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“Thanks,” I deadpan, closing my door and locking it behind me.
Reid grunts again and then turns toward the parking lot.
Wonderful.
***
I’ve never been conscious about what I eat.
Never.
I always order what I want, never thinking about what someone might think or perceive me with the amount of carbs and sugar I eat on a daily basis.
However, that streak has officially now ended with the way Reid openly stares at me as I smash the three plates in front of me.
Cheeseburger and fries, a grilled cheese, and a piece of coconut cream pie—for dessert, of course.
So, maybe it’s only two plates. Nonetheless, the man gapes at me like I just grew another mouth and I’m not chewing my food properly.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks, furrowing his brows at me as if my answer is going to be a cardinal sin.
“Earlier today.” I meet his stare with one of my own, thinking the answer will get him to stop. But he doesn’t. “What?”
He lifts his shoulders and continues on with his food—cheeseburger, bacon, no ketchup, extra lettuce, and pickles—interesting. I know we’re at a small diner, but I half expected him to eat a steak with a loaded baked potato and then ask for the other fifty percent of the cow when he was done.
The man is huge.
With hard muscles and a sculpted chest through his white shirt, he takes up half of his side of the bench, and he dwarfs me every time he stands over my body. I’m surprised skates hold him up.
“Where are you off to?” I inquired through the silence, unable to sit still in it.
“New Brunswick, New Jersey.”
“Is that where you’re from?” He nods. “It’s beautiful there.”
“Yep.”
This conversation is as tantalizing as a tetanus shot.
“How many games left until your suspension is up?”
I know I made the mistake the moment the question leaves my lips. It cracks through the air between us, and I’m mid-chew when I glance up to find Reid doing the same thing.
His hazel eyes give nothing away, but I know I crossed a line that he probably doesn’t want to talk about.
“Who told you that?”
I’d tell him that it’s obviously no secret since it’s all over the internet, but that would mean alluding to the fact that I Googled him like a weirdo. It’s no secret that Reid already finds me off and unnecessary in this scenario of hockey.
“Weston?” Reid says his name like a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The dude has nothing else going for him but watching other people play, so I’m just something else he can point out that has fucked up.”
I understand why Reid’s so upset. He was literally thrown into this mess with no support. God knows I’m not the best assistant.
“Do me a favor, Shorty,” Reid says, stopping my fry from entering my mouth.
