Page 102 of The Fine Line
I feel my cheeks warm. “Thanks.”
“Honestly,” Buck adds, “we’re just glad you finally gave him a chance.”
I blink. “I’m sorry… what?”
They share a look.
“We’ve only had to hear Sutty talk about you every day for three years,” Luke says.
My brows lift. “Seriously?”
Rhett’s interest in me was no secret, I figured he only remembered me when I was in front of him. But judging by the way both Luke and Ragnar are looking at me—apparently, I was wrong.
“He talked about me when I wasn’t around?”
“Even more when you weren’t around,” Buck confirms.
“And if there was alcohol involved?” Rags laughs. “We turned it into a drinking game. One drink every time he said your name. Whoever was the last one to drink before Rhett was either ready to leave or drunk-texting you, had to pick up the tab.”
A laugh escapes me, those drunk texts flooding back to me. Suddenly they carry a whole new meaning.
“Yeah, you’ve pretty much had him wrapped around your finger since you moved here,” Ragnarsays.
My dad took the head coaching job when I was twelve, but he commuted while we stayed in Minnesota so my and my brother’s lives wouldn’t be uprooted. I always knew I wanted to work in hockey, so I stayed home—in the State of Hockey—for undergrad, then finally moved to Austin for my master’s. There’s no team I’d rather work for than my dad’s.
I’d crossed paths with Rhett a few times during visits, but we didn’t actually meet until I moved here. And what an interesting meeting that was.
I catch movement in my peripheral vision and turn my head, seeing Rhett stepping out of the bathroom. He starts to head back, but R2—Ronan Richardson—intercepts him in the aisle.
I don’t mean to, but I find myself staring.
At the way his dress shirt clings to his frame. The hint of tan skin visible at his collar—the top two buttons undone in a way that shouldn’t be professional, but somehow works. His chestnut brown eyes, the flecks of green within them catching the light. His tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek—a little quirk I’ve noticed he does when he’s processing something. His smile—wide and real—with the sharper right canine and the barely-there gap between his front teeth—the kind of imperfections that make a grin feel entirely, unmistakably his.
The spell suddenly breaks with the shrill ring of a phone.
I tear my eyes away and realize the sound is coming from right next to me. From Rhett’s jacket. I glance toward him. He’s still deep in conversation, completely unaware.
The ringing continues, and after a beat, I pull his phone from the pocket to silence it. But then I see the caller ID.
Dad.
I look back at Rhett—he’s moved a few feet closer, but is still turned away. The call will go to voicemail soon. Given we’re flying to Toronto—his hometown—I figure he might want to talk to his dad before wetake off.
I make a split-second decision.
I pressAccept.
I take a breath, ready to explain, but a deep, gravelly chuckle interrupts me.
“You know, I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that you’re captain. I couldn’t believe it when I first heard.”
I expect him to say something proud next, something fatherly. I start to turn to wave Rhett over?—
But then:
“Because why would they choose you?”
The words stop me cold.
