Page 18 of Playing for Keeps

Two girls came striding down the aisle. I heard them before they reached me. Both of them were probably in their early twenties, with wide-open eyes in that unmistakable oh my God, it’s him way.

“Max Finnegan?” one squealed, grabbing her friend’s arm like she was going to faint. “I knew it was you. I told you it was him!”

The other girl laughed so hard she almost couldn’t breathe, already fishing her phone out of her bag. “This is insane. We love you, Finn. Can we get a picture? Please?”

I looked over at Emma, half expecting her usual smirk, but it wasn’t there. Her face had changed – she looked quieter, harder to read. She stepped back, only a little, but enough to make the space between us feel intentional.

Before I could say anything, the girls moved in closer, no hesitation whatsoever. “I’ve never met a real hockey player before. You’re even hotter in person.”

Her friend looked me over from my chest to my face and back down again. “Yeah… way hotter. Bet you get mobbed everywhere you go, don’t you?”

I managed a smile, the automatic one I reserve for fans, though my chest was a little tight. I had just been teasing Emma and watching her green eyes light up every time I did. Now I was surrounded by squeals. I posed for their selfies and let them gush. But I kept scanning the end of the aisle, half expecting to see Emma standing there with her arms crossed, smirking at my predicament.

She wasn’t.

By the time the girls took off, whispering and giggling as though they’d just won some sort of prize, I turned back to where Emma had been.

Gone.

The air felt emptier without her in it.

I lingered in the aisle, pretending to look at books, but I was really just hoping she might drift back the way she’d come. Minutes went by. Nothing. I went around the next aisle. Then the next one. No Emma. I retraced my steps, peering between shelves. My heart sank a little more each time I didn’t see that flash of chestnut hair.

I swallowed my pride and went to the service counter, where a young man was restacking a pile of hardcovers. “Excuse me,” I said, leaning on the counter. “There was a woman who was helping me a couple of minutes ago. Green eyes, British accent, about –” I gestured vaguely “–this tall. Name’s Emma. Do you know if she’s still around?”

The guy glanced up at me, confused. “Emma?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t she work here?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, dude. There’s no Emma working here.”

I just stared at him for a moment and frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Maybe she was another customer?”

Another customer. I stepped back. Shit, I hadn’t expected that. She’d only been in my life for ten minutes, sparred with me like it was the most natural thing in the world and then vanished as if she’d never been there at all. The guy had already gone back to his pile of books, totally unconcerned. But I stood there longer than I should have, looking down the aisles and wishing I could see those green eyes and crooked smirk one last time.

And I couldn’t shake the ridiculous feeling that I’d just let something – someone – slip through my fingers.

10

EMMA

Mum was leaning too close to the screen, squinting as if there might be smudges on it. Dad sat back, his arms crossed like a man who had been ambushed into this call and was putting up with it.

“Darling,” Mum said, with her eyes shining brightly. “You look positively Canadian. Is that a maple leaf behind you?”

“It’s a tree,” I said, twisting slightly to glance at the view out my window. “With leaves. Which just so happens to be red. Entirely coincidental.”

“So beautiful! It’s like living in a painting.”

Dad grumbled. “Until they all fall and you’ve got to sweep them up.”

Mum ignored him without any hesitation. “So, how are the classes?”

“They’re good,” I said honestly. “Better than I expected. The students are sharp, lively. They argue back. Which is all I want, really.”

Dad brightened a little. “Arguing back is the foundation of education.”