Page 22 of A Whole New Trick

“Shut up, man,” I hiss, eyes darting nervously to the matte black door. Morgan’s retreating figure doesn’t falter through the foggy glass.

I exhale in relief.

I had a feeling Eli had linked Morgan with the woman from the club. I should have kept the story to myself, especially considering the ending involved me being tricked by the beauty who had just left my condo.

But I’d been too eager to tell someone what happened that night.

So when Eli called the next day to catch up, back when he was still in Minnesota, I told him everything. I didn’t know that he’d eventually be moving down to live with me. Or that he would ever come face to face with the woman who lit a fire in me that I hadn’t felt in a long,longtime.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumble and make my way back to the kitchen. I busy myself with pouring a glass of water. I don’t think anything else in my fridge would meet Morgan’s professional dietician approval.

“No? Fine. But let me ask you this, did you know she’s friends with Joshua Chen, the first baseman from the Lonestars?”

My forehead furrows. “How do you know that?”

His grin can only be described as antagonizing. “That’s who called her.”

What?

Carter’s sister is engaged to Corey Johnson, the Lonestars’ pitcher, so it tracks that Morgan would’ve met Joshua Chen before.

But why is he calling her?

Are they dating?

Is he the one she’s going to a wedding with?

“No, I didn’t know,” I answer my brother’s original question, ignoring the spiraling thoughts that try to take hold. “And I don’t care.”

Maybe if I tell myself that on repeat, I’ll actually be able to believe it.

No chance, Larson.My subconscious wastes no time in squashing that foolish hope.You’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

7

MORGAN

Dane sucks.There’s no polite way to say it.

I’m sitting in on the last Rancher’s practice before their playoff game in two days, and the center is not his usual self. He’s missing passes left and right, and he’s lost two faceoffs in a row. This isn’t how he usually plays. I know it. He knows it. And the rest of his team knows it.

Coach Miller blows the whistle to signal the end of practice. “Alright, men. Hit the showers. I’ll be in to debrief practice in half an hour.”

The hockey players skate to the exit. More than one shoots Dane a wary glance as they pass. He stays behind and begins to line up pucks in front of the net for some shooting practice.

“Larson,” Miller barks. “A word.”

Even from my spot on the fifth row behind the glass, I see the way Dane’s shoulders tense.

Sympathy tugs at my heart before I promptly shove the gentle emotion down. I don’t want to feel bad for the arrogant center.

Working as his nutritionist and personal chef these past two weeks has tested my resolve to keep my distance from him at every turn. From his perfectly respectable behavior to meshowing up when he was just getting out of the shower and walking around his condo in nothing but a dark gray towel, my thoughts about the hockey star are becoming increasingly muddled.

Dane hasn’t shown any hint of attraction to me or attempted to apologize for ghosting me. He’s kept his word about not mentioning our brief moment of passion at that club. I thought that’s what I wanted, but now, I’m not so sure.

I’ve been ignoring how much his rejection stung for six months, but now that I see him almost every day, the blow to my ego invades my thoughts at all hours of the day.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I was just his nutritionist and didn’t need to cook his meals.

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