Maybe I'm not the only one still thinking about how wet she was for me this morning.
My thumb hovers over the screen and I type back.
Colt:Panicking is for rookies. I’ll be there. Should I bring a resume? References?
Three dots appear immediately.
Zoey:Just your charming self. And maybe a helmet. Declan arm-wrestled Gabe last night and won. He’s feeling… confident.
I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the locker room.
“What’s so funny, pretty boy?” Gabe Devereaux appears beside me, already stripped down to his gear, a towel around his neck. “Your face is doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The one you couldn't wipe off your face last night. The ‘I’m-thinking-about-Zoey’ thing. It’s gross. All soft and shit.”
I shove him, but he’s a brick wall and doesn’t budge. “Shut up, Devereaux. I'm happy.”
“It's the hockey guys, isn't it?” Gabe asks, his dark eyes narrowing. “The ones that were here last night? At the sponsorship thing?”
I nod. “Yep. The Morrison brothers. Zoey’s personal security detail.”
Gabe puffs out his cheeks, letting out a low whistle. “Jesus. I saw them, man. They’re not just hockey guys, Lane. They’re like… walking trees. Except with teeth.”
“They’re professionals,” I say, as if that explains everything. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” Gabe scoffs, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “They look like they’d happily use your spine as a toothpick if you looked at their sister wrong. Didn't you see Declan arm-wrestle that logger? He won. The guy has forearms like fucking Christmas hams.”
I lean my stick against the boards, trying to project a casualness I suddenly don’t feel.
“I'm not going to some arm-wrestling competition! It’s a drink. An introduction. They probably just want to make sure I’m not a total asshole.”
Gabe looks at me, and a weird, unfamiliar flutter kicks up in my stomach.
Because maybe Gabe's onto something.
I’ve charmed parents before. I've smiled my way through awkward family dinners, and discussed the weather with protective fathers of ex-girlfriends.
It was a performance. A game I knew I could win because I didn’t care if I lost. There was never anything on the line except my own amusement.
But this?
This is Zoey’sfamily. Her people. The men who taught her to skate, who probably threatened every boy who ever looked at her in high school.
They’re the gatekeepers to the most important person in my world.
And for the first time, the outcome matters.
“I’ll be fine,” I say again, more to myself than to Gabe. “I’m charming. And despite what you've always told me, Big Guy, I’m a delight to be around.”
“You’re a pain in the ass,” Gabe corrects, slapping a heavy hand on my shoulder pad. “Just… maybe don’t tell them about the stick figure tattoo on your ass. Or the cherry lip balm you hide in that bag. Actually, just… be less you for a couple hours.”
I shove his hand off, laughing, but the laugh feels thin. “Noted. Be less me. Got it.”
I hit the showers, cranking the heat all the way up to try and clear the nerves. Then, an hour later, I’m standing outside The Leopard Lounge, taking some deep breaths as I try to remember how the fuck to breathe.
Through the glass windows, I can see the place ispacked.
