Page 39 of The Girlfriend Zone

“And your dad’s walking toward him right now,” Maeve adds.

Tension flares in me. Worry, too, for no reason. It’s not like my dad is talking to him about me.

Still, I whip my gaze to them, curiosity gripping me.

Yep, there’s the coach talking to one of his star players, and since I have a solid view of my dad’s face, I’m pretty sure I can make out most of the words my father’s saying to the team’s center.Especially if you become co-captain.

I blink, then mutter, “Holy shit.”

“What?” Maeve asks.

Of course she doesn’t read lips. I do. I turn to her. “I think Miles is up for the captaincy.”

14

SHUTTERBUG

Miles

I’m still reeling—in a good way—from the twin bombshells Coach just dropped here at Asher’s wedding celebration. First, he told me the Sea Dogs traded for my brother, Tyler, from the Los Angeles Supernovas. Then, he hinted I’d be playing alongside him asco-captain.

Usually hockey teams have only one captain and a handful of alternates. But Coach said last season that he’d like to do things differently here with the pecking order. Change it up and have a true co-captain to lead alongside our current captain. I scan the crowded coffee shop across from that guy—Christian Winters. Christian’s been a Sea Dog for years, and everyone on the team looks up to him. With two young kids at home, though, I know he’d be glad to share some of the responsibilities that come with wearing the “C.”

And I’d really like to be that guy he shares them with.

It feels surreal. A few years ago, I was in Vancouver, watching the game from my couch, my knee still screaming post-surgery, my mind dark. Joanne was pulling away from me, and I from her, and my whole body aching and broken. Back then, I would never have believed I’d hear words like these.

All I wanted was to play again—just one more time. But to squeeze out a whole career after an ACL tear? One that’s—knock on all the wood in the world—going pretty damn well? I’d never have let myself believe it. That felt like too much to hope for. Too good. And now? Damn.

Really, I should say something to the man standing in front of me.

“That’s…great,” is all I can manage, though, as I stand at the coffee counter with my closest teammates and good friends—Asher, Max, and Wesley.

Coach McBride gives a professional smile, then claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll talk more at training camp, Falcon,” he says, his shrewd eyes glancing around at the party, teammates and friends toasting Asher and Maeve’s happily ever after. Then he turns to Asher with a nod. “No one wants the boss around too long. Congratulations, Callahan.”

“Thanks for coming, Coach,” Asher adds, and the other guys say their goodbyes. With that, Coach McBride heads out into the night, leaving me to process his news. I need to call my brother soon, but selfishly I’m a little fixated on what Coach just said about me. Max and Wesley are too, since they give me their congrats before peeling away.

Asher turns to me, his eyebrows raised. “Dude.”

I manage to nod. “Yeah.” Like that means anything. Then I add, “I’ve got…nothing.”

Asher laughs. “And they call you the articulate one.”

He’s not wrong. I’m the guy they come to for advice. The veteran. The player who’s supposedly seen it all. The game’s highs and lows, the different teams, the changing styles. And…the potential scandals. My gaze drifts to Leighton on the other side of the room. She’s snapping a pic of some of the guests, then she lowers her camera. My pulse surges with one look at her. Her chestnut hair spills down her back in waves. Her black top shows off her arms and creamy skin I want to kiss, touch, explore. Her eyes spark with mischief and intelligence, and this feeling tugs in my chest—a desire that won’t go away and hasn’t since I met her. A desire to get to know her better. It’s annoyingly insistent, more so when she turns my way briefly. Her lips are glossy pink and tipped up in the hint of a smile. A knowing one—and I wonder what’s behind it. But I shouldn’t. Really, I shouldn’t wonder. Not my place to think about her, especially with this potential captaincy on the line.

I tear my focus from her, squinting at Asher through my glasses, trying to get my bearings. “What did you say?”

Asher cracks up, shaking his head. “You are so screwed, man,” he says.

“No kidding.” I scrub a hand across my jaw, trying to play it cool. But clearly failing. Asher doesn’t know everything about what happened with Leighton. In fact, he hardly knows anything. But I did tell him one night that I had it bad for her. So he knows enough.

Asher leans in, lowering his voice. “Here’s a tip for you?—”

But Maeve shoots him a just-for-her-husband look that must be far more interesting than this conversation.

“Go see your wife,” I say, exonerating him from this convo.

“Catch you later,” Asher says, then joins Maeve, and follows her out onto the dance floor, leaving me to wonder what his tip about Leighton might be. And leaving me with my so-very-screwed feelings.

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