Page 3 of Austin

I don’t bother telling her it’s too late for me. My day went down the tubes the moment that cute coach walked out the door.

* * *

It’s funny how a little bit of time can put everything into perspective. It’s been nearly two weeks since I saw the hockey coach and even though I’m still sort of kicking myself for not properly introducing myself and making an effort to be more charming and open and—well, all the things I’m not, I’ve at least been thinking about him less and less with each passing day.

Today, for example, I’ve only thought about him like… well, maybe today isn’t a good example after all. But only because my boss, Felicia, keeps talking about her son’s hockey game that’s coming up this weekend.

Which is totally fine. Not a problem at all. It’s not her fault that she’s unintentionally, unknowingly torturing me with each casual reference she makes.

“Have you ever been to one of the high school hockey games, Cassy?” she asks, making me cringe on the inside as we stock the new arrivals case near the register. I don’t want to be rude, but this is literally the very last thing I want to talk about right now. Or ever.

“No,” I shake my head, avoiding eye contact and hoping she’ll drop the subject. “I haven’t been to any sort of high school sporting event since I was in high school.” I wrinkle my nose as I position a stack of books inside the case. “And even then, it wasn’t really my vibe, you know?”

That wasn’t rude, was it? It’s certainly not a lie. I’ve never been into sports at all, ever. I’ve thought more about hockey over the past two weeks than I have in my entire life, and that’s not because of some brand-new appreciation for the game.

Just an appreciation for the coach.

“You should give it another chance,” she says, completely oblivious to every subtle and not-so-subtle clue I’ve given that I’m seriously not interested in having this conversation. “I thought it would be kind of boring when Brady first joined the team, but I went to watch his practice last week and it was really fast-paced and actually held my attention the entire time.”

And I don’t doubt that she’s telling the truth. I’m sure she was paying attention, since she gave birth to one of the team members. For me, though? Without any sports knowledge or connection to any of the students? It would probably just be weird and awkward and uncomfortable. Much like our current conversation.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s for me, but—”

“Oh, come on,” she interrupts, nudging me as we close the display case. “They have a scrimmage this weekend. You can come keep me company while we cheer for Brady. And,” she pauses, leaning in and lowering her voice like she’s about to tell me a secret, “we can also check out that new hockey coach, Austin Gauthier. He’s really good-looking. And single, shockingly.”

Did it suddenly get a lot warmer in here? Am I blushing? Because it feels like my cheeks are on fire. “You, um,” I look away, trying to compose myself. “You aren’t single, though. Isn’t your husband going to be there, too?”

She makes a dismissive wave. “Of course, but who cares? I can look as long as I don’t touch. And it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. He’ll be too busy shouting at the refs. It’s sort of become his new hobby.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. Felicia’s husband has always been a bit of a loud-mouth and yeah, I can totally picture him shouting at the referees like he’s some kind of hockey pro all of a sudden.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I might not be single, but you are. This could be your chance to get out there and meet someone new. You have to venture outside these four walls every once in a while if you want a guy like Coach Gauthier to notice you.”

That’s what she thinks. I almost admit that I actually spoke to the coach within these four walls just a couple of weeks ago, but that would probably make her even more determined to arrange a second meet-up with him.

Which would be mortifying. Super awkward. And also really, really tempting. Now my cheeks are really on fire and there’s nothing I can do about it. Lord, am I really getting this worked up just from hearing her talk about the coach—about Austin?

God, even his name is sexy.

Austin.

Austin.

I catch myself before I can say it out loud and embarrass myself even more.

The peer pressure and the heat and the thought of seeing him again, even if it’s from a distance, must be getting to me because my traitorous mouth asks, “What time is the game?”

“Saturday morning at eleven,” she answers, clapping her hands together and practically jumping up and down beside me. “It’s just a scrimmage, but are you really going to go with me? I can pick you up and drop you back off when it’s over if you want.”

“Okay,” I nod. “That’ll be great. Thanks.”

I’m shocked that I’ve actually agreed to go. I don’t have any idea what a scrimmage is, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? I’ve already committed. Now I just have thirty-six hours to talk myself out of it.

3

AUSTIN

I can’t remember being this nervous for a scrimmage since… well, ever. Maybe for my own first school scrimmage, but that’s been so long ago that I honestly don’t remember the nerves—just the exhilarating feeling of making the game-winning shot and being swarmed by my cheering teammates.

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