Page 57 of The Girlfriend Zone

“And Max, of course. The city loves him because everyone loves a goalie—even a grumpy one.”

“Is he still grumpy? Didn’t falling madly in love with Everly mellow him out? I watched him in thatIce Mendocumentary, and he definitely gives less battery acid vibes than before.”

“True. But he’s still the king of glowers,” she says with a laugh.

“Fair enough,” I say, then tap my temple like I’m noting these details.

“But Rowan Bishop definitely attended the Max Lambert School of Grouchy-ness so he’s been picking upthe slack in that department,” she says, mentioning one of the veteran defensemen on the team.

“Noted. This is seriously helpful.”

“Apparently the only time he even smiles is when his little girl comes to games.”

That makes me smile. “That’s adorable.”

Riley taps her chin, as if she’s deep in thought, her ponytail swishing as we walk. “Then there’s Tyler. I don’t know much about Tyler, but I did some research, and apparently some Supernova fans call him ‘Daddy.’ Like, actually call him that. They sometimes play that ‘Daddy’s Home’song on socials when he jumps onto the ice.” She hums the tune.

I cringe. “Okay, I actually never want to hear you sing that again.”

“I’m just giving you all the intel,” she says, counting off on her fingers, delighting far too much in her knowledge of the team as we pass a small group of tourists snapping photos in front of the Peace Pagoda. A few families are gathered there, some kids playing tag as Riley continues with her team trivia.

She tells me about Ford, a veteran on the second line who I don’t know terribly well, but who’s had a rock-solid career. “He’s recently divorced, so he gets marriage proposals from fans every few games,” she says.

I laugh. “That’s one way to find a husband.”

Then she gives me all the details on Wesley and Asher, even though I know them well enough since they’re involved with my friends.

I brace myself, knowing exactly who she’s going to bring up next. “And then there’s Miles,” she says casually. “Basically the hot nerd of the team.”

“‘Hot nerd,’ you say?” I tease, tugging on her ponytail. “You’re judging him for the glasses?”

“I don’t make the rules, okay? I’m just saying. He was photographed once in, like, slacks and a gray cardigan with those glasses, and he gave off total professor vibes. My friends all talked about it.”

I shoot her a disapproving look. “You’re sixteen. You can’t think someone on Dad’s hockey team is hot.”

Honestly, I can’t either.

“Don’t worry,” she says dryly. “Hockey players are not my type.”

Ah, this is a better topic—her. “So, what’s your type?”

“I’m totally into nerd kings. Give me a nerd, and I’m happy,” she says proudly. “But seriously, stop distracting me. What about you?”

“You’re asking what I’m into?”

“Yes. You haven’t dated really since you’ve been back in town. Is it because dating is miserable, and the apps are full of liars?”

I pull her into a quick hug. “I’ve raised you well. But there are good ones out there. Just…not the guys I dated in college.” Like Nick, the guy who, on our third date, told me my hearing aids were an embarrassment. He’s definitely one of the reasons I’m not interested in dating anyone here. But so is Jameson, the guy I went out with after him. Jameson was an engineering major, had a dry sense of humor, and loved to play board games. But one night, when we were watching a TV show, I asked him to turn on the captions. He looked at me like I was asking him to fly to the moon. A few days later, he broke up with me, saying romance wastoo complicated.Was it the captions or was it just a line because he wanted out? Idon’t know. Either way, I didn’t want to jump back into dating after him.

But I don’t tell Riley any of that—she doesn’t need another reason to feel disillusioned.

She’s relentless though, she snaps her gaze to me, a twinkle in those blue eyes. “But have you noticed that, among your friends, you’re the only one not dating a hockey player?”

Of course I’ve noticed. Of course I’m acutely aware of it. “Well, Fable’s with Wilder. So not all of them,” I say, pointing out the fallacy in her argument.

“Still. Odds are you’re next in line,” she says with a mischievous grin.

I shake my head. “Not a chance. Have you met our father? Have you heard his warnings?”

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