Page 117 of Well Played

I froze, all that guilt eating away at me. But instead of confessing all my sins, or should I say dickhead Liam’s sins, I shook my head. “Nothing.”

Hand on her hip, she glared at me. “So you’re telling me you just so happened to be at some random beach bar, buzzed like a little honey bee? For no other reason than you missed the beach and magically ran into Noah’s hot, emotionally unavailable older brother. The same one Noah told us was a grumpy man whore?Then, BAM,” she snapped her fingers, “woke up in bed with him after a gloriously dirty night of sex?”

“Yep. Nothing else to tell.”

Her eyes narrowed. Seconds ticked away as she twined her hair around her finger, lips pursed. A finger pointed at me as she reached for a cookie from the jar we kept on the island. “You can lie to Noah, Zoe, but I am on to you. Fine. Keep your little secret. I’ll be here when you’re ready to attend confession. With vodka.”

A ping from her phone distracted her. I breathed a sigh of relief until I noticed the concern etched on her features. And how pale she appeared as she read the message on her screen. “Eden? Is everything ok?”

“Huh?” she asked, enormous eyes looking up, then back down in quick succession as she turned off her phone and slipped it into her back pocket.

“The text?” I pointed to her phone as I shoved a cookie in my mouth.

Her eyes widened, then she shook her head. “Nope, everything is fine. For now. I hope you know what you’re doing, Zoe.”

I sucked a deep breath and reached for another cookie. “So do I.”

Two weeks later…

NOAH: Tell me there’s tape. All the tape, Z.

ZOE: You barely use it, N.

NOAH: I use it. But you know I looove new tape, Z. Especially at the beginning of the season. It’s like getting a warm hug from the equipment staff.

ZOE: Ok, Olaf.

NOAH: Z! I need to know if there’s tape.

NOAH: Does Walker use tape? Are we going to be tape bros?

I shookmy head with a roll of my eyes and snapped a pic of the huge plastic round bins overflowing with tape. Noah might not use a ton, but he loved his tape. Goalies rarely added tape to their sticks because it added weight, but Noah didn’t care.

My big brother taped it for me after I had a terrible game and wanted to quit. He said it was magic. That tape and Brett is why I’m here, Z.

NOAH: HELL YES! Also, I’m calling it. Tape Bros Unite.

In a few weeks,bothof our brothers would be here in Montreal. My big brother, Walker, was traded days before training camp started to fill the gap in the Triumph’s D, and I couldn’t be happier. I only hoped he kept his big brother vibes in check. He knew about Noah, but he wasn’t convinced that our relationship was strictly platonic.

Noah LeCavalier had become my best friend the day I locked my keys in my car. Which, coincidentally, had been my very first day of myrealjob as Lanie’s assistant in the PR department. At least, IthoughtI locked them in. Turned out, when I left the office I shared with Lanie and Chris, Lanie’s other assistant, I put them on top of the tiny fridge Lanie kept stocked withall kinds of sparkling waters and snacks from the commissary. Locked in the building, and not my car. I stayed after everyone had left, putting my things away and familiarizing myself with the new roster and each player’s unique foundations or pet charities.

Internship versus a position with the Triumph was as different as night and day.

Internship, I fetched coffee, La Croix, and scanned a few social media accounts to make sure everyone behaved. My workplace, more often than not, was in my car and nowhere near the facility or players. But now? Lanie entrusted the Triumph’s main Instagram account and one other social media site to my care, while Chris assisted her with the media. All those reels of the walk-ins and favorite song posts?

All on me now.

Not only were we the last two people in the parking lot, but Marc, the team’s security head, left as soon as we walked out the door because he had to pick up his daughter from swim team practice across town.

As I let out a frustrated growl, Noah came up behind me, scaring me so badly, I swung my purse at him.

“Woah, slugger! It’s me! Your favorite goalie. No serial killer or mugging in the parking lot with a hockey stick. Just tape.” He held up his equipment bag, well, as much as he could since it was slung over his shoulder and massive.

“Oh,” I breathed, heart racing, and winced. “Sorry.”

He chuckled, and once he realized I was stranded, offered to share his dinner while we waited for someone to come up and let us back in. Once I realized where I left my keys.

Then we argued about who was right in Marvel’s Civil War, and the rest was history. I was a Cap fan. Noah? Stark. All the way.

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