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He brought ice cream.
He’s extremely nice to the parents, and he knows all their names.
But Reid means hockey-related, and I have to think about that for a minute.
“He’s been scheduling all the games with the nearby cities.”
“That’s supposed to happen way before the season starts,” he professes, slicing his heated hazels to me. “What else?”
Gosh, now I feel as though I’m being interrogated on the actions of others. Weston is a really nice guy. And it’s not because I have a small crush on him but because he’s really trying to get these kids going and be successful little hockey players.
“He got the jerseys all set up,” I reply. “He also got a few sponsors as well.”
“I’m still waiting for you to knock me on my ass and give me something that actually is relevant to these kids learning how to play.”
I straighten my spine a bit against his terse tone because he’s not aware of the whole situation here. “Without Weston’s help, these kids wouldn’t have a place to play.”
“How so?”
“He said that they wanted to shut this program down. That no one was going to be able to keep up with all the demands of it.”
“Listen, Shorty,” he divulges, and I’m a bit taken aback by the nickname before he points at my shirt.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like it.
Yet, when I look down, I’m reminded of my shirt’s saying: Short girls: God only lets things grow long enough until they’re perfect. Some of us didn’t take as long as others.
I thought the shirt was cute two seconds ago until I realized that Reid was looking at more than my face. This man is electric, fascinating, and highly aggravating. I don’t know why that draws me to him so much, but his attitude is frigid, and I’m not looking to get frostbite every time he talks to me.
“You need to stop defending him,” Reid says. “You can’t be that blind.”
My nose wrinkles. “I’m not.”
“You are. These kids need to condition, and it’s not going to happen while he’s jackin—holed up in his office.” Reid rolls his shoulders as if getting some of the tension off him. “Notice how he didn’t come out here to”—he lifts two fingers and quotes—“show me the ropes. Like he could.”
He mutters the last part and goodness; male egos are coming in; watch out.
“Maybe he didn’t want to get in your way.” Reid sends me an exasperated look, obviously not believing that fact. “I know I wouldn’t.”
“Yet, here you are,” he vouches. “Interrupting me during practice without flinching.”
Is that a thing? I’ll have to look that up.
“I’ll send a smoke signal next time,” I state. “Can you read those?”
“How about you just sit down and—”
“Don’t,” I warn, feeling the need to knock him down a notch. I know he’s a pro, and I have zero experience with the game, but he doesn’t need to be a jerk about it. “I was here first, and I want to help. You can check your attitude at the door, right here.” I point to my feet where the stadium meets the ice. “Deal?”
“This isn’t my attitude,” Reid retorts solemnly. “This is how I am.”
“Ordering little girls around?’
He scoffs and rolls his eyes before his shredding arms cross along his even wider chest. “You’re far from a little girl, Shorty. You might be small in stature, but from where I’m standing…”
My brain leans in for more, curious beyond words to see what he thinks about me, even though it’s been twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t care. Reid comes off as a dude who doesn’t like anyone.
“Which means what?” I press back. “You’re going to let me help?”
