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“What is it?”
“Stop wasting your time on a loser who can’t make time to do his job. He shouldn’t be leaving you out there like that.”
“What about the kids?”
Reid sighs. “They’ll survive. If the parents bitch enough, maybe they’ll fire him.”
My brows clash together. “That’s a really mean thing to say. Especially when you’ve only said, what, three words to him?”
“And whose fault is that?” he solicits with a perked brow. “Are you saying I didn’t try enough?”
“No. But you sure did give up easily.”
I expect the glower that comes my way because I’m challenging him. I’m calling him out for doing exactly what he’s doing right now.
“Maybe you should focus your attention more on the man that’s supposed to be there full time. Not the asshole that’s only going to be there until my suspension is up.”
“What was the point of coming at all?” I press. “Didn’t someone tell you what you were going to do?”
“It doesn’t matter now because I’m leaving.”
“Mhm.” I snort that through my nose and find Reid tensing out of my peripheral.
“You think I’m a quitter.”
I rock my head back and forth, popping my fry in my mouth. “Of course not. According to the Wolverines’ stats, you are playoff-bound.”
Reid strums his fingers along the surface of the table. “You looked me up.”
“I looked your team up.”
“You looked me up,” he repeats, not buying into my fib and making sure that I know that he knows what I’ve done. I’m not sorry about it, nor am I the only person who’s ever investigated him out of curiosity. “And what did you find?”
“That the media is trying to paint you as the bad guy.” Reid briefly studies my face, but he doesn’t confirm or deny it. “So, if you’re looking to change that, I suggest you stick with it, kid.”
“I’m not looking to change it. This wasn’t my idea.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” I deadpan, looking as though I’m more interested in my food than I am in his animosity toward coaching little kids.
Yet, I’m not fully done with this. He’s a great asset to the boys, and if he would stick it out, Reid could help them get on the right path for the rest of their little hockey-playing careers.
“I could help you, you know?” I convey, chomping on a pickle chip. “You coach the kids. I handle the parents. A kid cries I got you. You need extra pucks. I’m your girl. I'm your spokesperson if a mom or dad attempts to speak with you after practice. I’m your assistant.”
“Why would I want that?”
“Because I think it’s bothering you,” I reply confidently because I am. Reid doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that quits things when they get hard.
“You think three days of hockey practice with a vacant coach and a cute little bookworm is bothering me?”
Busted.
Okay, so I read during practice because Reid won’t let me do anything. It’s his fault.
Wait...did he call me cute?
“What do you expect me to do?” I croon. “You won’t let me out on the ice.”
“You don’t know how to skate.”
