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“I can’t because I don’t have the opportunity.”
“Do you even have skates?”
“I can borrow some at the arena.”
“You don’t look like the skating kind of girl.”
My face scrunches up because where did he get that? “What does that mean?”
For the first time since sitting down, Reid shifts, appearing uncomfortable and finally stumbling over himself. It’s actually a little endearing. “Listen, Shorty—”
“My name is Hollyn.”
“Shorty,” he stresses as if that’s the name he is going to call me, and everything else is irrelevant right now, including my thoughts on it, “You’re a nice girl.”
“Thanks.”
But I’m anything from grateful.
He must really think I’m stupid for fighting about this. For giving a crap about these kids. But there’s something rewarding in seeing how excited they get and how much they’re looking forward to playing this week. It’s a big deal.
Regardless, I won’t be deterred. I can win him over like others from my past. I have this neighbor, a grumpy old man, who said I closed my fridge too hard in the palm of my hands now. The middle-aged, overworked barista at Little Joe’s finally has memorized my order and says good morning to me every day.
It took five months, but it happened.
So, if Reid—the buff and monstrous guy across the table, thinks I’m going to settle down and accept his leaving for nothing but for what it is, he has another thing coming.
“But I’m not meant to do something like this,” he finishes matter-of-factly, and I want to yawn through his weak retort. However, I’m not that mean. “We both know that.”
I quirk a brow. “You play hockey, right?”
Reid gives me a strained look before finally playing along and replying, “Yes, and what do you want in return?” His spine hits the back of the padded seat as he stares me down. “Since you want me to stay so much. What’s in it for the curly-haired redhead who sticks up for the long-lost coach who takes advantage of you?”
I ignore his jab at Weston because an idea strikes me out of nowhere, and I am hesitant before even mentioning it out loud.
It’s crazy.
It’s borderline weird. But I fit in the realm of weird pretty well, so why not?
“You finish your sentence out with a bunch of minors,” I reply slowly, stressing that word because, if you’d allow Reid to explain his predicament here, he’d make it sound like a prison sentence. “And I want you to help me score a date with someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone,” I repeat with a lift of my chin, and when he opens his mouth, I point a warning finger at him. “Don’t judge me, Reid.”
Reid shakes his head, disappointed, but I’m not deterred. Even when he emits, “Oh, Shorty…I’m judging the absolute shit out of you right now.”
REID
Oh, I am.
I’m judging the absolute shit out of her because I still don’t get it. There’s nothing appealing about Weston, so I’m not sure as to what kind of interaction they could’ve had to where she’d be fawning over herself for him.
Though she’s dedicated to the cause, I suppose. It’s no skin off my back to help her out if she keeps the parents at bay and I get this whole suspension debacle out of my way.
Hollyn watches me with hopeful eyes, not responding to my comment about how I think she’s stupid for seeking out anything with the head coach, and, again, we’re using that term loosely.
“He uses you, Shorty.”
