Page 38 of Hot for the Hockey Player
Pursing her lips again, she bobbed her head, then ducked back into the house.
I stared up at the millions of stars twinkling overhead.The moon was a thin crescent hanging to the southeast, barely shedding enough light for me to make out the CLOSEDsign for the tasting room across the yard.
I pulled in a few more deep breaths, holding them in my lungs until the air turned warm, then exhaling them out into the ether.
“You’re just under the weather,” I told myself.“That’s it.”Then I headed into the house, ditched my slippers, avoided the curious, worried stares of everyone at the table, and beelined it for my bedroom.
“Period cramps,” Raina said, just as I closed my bedroom door.
My jaw dropped.Thatwas her excuse for me?
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I flung myself onto my bed, buried my head under my pillow, and resisted the urge to scream.
The house was old, and definitely not soundproof.If I wanted to scream and have nobody hear me, I’d have to jump into the ocean.
At the moment, the idea didn’t seem that unappealing.
CHAPTER TEN
Maverick
Fridaymorning,ItextedDamon to check on Gabrielle.
Hey, man.How’s your mom feeling?
While his response was almost immediate, it lacked detail.
Fine.
I knew better than to press for more information.He was a teenage boy.Teenage boys were notoriously allergic to specifics.Especially about anybody besides themselves or the girl they might be interested in.And since Gabrielle was his mom, and Raina told us she had period cramps—which I didn’t believe—I’m sure Damon was doing his best to actively avoid finding out anything else about his mother’s condition.
I needed Gabrielle’s number.
After my morning exercises and stretches, I headed back to the metalwork and woodwork shops to see if they could make my private lessons a little less private, and include some eager, well-behaved island kiddos.Both Jackson Clemmons and Carol Robbins said it was no problem at all, and they seemed to like the idea of offering after-school classes for islanders.
I was just leaving Carol Robbins’ woodwork shop when my phone buzzed with a text message.I didn’t recognize the number, but the preview text told me exactly who it was.
Hey, Maverick.It’s Jasmine Greengrass.We met last month.I run the sports podcast—Pucktastic.I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming on while you’re laid up recovering?Let me know your availability.I’ll work around your schedule.It would be so great to have you on.I hope you’re healing quickly and look forward to hearing from you.-J ??
I grinned at the memory of chatting with the super-knowledgeable, down-to-earth podcaster I met at the pub the night before my injury.I hadn’t had a chance to listen to any of her episodes, but now I would make a point of it.
I replied right away so I wouldn’t forget.
Hey, Jasmine.Of course I remember you.I would love to come on your show.My schedule is pretty open right now.So let me know when you’ve got time and let’s set it up.Thank you so much for reaching out.Take care – Mav
I put the truck in gear and backed out of the metalwork parking lot.There were so many great-sounding food places on the island, one of my other goals while here was to visit as many of them as I could.First up, Booch and Bagels, a kombucha and bagel place in a little kiosk right outside the grocery store.
I was just getting my order of peach and ginger kombucha, and a lox and caper bagel with cream cheese and dill drizzle when another message vibrated my phone.It was a balancing act fit for a circus performer to not drop my food and get my phone out.
I sat down on a nearby bench and set down my kombucha.This time, it was a message from Damon.
Friends don’t believe I know you.Can you come prove them wrong at the school today?Lunch break is in twenty minutes.
Shit.
Here I was trying to keep my existence on the island on the down-low, and Damon was going around advertising it to everyone.Did he not hear our conversation at the dinner table last night?That we were all trying tonotgive the Jolene Dandys of the world fodder for their gossip train?
