“What for?”
“A break,” he says. “A welcome change from the town flogging you get everywhere else. Maybe I can show you a different side of Mullet Ridge.” He bumps his side into mine, his warmth making the day even hotter. But in a cozy way. A way that flashes me back to his hands in my hair last night, how it felt when he cupped the back of my head and kissed me back.
Whew. Maybe it is a little too hot.
“Say you’ll come,” he says.
Two pairs of sunglasses separate our eyes—his and mine—but the intensity of his gaze pierces through both.
“Okay. See you tonight.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KAYLA
Istep into the rink, and the cool air hits me, clashing against the slight, ever-present Southern damp that lingers on your skin from sun-up to oh, Thanksgiving.
I’ve never been inside a skating rink before. Hockey arena? I don’t even know the word for it. My brothers are all big sports fans, but being the oldest sibling has some perks, namely that they didn’t dictate my activities or interests (sorry, younger sisters everywhere). It smells like popcorn and burnt rubber, with a side of chilled sweat. It’s not totally unpleasant, but Le Labo won’t be bottling it up and selling it anytime soon. And it’s strangely loud, considering there are only a few dozen people sitting around the ice and maybe ten people playing.
My white cropped quilted Burberry jacket is draped over my arm as I walk across the rubber mats that line the concourse and snake down toward the rink entrance. I’m glad Ash was at the house when I got there, because she’s been here plenty of times. Sonny plays in that “ice football” league he, Sean, and Duke wererepping with their hats. Ash says it’s called “Hillbilly Hockey,” but it’s basically football on ice.
In bowling shoes.
The more I learn about sports, the faker it all sounds. Especiallythatsport.
But she was able to tell me how to dress, and she even let me borrow an oversized Blue Collars sweatshirt with cracked lettering and a cut neckline. Paired with my high-rise, light-wash AGOLDE jeans and Golden Goose sneakers (that aren’t as comfortable as I wish they were), I look practically at home.
Aldridge wouldn’t recognize me.
And that alone makes this outing worth it.
I walk down the steps toward the plexiglass, edging closer to a short tunnel where the players must enter and exit the ice. I’m not planning to interrupt anything—just wave. Maybe say hi if he sees me.
Granted, I probably need to figure out which oneheis.
I spot Fletch with some of the team maybe twenty feet away. Scottie’s over there, too, currently rolling her eyes at Lucas’s flirting. When I told her about Sean’s invitation, she was more than happy to get the word out. I forget that she’s new to town, too, and has to be tired of Lucas hitting on her. She grew up around baseball and knew some big player when he was in the minors. She hasn’t talked about it much, but there’s no question she hates the player mentality.
Lucas is going to have to rethink his approach if he wants a chance with Scottie.
“Hey, Fletch,” I say, taking the seat next to him. He’s on his phone and looks frustrated about something. A bag of peanuts sits on his lap. “Are you okay?”
“Family drama,” he says. He doesn’t open up much, so even this pittance is a surprise.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He shifts forward and puts his phone in his back pocket, and then he notices my outfit. “You look different.”
I chuckle. “I’m at a hockey game.”
“You wear a pantsuit to watch baseball. Why does hockey get a pass?”
“I’m off the clock, that’s why. But don’t worry; if my dad decides to buy me a hockey team for Christmas, I’ll wear a tailored cream wool suit with silk lapels and maybe 'Ice Queen' subtly woven into the stitching to every game.”
Fletch snorts.
“So, your family?” I ask. You wouldn’t know it based on the way I keep striking out with the fine people of Mullet Ridge, but I love making people feel seen and heard.
(Also, did I just think in sports terms? Who even am I?)
