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I snag glances with Frankie, whose gaze snaps from Ziggy to me. She gives me a scary intense look. Note to self: avoid Frankie tonight.
“You gonna hit the rink?” Kris asks. “Skate for the cause?”
I shake my head. “Foot’s still iffy. Doc said no rinks for another week.”
He peers down at my boot that I now have medical permission to take breaks from. Tonight, with a bunch of rowdy, oversized men trampling around, did not seem like the time to expose my finally almost healed foot, though, so I stuck with the boot. “That sucks, man.”
“It’s my own damn fault,” I admit. “I was a reckless ass. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt myself worse.”
Kris frowns thoughtfully. “Well, I’m glad you’ll be better in time for the season. We need you. ASAP. Dryland conditioning is miserable without you giving Lars those arctic glares and muttered roasts when he tells us we have another set to do because we ‘aren’t going hard enough.’”
“God, I loathe that man. He’s sick.”
“Definitely a sadist,” Kris agrees, glancing to where Ziggy laughs at something Tyler says. “So, uh…you and Bergman’s little sister, huh?”
“Just friends,” I tell him, staring at Ziggy.
Just friends. That’s it. She’s not mine. Not even my real friend, let alone something more. Even though when I watch Tyler knock shoulders with her and laugh as she does, I want to fucking break something.
“Seb!” Ren throws an arm around my shoulder, squeezing tight. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too.” I set a hand on his back in greeting, before we step apart. “So can I just ask a favor?”
Ren turns and faces me fully, his expression serious. “Of course, Seb. Anything.”
“Keep your wife far from me tonight. She looks like she wants to find the nearest sharp object and impale me with it.”
Ren grimaces, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “She may not have taken the news well that you and Ziggy were coming together, even though I stressed it was only as friends.”
“Yeah, that’s not surprising. She doesn’t trust me to behave myself, let alone with someone she cares about. I don’t blame her. I’ve given her no reason to.”
He frowns. “Seb, it’s not—”
Someone calls Ren’s name, making him turn quickly. It’s a kid who’s a fan, waiting for his autograph, and like the softie he is, Ren immediately takes their Sharpie and crouches so they’re eye to eye, engaging them in a conversation. Another kid tugs on Kris’s sleeve and draws his attention, as well. Those two are veteran players on the team and well-loved, for good reason.
“Seb!” Tyler yells, making me spin his way. “You gotta skate.”
I point to the boot. “Can’t.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Come on, man. This would be pure gold—the ice-cold bad boy skating his heart out to eighties classics.”
“Next year,” I tell him, shocking myself not only with making that promise, but with the realization that I actually mean it.
“Fine,” he sighs, before turning to Ziggy. “Zigs. You gonna join?”
Zigs? My jaw clenches.
She smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” Without preamble, she turns, then strolls off. Thierry Arneaux, who notices her passing, turns and follows her on a jog until he catches up, pointing toward the other end of the rink. Presumably to help her get a pair of skates.
Better be all he’s helping her with.
I stare after her. Arneaux keeps his hands to himself, and Ziggy tugs down the hem of her romper’s shorts. I don’t stare at her ass as she walks.
Too long.
“So.” Tyler claps an arm around me. “Zigs. Isn’t she the best?”
I force myself into that familiar cold, numb place that I rely on when I want to keep my shit in check and I’m dangerously on the verge of losing it. “Yeah. She is. You two seem—”
