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Smart man.

Isacc Nelson chooses then to speak up. “Your brother is playing for the Rangers. Dude is killing it. We’re hoping he gets traded.”

“Then you’d be out of a job,” Berkley points out, sipping his drink.

Nelson looks at Olive. “He wasn’t always defense, was he?”

She shakes her head. “He started off as a left wing. He was good, but it wasn’t where he excelled. For a few games, he even played forward. The coach tested him until they realized where he played best.”

“He’s a beast,” Miller notes.

Olive beams like a proud sister. “I know.”

Henderson played for Lindon before I did. When I joined on a season later, he’d been shuffled around until he took the defense position. It locked me into my spot as soon as they saw me on the ice. “He was always a hell of a player,” I note, getting her attention.

It’s not often I’m forthcoming with my compliments for the guy. I have nothing against him, but we were never friends. We were competitive from the start, which put a block between us even when we were aiming for the same victory. But we knew that getting attention from scouts was going to be tough, so we needed to play our best. That meant showing them what we had. Most times, a scout will only narrow in on one player. If we’d graduated the same year, maybe that’s what would have happened. He would have gotten signed, and I would have gotten fucked.

“So what’syourgimmick?” Moskins asks Olive, earning a sideways look from our captain. “What? It’s just a question.”

Olive doesn’t hold back. “I don’t think I have one. I’m not very athletic, but I know plenty about sports. Hockey and football are my favorites. One day, I’ll probably write about them.”

Clarkson asks, “Like a journalist?”

“Maybe.” Someone sets glasses of water in front of Olive and I, so she smiles up at the waitress. “I’m starting my last year of college next week, so I’ll be applying for more internships and jobs soon.”

Miller shakes his head. “I don’t miss school. I was shit at it.”

Moskins snorts. “That’s because reading is required.”

Miller shoots him a look. “I can read, fucker. I’m just dyslexic. I got by.”

“Barely,” the right wing counters.

Olive ignores Moskins. “I’ve always been decent with academics. It’s everything else I struggle with. Sebastian was never like that. He had a clear path ever since he was younger. But he’s with someone now who does sports journalism, so maybe I’ll pick her brain about it.”

“Some NHL teams offer internships,” Clarkson tells her. “I’m not sure if the Penguins still does after the last one who worked with us, but some of them hire on different people for their teams. I’m sure O’Conner could give you the number to our PR person to see if we could set you up with something.”

Olive starts to shake her head, but I say, “I’ll give her Stafford’s number.”

She looks at me. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t need your help.”

Yeah, but I know she won’t ask her brother for help either. “It’s an option. Nobody is going to force your hand either way. But if there’s something you can use your degree for, why not take it?”

I can tell there’s uncertainty in her eyes. I’m just not sure why. Is it the thought of being closer to me? Is it because this is new? I definitely don’t offer opportunities like this to just anybody, but I’m willing to do a lot for her.

“It’s a phone number,” I tell her casually.

“It’s not,” she says quietly.

One of the guys breaks the moment up by asking Olive, “Who would you root for in a game between us and the Rangers?”

“Blood runs thick, man,” Nelson tells Berkley. “She’d cheer on her bro. I know I would if I were in her shoes.”

“But we’ve got a solid team,” Miller points out, gesturing toward me. “And we’ve got O’Conner. Maybe she can do a split jersey like that one mom did whose sons went against each other in the Super Bowl.”

Olive smirks at me. “What do you think?”

I lock eyes with her. “I think your brother would have a lot of questions if you showed up with half of your outfit in our colors.”