Page 77 of Goalie Lessons

“Water, please,” Astrid says, tipping her chin up to the server when he stops by, recommending their milkshakes. He’s young, pimpled, with a head of auburn curls and a bored expression on his face.

“I’ll take a Choco-Lava shake, please,” I say, tapping the menu where a glossy picture of a deep brown shake, dripping with fudge, practically jumps off the page. “Oh, and a Coke.”

When the server leaves, Astrid eyes me warily. “Isn’t there a team nutritionist who’s going to have a heart attack about what you just ordered?”

“Ha, no,” I say, thinking of the nutritionists at the practice facilities, who are there for us to consult, but not our wardens. Looking at her from over the top of the menu, I add, “I figure, at what other point in my life am I going to burn ten thousand calories in a day? Might as well take advantage of it.”

“Really?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You think what we did burnedten thousandcalories?”

My cock twitches at her bold reference. She’s impossible to figure out—jumping out of bed and acting like it’s not a big deal and waiting until we’re in a restaurant to bring it up. Until we’re somewhere that I can’t just reach over and touch her if I want to.

Maybe that’s the point.

I open my mouth to respond, but our server returns, expression blank as he slides a water, a Coke, and a huge, dripping milkshake onto the table. When he straightens up and tucks the platter under his arm, he asks, “Do you guys need another minute?”

Astrid meets my eyes, and I grin, shaking my head. “I’m ready to go. I’ll take the Triple Beast, please. With an extra side of chili fries.”

The Triple Beast is a burger with three different kinds of patties—beef, bison, and pork. It’s also smothered in cheese sauce and piled generously with bacon, not a vegetable in sight.

Astrid shakes her head as she looks down at her menu, clearly biting the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing at my obnoxious choice. “And I’ll have the Not-Much-Room burger, please.”

“You want the extra sautéed mushrooms on that?”

“You know what?” Astrid finds my eyes again. “Yeah—let’s gocrazy.”

The server doesn’t even crack a smile, just reaches for our menus. “I’ll have that right out for you.”

“He’s a ray of sunshine,” Astrid says, playing with her straw wrapper. “Then again, I’ve never worked in food service, so maybe that’s the best he can do.”

I let out a surprised breath. “Really? Not even a fast-food job when you were in high school? Something for pocket change?”

Something in her expression changes, and she shifts from side to side, looking a bit uncomfortable. “No,” she admits, clearing her throat and raising her eyes to mine. “I was far too busy with private school.”

I let out a low whistle. “Okay, Astrid, I didn’t know you wererich.”

“I wasn’t rich,” she retorts. “My parents were rich.”

“That’s something rich people say,” I stick the straw into my milkshake and take a long suck from it, noting the way Astrid sips from her water, gaze calculating.

“I take ityoudidn’t grow up rich, then?”

“God, no.” I laugh, even knowing she’s purposefully changing the conversation, so she won’t have to talk about herself. I wonder if the day will come when she’ll tell me about her private school. “I grew up in rural Nebraska.”

“On a farm?”

“No, definitely not.” I tip my head to the side, consider Astrid for a second. “Are you too rich to be familiar with the concept of trailer trash?”

“I don’t think money takes away one’s ability to be familiar with societal classes,” she says.

“You’re resorting to fancy language because you have no idea what I’m talking about.” I reach out and put my hand over hers, a faux comfort. “It’s okay. I’ll explain it to you.”

She laughs. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull her hand out from under mine.

“Please,” she says, dropping her chin into her other hand, “do.”

“My dad collected copper.”

“Like, as a hobby?”

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