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“Traffic can be a bitch,” Jack drawls, raising his hand to order a drink, and then he stiffens beside me.

I follow his line of vision and land on Archer. He’s standing next to Darcy as she sits at the bar. The Blades goalie is exactly like Jack was with me, the night I saw him again for the first time in a year. With his elbow resting on the top of the bar, Archer’s body is turned toward Darcy, studying her intently.

You’d have to be living under a rock not to know his reputation. If she has a pulse and is willing, he’ll likely leave with her—he’s that much of a fuckboy. I guess some could argue that’s exactly what he’s doing right now—making his move. But something tells me this is different. His eyes don’t lie.

“Leave them be,” I say, leaning down and kissing Jack’s shoulder.

Jack begins ordering from a server, requesting a soda for me.

Jenna taps her finger on the table, attracting my attention.He drove her here.

I’m no expert at lipreading, but I’m fairly sure that’s what she mouthed at me.

She has a boyfriend, I mouth back.

Jenna shrugs a casual shoulder in response.

From a stool at the end of the booth, Sawyer stares down into his half-full beer.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

Leaning back in the booth, Jack wraps his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side. “We got beaten down pretty good tonight. It affects us all differently.”

I don’t say anything since I’m not convinced that’s the truth. A captain is normally the person to lift their team after a bad performance and the first to celebrate a win. From what I’ve seen, he’s exactly the kind of leader who would do that. But the weight I see resting on his shoulders tonight feels way more than just the result of a game.

A cackle rings from the bar area, and I look up to see Darcy’s head thrown back in laughter, but no one responds, only a subtle smirk from Jenna.

A couple seconds pass between us all before Jenna breaks the short silence.

“I guess you got the email,” she asks, twisting her drink around on the table in front of her.

I take a sip of my soda. “What email?”

Her eyes flare wide. “Like, an hour ago. From head of team selection.” She reaches into her purse and fetches out her phone, tapping the screen a couple of times before clearing her throat.

“Dear Jenna, as you are aware, we are currently observing as many games as possible in preparation for our preliminary squad selection. This team will also play in a round of friendly matches, which will take place during the international break this February.”

Her eyes flick up to mine. “It is our intention to name a squad of twenty-six players in two weeks, and you and your club will benotified if you have been successful.. Please be advised that while the fixtures this winter are strictly friendlies, we anticipate the squad chosen to be similar for the World Cup this summer. Team cohesion and dynamics are a priority, and we want to ensure the selected players are given as much time together as possible. This is, of course, subject to unforeseen events. Kind regards,blah, blah, blah.”

She locks the screen on her phone, and I feel Jack’s hand squeeze my shoulder.

“Did you get the email, Kitten?”

“I haven’t checked my phone in several hours,” I reply, knowing I’ve been too distracted with hot sex in the back seat of his truck to think about anything else.

Reaching into my coat pocket, I quickly navigate to my emails and immediately land on the one Jenna just read aloud. My heart races in my chest as I check it over for any differences and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s the exact same.

“If I’m getting the same email as my established international teammate, that must be a good thing, right?” I tip my head up and look at Jack, then across at my friend.

“You were a shoo-in already.” He kisses the bridge of my nose.

“You think so?” I look at Jenna, excitement raising my voice to a squeak.

Grinning, she leans toward me on her forearms. “I know so.” She points at my phone as I tuck it back in my jacket. “They’re making it out like this is a new process or something, but I texted Hollie right after I got it. You weredelayed…” She pauses, and I flush at the memories of a half hour ago. “She said they did this the last time. The players they wanted were pretty much notified in the same way. It all tracks.”

“Oh my God.” Tears prick in the corners of my eyes as I let it sink in that perhaps my season is turning around. That maybe all the late-night training sessions and Chelsea Rayne Pilates are paying off.

“So fucking proud of you, Kitten.” Jack leans down and kissesthe side of my head. “If we don’t make the playoffs, then I’ll come with you to the World Cup in Brazil.”