Page 4 of Just Friends
“Yes!” I squealed as I pulled on my winter coat. “I’d love that! Anytime!”
“Think you’ll start looking for a job in Dallas?” Beau asked. “Or will you take it easy for once and coast by on that Velvet money instead?”
“Actually,” I admitted coyly, “I’ve been thinking it’d be a great time to finally start that dating app I’m always talking about.”
“Ooh, Ilovethat idea,” Camille said, giving me a goodbye hug.
“Dating app, huh?” Beau said as he gave me a hug, too. “What are you going to call it?Right-Under-Your-Nose Finder?”
I poked his ribs. “Oh, stop it, Beau.”
“Hey,” he continued, “maybe you could market it as a two-in-one app—where you can find your soulmate, or your roommate. Or a roommate that becomes your soulmate. Who knows what you’ll end up with?”
I laughed.
“Idolike that for a name, though,” I said, stroking my chin. “Soulmate.I just might steal that.”
Beau’s hands rubbed together gleefully. “Yeah? You like that? Hey, listen, I got plenty more ideas if you wanna hear ’em.”
“Please don’t get him started,” Camille said in a hush as she ushered me out the door.
“Sorry, Beau! Maybe next time!” I said, waving goodbye as I scampered out the door.
I hopped in my Jeep and hurried home. The sky was dark now, and my head was still swimming with the big life changes coming my way.
I had to crack a smile at Camille’s suspicions. I couldn’tblame her for being skeptical—I’d think the same exact thing if I were in her shoes. But what she didn’t realize was, if Ireallywantedto get with Jax, it would’ve happened by now. Fact of the matter was, I’d already had my chance with him, and I passed on it.
And you know what? Things are better this way. Because Jax and I? We’re just friends.Bestfriends.
And I wouldn’t risk that friendship for anything else.
2
Jax
Four Months Later
Rock music blasted over the stereo in the Dallas Devils locker room, but we weren’t getting pumped up for a game. A sense of disappointment lingered in the air as we emptied our lockers instead.
“Chin up, boys,” Dane DeHardt, our captain, said. “I know this feeling sucks. But we’re coming back stronger than ever next year, I guaran-fuckin’-tee it.”
A few half-hearted grunts agreed for morale’s sake. He was right, but the sting of last week’s heart-breaking Game 7 overtime loss was still too recent and raw for any of us to start thinking about next year.
Wewereonegoal away from advancing into the second round of the playoffs—a goal we should’ve had. Instead, a bad bounce went against us, and the puck ended up in the back of our net, eliminating us in the first round of the playoffs.
Still pissed about that play, I grit my teeth and zipped up my bag.
The assistant coach popped into the locker room. “Okay, next up is—” he paused to consult the list on his clipboard “—Cameron.”
I stood up and made my way to Coach Quinn’s office at the end of the hall. The door was cracked open. Coach had his back to me, reviewing game tape on his computer monitor.
I tapped on the door anyway to announce myself. “You ready for me, Coach?”
“Yep,” he said without turning away from his monitor. “Shut the door behind you.”
I pulled the door shut and sat in the chair opposite his desk. Coach swiveled in his chair and turned towards me, his face long, his expression blank. He didn’t say anything—but he didn’t have to. Nor did he have to click play on the video he had queued up.
“I shouldn’t have taken that shot,” I muttered.
