Page 43 of The Playmaker

She comes back down the hall, her steps slowing when she sees me.

“What?” I ask.

“You have a funny look on your face.”

“It’s called starvation.”

“Hang on.” She hurries to her kitchen and comes back with a granola bar for me. I rip into it and take a big bite, then hold it out to her. “Share?”

“No, I’m good. Still not feeling well from that bowl of Captain Crispies.”

“Hey, don’t be dissing the Captain.”

“Sometimes I swear you’re still seventeen, Cole.”

We step back out into the sunshine, and a few of her neighbors are admiring my car. “You remember a lot about me at seventeen?”

“Yeah, mostly how much of an ass you were.”

“Still am,” I remind her.

“Oh, I know,” she says, then plasters on a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson.” She steps up to an elderly man with a cane. “Do you like it?” she asks as he examines the car. His eyes go wide when he sees me, and I instantly slip into Playmaker mode.

“You’re Cole Cannon,” he says.

I widen my arms. “The one and only.”

“Can I get my wife, she’s a huge fan too.”

“Sure thing.” I wink at Nina, who is watching me carefully—too carefully. I shift beneath her scrutiny, disliking that she might be the only person who can see through the veil. “I can’t go anywhere,” I say, cocky as ever. “Totally in demand.”

The truth is, I like greeting fans, like making them happy. I just wish I could be myself, but it’s Cocky Cannon they all want.

Mr. Johnson comes back with his wife, who is shrieking with joy, her hands on her cheeks, her mouth wide. I pose for a few pictures and give my autograph. Mrs. Johnson, all wide-eyed and excited, turns to Nina.

“Are you two a couple?” she asks, hope dancing on her

face.

“Oh, God, no,” Nina says quickly. “Cole is a friend of my brother’s, and he’s just helping me out with a few things.”

“Ah, too bad. You make such a nice couple.” Mrs. Johnson beams at Nina, then turns her focus to me.

“Nice meeting you,” I say, sensing that Nina is uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “But we’ve got to run.”

“Come around more often,” Mr. Johnson says.

I hop into the car and Nina climbs into the driver’s seat. “Thanks for that,” she says. “They’re big fans. That was nice of you, but I hope it didn’t take too much out of you. I know smiling and interacting with fans can be exhausting.”

“I’m okay,” I say, just as my phone pings. I fish it from my pocket and read the message. Guilt niggles inside my gut as I text Cason back.

“Everything okay?” Nina asks.

“It’s Cason. Checking to see how I’m doing.”

“Oh, tell him I said hi,” she says. “And that you’re giving me hockey lessons.”

I nod, and put the phone back in my pocket. No fucking way am I letting Cason know I’m with Nina.

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