“Frankie Blake.” I said, as if that was explanation enough, and his shoulders deflated a bit, so I went on. “Her daughter plays for the Tots.”
“Emmie.” He said the words, and I was surprised that he knew her name. “I know. What does that have to do with you? And now, me?”
“Did you know Frankie stays late at the rink after everyone else leaves to practice skating so she can go out with Emmie during practice?” I asked, and Eli’s brows furrowed over his eyes. “Or that she can’t skate worth a damn, even after weeks of trying.” I sighed and felt the same bite of frustration returning after finally letting it go the night before. “Or that not a single coach on that team will even notice that Emmie is a fucking natural in the crease. They ignore her. They leave her to kill time doing nothing all practice long, and Frankie is trapped on the bleachers because she can’t skate. And Emmie suffers for it.”
“Jesus, Saw.” Eli sat down in the chair behind him and took another drink off his beer. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I snapped in frustration that he’d even think anything had to do with Frankie after what I just told him. I hated the fact that I had ever opened my stupid mouth months ago and told him I was into Frankie. It was pointless because she was too closed off to even notice anyone giving her any authentic attention, and his constant razzing of it had been insufferable since. “Never mind.” I huffed, “I’ll ask Trace.” Maybe the goalie from the Net Crashers would be a better help to coach Emmiethan Eli, anyway. Eli was a center after all, so what the hell did he know about goalies other than how to score on them.
“The fuck you fucking will.” He snapped, standing up and pointing his finger at me. “That was rude. Take it back.” His eyes rounded as he glared at me, waiting for me to actually take it back in an over-dramatic way, and I flipped him off.
“Well then, stop being a dick about it.”
“I’m obviously going to help you.” He huffed, lowering his drama queen flag and sitting back down in his chair. “I just wanted to pull your leg about Frankie for a second.”
“Well, don’t.” I looked back down at the cabinet door in my hand. “Nothing is going to happen there, but she needs help. So we’re going to help her.”
“Nothing’s going to happen, huh?” He asked, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Then you don’t mind if I shoot my shot with her then?”
My blood heated to a boil, but I kept my head down. “Since when are you interested in Frankie Blake?”
“Since she kicked Tyler Sharpe’s ass in tenth grade for taking up-skirt pictures on the bleachers during the football game.” He replied as if it were a no-brainer. “But I graduated, and she was so wrapped up with that kid from Hillgrove High, she never even knew I existed.”
He was talking about her tenth-grade year, meaning I had already graduated and was in the Marines.
And there was that Hillgrove kid.
Danny Masters.
Emmie and Toby’s dad.
Deadbeat asshole prick who didn’t deserve to breathe the same fucking air as any of them.
“So, you’ll help then?” I asked, but his face was buried in his phone, as usual, and I shook my head. “Right, got it. Thanks.”
A second later my phone pinged in my pocket with our team group chat tone, and Eli pocketed his phone, looking smug.
“What did you do?” I asked, fishing my phone out and opening the message up.
Sunshine
Saw’s the new coach of the Tots league—practice is at six every Friday. Be there or don’t show up for our games on Saturdays.
Oh, and Frankie’s the team mom, so… brownie points with her for helping.
“You’re a royal pain in my ass.” I snapped, glaring at Eli.
He gave me one of his signature playboy grins, and then the responses came in.
Ronnie The Rocket
Does she give snacks or blowies in thanks?
Nate The Noodle
If it’s blowies, I’m in. If it’s snacks, I’ll have to check my calendar.
Mitch The Brick
