Page 5 of A Scoring Chance

Chapter Two

Cooper

When I agreed to go to the store for my mother, I assumed it would be simple. I could get in, grab what she needed, and get out. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. But damn, I was wrong. The moment I pulled around the corner and saw the full parking lot, I almost turned the truck right around. If it weren’t for the pain in my stomach at the thought of not getting my soup, I would have, but alas, here I am.

“Cooper Hendrix, as I live and breathe. When did you get back into town?” A nasally voice I would know anywhere comes in through my open window.

Shit. I didn’t even get to park before the wolves descended on me. I take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on my face before turning toward the owner of the voice: Annamarie Sutton.

We kissed one time, under the bleachers at homecoming, but she has been after me ever since. Her bright red hair hangs loosely over her shoulder in some type of braid, on top of a very form-fitting white sweater. She has on a black vest, zippered up to just beneath her chest, and black leggings tucked into a pair of tan boots.

“Hey, Annamarie. How have you been?”

“Better since the divorce,” she responds, leaning into my window and pushing her chest out.

“I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.” My eyes remain locked on her face as I shut my truck off, waiting for her to step away from the door.

“No need to be sorry.” She licks her lips, her eyes running down my body. “I’m not.”

“It was nice seeing you again, Annamarie, but my momma asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.”

“Of course.” She bats her eyelashes. “Maybe we can catch up and grab a beer at The Pit Stop later.”

The Pit Stop has been a staple in Redwood Falls for centuries. Located directly in the center of town, the old brick building withThe Pit Stoppainted in black block lettering across the right side is a bar, restaurant, and even a convenience store with a gas station. It’s an odd combination of businesses to have in one building, but it works. The Pit Stop is our small town’s version of Buc-ee’s. I literally thought places like this existed in every city until I joined the Timberwolves and started traveling with the team. Also, just like Buc-ee’s, we get numerous tourists stopping through here on their way to and from Portland.

“Not tonight.” I don’t bother to offer an alternative option as I gently open my door. I really would like to end this conversation and get what I need from the store, but I can’t be rude. My momma would hear about it before I even got home. “It was great seeing you.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around. Redwood Falls isn’t that big of a town.”

“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t look back at her as I stroll into the store, only stopping to grab a cart before heading right for the produce section. I scan the colorful wall of fruits and vegetables, searching for the items Momma requested, when a brown bagof honey crisp apples catches my attention. I reach for them, grabbing one from the top of the bushel. The apple feels firm in my hands, the perfect treat for a horse. It also gives me an excuse to see the beauty from this morning, which is just a bonus.

No. No, this isn’t what I need to be focusing on right now. I need to figure out how to get back on the ice with my team this season. There is no room for anything romantic in my life. I need to put this woman and her horse out of my mind. No distractions.

“Momma makes a mean apple pie,” I muse before grabbing the bag and dropping it into the cart. They’re for apple pie. And if there are a few leftover apples to drop off at Matthison Farms later, then so be it. This has nothing to do with wanting to see her again. I just want some of Momma’s apple pie. Right. That’s the only reason.

I snag the carrots and celery from nearby and head toward the back of the store to grab the eggs and butter for the snickerdoodles. I continue perusing the refrigerated section and notice the premade pie crusts and grab a box. Momma usually makes her own crust, but with me springing these apples on her, who knows what she is going to want to do? Just as I’m throwing the box of crust into the basket, I spot Annamarie turning the corner. I swear softly under my breath before ducking into the nearest aisle. I barely made it out of my earlier meeting with her without promising a date; no telling what she’d be able to talk me into without another excuse.

“Who you hiding from, Coop?” I spin around and come face to face with Alise Moore, a knowing smirk plastered on her face.

Alise’s once shoulder-length hair is now cut short. Dense curls surround her face, shaped into the perfect afro. Her usual pair of black Beats headphones that she uses to block out the world cover her ears, but I know she can hear me. The rest of her compact form is engulfed in an oversized PortlandTimberwolves sweatshirt that comes down to her knees. I glimpse the copper brown skin of her legs that disappear into a pair of brown boots with grayish-colored fur surrounding her calf.

I say the first thing that comes to mind instead of answering her question, “Where the hell are your pants?”

“Are you serious right now?” She shakes her head, lifting her shirt to show me a pair of barely there black biker shorts covering her curvy form. “Now that you’re done ogling me, answer the question, or I’m gonna call Aunt Mel and tell her you were acting a fool in the store.”

“Ogling you? I’m pretty sure incest is illegal.”

Alise Moore is the sister I never had. Her momma, Peggy, has been Aunt Peggy to me since I was old enough to talk. Although Momma has no siblings by blood, Aunt Peggy is her chosen family. Beau, Alise, and I were raised more like siblings than anything else. Bile pools in my mouth as my stomach rolls at the thought of anything happening between Alise and me. I love her to death and would do anything for her—except sleep with her. That’s just too much to ask of one human being.

“Actually, it isn’t in New Jersey, Rhode Island, and Ohio if it’s between two consenting individuals over the age of eighteen. Sixteen if you live in Rhode Island.”

“How in the hell do you even know these things?”

“Google.” She threads her arm through mine, gripping the handle of my cart tightly.

“Why would you use Google to search for something like that?”

“I was bored.” Alise shrugs her shoulders before narrowing her eyes. “Now stop avoiding the question. Who are you hiding from?”

---