Page 149 of On His Team

Here.

Not hockey.

Here.

I look around my apartment like Camden might somehow be visible through the walls. “So why wouldn’t you want to keep playing somewhere else?”

He shrugs. “I might.”

“You’re really fucking good.”

“I know.”

I stare at him.

He looks over.

“Did you just say I know?”

“You told me I’m good.”

“Yes, and you’re supposed to receive compliments humbly.”

“I said I know.”

“That is the opposite of humble.”

He starts laughing.

I shove his thigh with my foot.

“You want me to lie?”

“No. I want you to say something gracious like, Thank you, Gianna. That means a lot coming from somebody with your incredible hockey expertise.”

“I’m good at hockey,” he says solemnly. “Unfortunately.”

I start laughing. “Much better.”

He smiles and takes another bite.

I watch him for a second before the original question comes back to me.

“But if playing after college isn’t this huge dream for you, why are you trying to get another year here?”

His fork slows.

“You applied to grad school partly because you can still play,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t know if you want to keep playing after Camden.”

“No.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you see why you’re confusing?”

He laughs. “I never said I had it figured out.”