Page 26 of Offside

Maren’s expression was curious but she didn’t push. Something I noticed about her. She opened doors and waited to see if you walked through them, and she’d been doing it since we had spent time together back in college.

I noticed her glass was almost empty. “You want another?”

She glanced down at it. “One more.”

The bar was packed three deep and I put my hand lightly at her back to guide her through, and she stepped into the space beside me without hesitation, close enough I could smell her shampoo or perfume or something over the noise and the beer and the September heat still coming off everyone’s skin. I flagged the bartender and ordered without asking what she was drinking because I’d been paying attention and I already knew.

She noticed. She didn’t say anything about it but ducked her head and smiled, and I filed it away with everything else I wasn’t supposed to be keeping.

The drinks came. I paid.

“Come on,” I said. “There’s a spot in the back.”

She picked up her glass and followed me. The crowd was thick enough that I reached back without thinking and she took my hand for the three seconds it took to get through the worst of it so we wouldn’t get separated, and then we were through and I led her to the table, brushing my hand at her lower back one last time when I pulled the chair out for her.

It was a stolen touch.

I didn’t care.

She didn’t seem to mind either. Yet another thing to file away.

CHAPTER 6

MAREN

Cole Westbrook’s house was exactly what I should have expected and somehow still wasn’t.

Scottsdale modern, all glass and sharp angles and a resort pool that took up most of the backyard, a place where the listing would have said stunning in the headline and meant it as an understatement. Cole had leaned into it fully. There was a DJ on the patio. There was a taco truck in the driveway. Inflatable flamingos in the pool were taller than several of the actual people, and someone had already thrown one of the rookies onto one of them, and the whole situation was being documented on at least four phones simultaneously. It was a shit show and the best all at once. The perfect party to let loose, which I rarely did.

I took it in for exactly two seconds, handed Griffin my bag to hold, and went directly to the taco truck. Better to build a foundation for the trough of margaritas I planned to consume.

“You’re not even going to say hello to anyone first?” Griffin called after me.

“The tacos aren’t going to wait,” I called back.

They were extraordinary. I got two, found a spot at the edge of the pool where a group of the younger players were doing something competitive and inadvisable with a volleyball, and inserted myself into a conversation with some of the players and a few of their girlfriends, or maybe just dates, while I ate. By the time I’d finished my first taco I knew the rookie on my left, Hendricks, twenty-two, from Manitoba, had a sister getting married in December and he was stressed about the road trip conflict. By the time I’d finished my second I’d learned that the defenseman across from me had a golden retriever named Brisket, which I told him was either the best or worst name for a dog depending on your feelings about my dad’s cooking, and he blinked at me and I made a mental note to introduce him to my father.

Griffin reappeared with my bag and a beer. “You’ve been here eleven minutes.”

“Hendricks needs the December fourteenth game moved. His sister is getting married in Canada. Manitoba to be exact.”

“That’s not how any of this works.” I knew that.

“Someone should look into it.” I took the bag back and set it under the table. “This is a good party, Griff.”

“Tell Cole that. He’s been asking everyone as if this isn’t the best get-together ever already.”

“Where are the flamingos from?” They were so large they certainly weren’t from any pool store I knew about. They had to be special ordered or something. In fact, as I looked around the massive yard, I noticed the theme. Everything was flamingos. Pink straws for drinks from the bar he had set up, and little flamingo charms hanging from wine glasses. Classy. Yard flamingos. Very Florida, and not particularly southwest, but super festive and bright. It was good for the mood somehow.

“He won’t say, which in and of itself is kinda sketchy.”

“I’m gonna go say hi and get a drink,” I announced, leaving Griffin at the table to take my seat. Often times if we were invited to the same place, we tried not to hang out together too much. Not that we didn’t have fun together, but we were related and didn’t want to be considered a package deal all the time.

Cole was by the grill with Theo, an unlikely pairing that seemed to produce longer conversations than anyone expected. Cole spotted me coming and spread his arms wide.

“Little Callahan! You made it.”

“You invited me.” I grinned, his enthusiasm the kind that got into you whether you wanted it to or not.