Page 48 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“Good night, Holt,” I whisper.
He smiles back. “Sweet dreams.”
But we both know sweet won’t even begin to describe what I’ll be dreaming of.
18
* * *
EDEN
“I think I’m going to freeze to death.”
Gretchen pulls together the sides of her thick cardigan, frowning at me from across the wrought-iron table. When I invited her to have lunch with me this afternoon, I may have omitted the detail that I reserved a table on the patio, and she hasn’t stopped shivering from the moment we sat down.
“You’re being dramatic,” I tease, grabbing my phone and swiping open the weather app for evidence. “See? Fifty-six degrees. It’s practically summer.”
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but so is she. Besides, with all the traveling I’ve been doing lately, I haven’t gotten the chance to enjoy my favorite season in my favorite city. From our table at this Back Bay brunch spot, we have a stellar view of the Public Garden, where all the trees are blazing with bright yellows and deep reds. Fall in Boston is not to be missed.
“Maybe this is considered summer in Antarctica,” Gretchen grumbles, warming up with a big sip of her chai tea. “Remind me why I haven’t moved to Bora Bora yet?”
“Because there probably aren’t a lot of tax accountant positions open in the tropics,” I remind her. “And you’d miss me too much. Based on how much you’ve been texting me during away games, I think you might actually explode if we were permanently located in different time zones.”
The mention of my travel schedule quickly takes her mind off the cold. Her eyes light up as she leans forward with both forearms planted on the table. “Yeah, Little Miss New Zip Code Every Weekend. How has everything been going?”
“Pretty well.” I sip my oat-milk latte, dusting off the Titans scores I keep filed in the back of my mind. “We lost four to three against Detroit, but Cleveland was a huge victory, five to one. So fingers crossed for Toronto tonight. It’s sort of weird not being with the team this weekend, but it is nice to have some time off.”
Gretchen’s frown is back and deeper than ever. “I read the hockey blogs, Eden. I know the scores. What I want to know is what your scorecard looks like with you-know-who.” She grins at me expectantly.
We’re interrupted by our waitress, delivering Gretchen’s panini and my broccoli-and-cheddar soup. While my best friend picks the tomatoes out of her sandwich, I have a moment to choose my words. I knew this conversation was coming, but I didn’t exactly plan a script.
“You’re not getting out of that question,” Gretchen says, pointing a sweet potato fry at me. “What happened with you and Holt?”
“A few things happened,” I say slowly, dragging my spoon through my bowl and scooping up a heaping portion of soup. It’s warm and luxurious on my tongue, but more importantly, it buys me a few more precious moments before having to tell my best friend how wrong her advice was. “Turns out, your idea to get him out of my system wasn’t exactly effective.”
She arches a brow at me, urging me to continue. “Go on.”
“Well, against my better judgment, we hooked up twice,” I say, my focus more on my soup than on her. “Not sex, but you know . . .” My voice drops to a quiet murmur. “Other stuff.”
“And?” she asks. “How did said other stuff go?”
I sigh, looking down at the table between us. “All it did was make me want him more.”
I’m expecting another frown in response, but when I glance at Gretchen, her lips are curled in a devious, self-satisfied smirk, like a supervillain hatching a plan. “I sort of had a feeling it would.”
“What?” My voice errs on the side of too loud for a public conversation, but I’m too shocked to correct my volume. “Then why did you tell me it would get him out of my system?”
She lifts a shoulder, a wicked gleam dancing through her green eyes. “Because he’s hot, and you wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”
A laugh of disbelief threatens to sneak past my lips. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“No, you’re crazy,” she says insistently. “You’re the one who made us sit outside in the cold today. I’m just being a good friend and making sure you get laid.”
This time, there’s no restraining my laughter.
I can’t believe Gretchen, but with how absolutely incredible things with Holt have been, I probably should be thanking her. That is, as long as no one finds out about us. Otherwise, all this giddy excitement would blow up in my face and make everything about my position so much harder. I think the team is actually starting to respect me now.
After I’ve had a few more spoonfuls of soup, my phone vibrates with a calendar reminder. One hour until I need to be at the arena. I swipe out of the notification, wave down the waitress, and ask for the check.
