.

Where we used to be sharp and confident, now every pass, every play, is hesitant. We're out of sync, and the opposition is pouncing on every opportunity we hand them.

A swift pass sends the puck gliding toward the offensive blue line where Kingsler, Philly's star forward, picks it up. Accelerating, he weaves through our defenders like a hot knife through butter.

I curse under my breath.

Kingsler barrels down the ice, crossing into the attacking zone. Culver shifts his weight, preparing to leverage his body in a textbook defensive move. Kingsler fakes out at the last second. Culver tries to pivot but catches on something in the ice, twisting awkwardly as he falls to the ground.

The game comes to a halt.

Officials signal for medical attention as my teammates and I speed over to him.

I reach him first. "You okay, man?"

He grimaces in pain, trying to get up, but can't.

"Stay down. Stay down. Let them look at you."

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