Page 36 of The Rebound
“Why?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Well, they treat each other with a lot of hostility,” Summer says, her voice low. “Eden couldn’t pay me a million dollars to try and mediate that conflict. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Logan says there’s no inciting incident behind all the tension. They’re just ‘different people,’ whatever that means. They’ve never seen eye to eye on anything.”
Is it really that bad? I didn’t realize others were so aware of the strain between them. I guess neither of them are terribly subtle people.
I have more questions about Saint, but instead I find myself asking, “Who’s Eden?”
“My boss,” Aspen says with a proud smile. “She owns the team, even though she’s our age. A queen among us. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon.”
“Wow,” I murmur, feeling all the more out of the loop.
I guess I should have anticipated this. Summer is a full-blown hockey wife, and Aspen is soon to be. Being the formerly estranged sister of a hockey player and knowing virtually nothing about the sport or the dynamics around it puts me at a disadvantage.
The two women start chatting about the team, but I can hardly keep up with the name dropping. What I really want to talk about is Saint. I know how my brother feels about him—as if I could ever forget his disdain for the man—but I want a second opinion.
Aspen and Summer are on the inside, but also distanced enough to have an unbiased perspective on his character. Aspen sees him all the time because of his friendship with Alex, and Summer is a sports counselor, for crying out loud. If I want an educated opinion on Saint, I expect to look no further than these two.
“... and Alex has Saint to thank for the tattoo on his ass.”
That interesting string of words pulls me out of my thoughts. “What?”
Aspen rolls her eyes, but her ever-present smile grows. “When Alex and I first met, he made a dumb bet with Saint that he wouldn’t fall in love with me.” She wiggles her hand at me, the diamond on her finger almost as big as the almonds in my salad. “Obviously, he lost that bet.”
“Gorgeous ring. What’s the tattoo?”
“Guess.”
“An emoji,” I say with zero hesitation.
Aspen’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God, how did you know? It’s a heart-eyes emoji, fully colored.”
“Heart eyes?” I gape, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh bubbling out of me. That soundsexactlylike the Saint I know.
“Yep. I can’t even be mad, since technically Saint was rooting for me before I even knew I liked Alex. It makes me laugh whenever I see it—without fail. Alex talks about getting it removed every other day, but I know deep down he likes it. It has meaning now. I can’t believe you guessed right away.”
Well, Saint and I have communicated with a lot of emojis since we met.
Both women give me a curious look, but I just smile, enjoying this story probably more than I should. The Saint she’s talking about is very familiar to me—the one with a sharp sense of humor who can also appreciate a dumb joke. The bet doesn’t surprise me at all. Saint is competitive, always looking for a game to win. That’s what makes him so much fun.
“Saint’s a good guy,” I say, instantly realizing how dumb I sound.
Aspen and Summer blink at me, waiting for me to contribute a story of my own, but I’ve got nothing. Unless I start gabbing about one of our many steamy hookups, which I still remember in brilliant sound and color. I don’t think the three of us are quitethatclose yet to swap intimate details.
“Um, I mean, he’s been really helpful, what with me being pretty much useless at nearly eight months pregnant. He, uh, took me to the farmers’ market. We just got pedicures yesterday.” I somehow manage to stop rambling before completely going off the conversational deep end.
Aspen pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Saint ... got a pedicure?” Her tone is filled with disbelief.
I nod, clamping my mouth shut.
“That’s sweet,” Aspen says, recovering and nodding encouragingly.
God, I’ve become so socially inept in my solitary confinement. It’s like my only skill now is being huge and making things awkward.
“That’ssomething,” Summer says, staring at me with something that feels a lot like suspicion.
Aspen jumps in again, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “You know, I’d be happy to help you out sometime. I used to babysit my little cousins.”
She glances at Summer, giving her a look that prompts her to say, “Yeah, same. I’d be happy to help out. And we’re much better friends than Saint.”
