Page 87 of The Romance Line
I’m about to leave having gotten away with murder, when I remember—he asked when to give it away. I can’t leave without answering. “Oh, and why don’t you decide when to give the stick away? You’re so good at the fan stuff, and you really know best.”
It’s actually the truth, even though it sounds like I’m sucking up to him. So I add, as earnestly as I can, “I mean it.”
“Thanks, Ev. I’ll find the perfect time.”
I grin and bear the nickname, then head on down the hall, whipping out my phone to text Max. I should let him know that Mister Hockey Stick might be onto us.
But I stop when I open his contact info.
Our last exchange was the photo the night he left town. Ihaveresisted him. He’s resisted me. And he’s going to hit the ice in a couple hours when the puck drops. I don’t need to text him about Elias before the game starts since there’s nothing to really worry about anyway.
Instead, I text The Padlockers.
Everly: It’s been more than a week since I even texted him. I want a prize for my resistance.
Maeve: I’ll send you a new vibe tonight as a reward! That is impressive!
Josie: Gold stars for you, strategy queen.
Fable: Is anyone else wondering if we can all get that reward? Just me?
Everly: Yes, Maeve, make it a group reward.
Maeve: Bankrupt me, why don’t you?
Josie: But it’s for a good cause.
Maeve: You don’t need one, Josie! You have a hot man obsessed with your pleasure at your beck and call.
Josie: That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy vibes!
Fable: I’d like to say TMI, but I’m mostly just jealous.
Maeve: Me too.
Everly: Me three thousand.
I smile, then put my phone away as I march down the hall, doing a double take when I pass the coach’s office.
“Leighton!” I say when I spot the back of the pretty brunette sitting across from her father.
She must not hear me though, because she doesn’t turn till her dad tips his chin in my direction, as if he’s letting her know I’m here.
When she looks my way, her eyes brighten. “Hey, Everly! How are you? Good to see you again.”
I step inside and give her a hug. I met Leighton a few years ago when she was still in college and interned at The Sports Network as a photographer. “Did you graduate last year?”
“I did. I’m doing some freelancing now,” she says.
“She’s so talented,” her father says proudly, and gone is his usual tough guy coolness. He’s all dad now, praising his daughter.
“I should have hired you for today. To take pics of the dog adoption event,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were back in town. I’ll just have to hire you the next time I need a photographer. I’m guessing you won’t have a problem with that, Coach?” I ask playfully, turning to her dad.
He adopts a faux stern expression. “Let’s see. A job for my amazing, talented daughter? I’d have no problem with it.”
“Can you come to the event today?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure. I actually have another freelance job with the Renegades.”