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The guy looks between us, eyes growing wide. “This is your girl?” His hands go up. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t know.”

“Well, you do now.” I toss my arm over her shoulder and give her a squeeze. “So maybe give us a little room.”

“Sure, sure.” He steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Keep up the good work out there. You keep playing the way you are, you guys are gonna take it this year.”

I nod and give him a look so hard and pointed, he finally takes the hint and leaves.

“I could’ve handled that alone,” she says, popping the top on her drink with her sharp, painted nails.

“I know.” I open my own can. “But I owed you one. Remember?”

She grins and lifts the drink to study the side. “We studied Reaper and other canned water products in my marketing classes. They’re specifically for non-drinkers to have somethingto hold in their hands and not look out of place. It’s a six-hundred million dollar industry at this point.” She takes a sip. “Predicted to hit seven in two years.”

I taste my drink. Yep. Six dollar canned water tastes just like it does from the tap. “Maybe you should advise Cain to invest some of his rookie bonus in Reaper. Or a sponsorship. He’d be the perfect spokesperson.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I know you’re joking, but it’s probably a good idea. Reese’s jawline alone could sell sand to people living in Death Valley.”

“You’re probably right.” I laugh, and settle into the seat next to her. “Decided to stick around this weekend?”

“Yeah, it’s too far for me to go home, not with Thanksgiving in a few weeks.”

“Florida, right?”

Her eyebrow raises. “You stalking me, Rakestraw?”

“If I’m going to be your safe space I needed to do my research, which happened to lead me down the rabbit hole of your ChattySnap account to some sexy photos of you very tan on the beach.”

A small smile plays on her lips. “I miss it.”

“Being tan?”

“The beach. Well, and being tan.” She holds out her arm and pulls up her sleeve. “I’ve never been so pale in my life.”

“Yeah it was an adjustment for me too,” I admit. “Plenty of sun in Texas.”

She looks surprised. “Ah, Texas. That explains the accent and the liberal use of the word, darlin’.”

I laugh. “Busted.”

“So, how did a boy from Texas end up playing hockey instead of football?”

“Oh, I played for a while. Every red-blooded Texan boy has a helmet and pads before they hit kindergarten, but a friendintroduced me to hockey when I was in middle school and I never looked back.”

“And your family was okay with that?”

“Not in the slightest,” I say, taking a big swallow of water. “But getting their approval has never been a priority for me.”

“What does your father do?” she asks.

“He’s a minister.”

“Oh wow.” Her eyes skim over my tattoos. “A Southern Texas minister whose son is a tattooed, pierced, hockey player. No wonder you moved halfway across the country to go to college.”

“You have no idea, T.” Thanksgiving week is going to suck. Thank god, I’ve got a pass to make it short and get back for the game. “I do miss the food though, like the kolaches, so that’s something to look forward to.”

“What’s a kolache?”

“Only the most amazing pastry in the world.” My mouth waters thinking about them. “Traditonally, they’re filled with fruit or cheese or something, but in typical Texas fashion someone decided to load them up with meat, like sausage and add peppers, and fuck me, they’re so good.”