Page 32 of Goal Line

So I’d need a lot more drinks than I’m planning to have tonight in order to break the third rule and open up about how I’mreallyfeeling.

“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I have a sports psychologist who is...perfect.”

I arch an eyebrow. I didn’t realize this was athingamong my teammates. “Yeah?”

“Zach recommended her earlier in the season, and meeting with her made a huge difference in my performance, as well as my ability to balance my personal life and hockey.”

Oh, so it’s the same person AJ suggested I talk to. I’m not sure it makes me any more eager to set up that initial meeting, but itisinteresting...especially because Drew almost never gets into fights anymore, after having a reputation as a brawler back in Denver. I wonder if it’s because he’s talking to this sports psychologist?

I’m considering whether I want to ask him more questions when the bartender walks up. “What can I get you guys?”

We both order for ourselves, before I ask, “Do you have any non-alcoholic drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing a menu from below the bar andpassing it over. “There’s a mocktail section on the back. I’ll give you a minute to look while I grab those other drinks.”

“Eva doesn’t drink?” Drew asks.

“She has to skate tomorrow morning, and she never drinks if she’s going to be skating.”

He huffs a laugh while I scan the menu. “Imagine if hockey players didn’t drink the night before a practice? We’d never go out.”

True. Our season is long, and we typically practice or have games six days a week. “Good thing you’re not a figure skater, then,” I say.

Not that Drew parties that much. From what I can tell, neither his fiancée, Audrey, nor her sister, Jules, ever have more than a couple of drinks. I think it’s some sort of a family thing, because on the occasions that their older brother Jameson is out with us, he always orders a scotch that he barely touches.

The bartender returns with our drinks, and I order Eva a virgin peach coconut margarita.

“You know her drink order?” Drew asks, side-eyeing me.

“Have you never had a best friend?” I ask and roll my eyes. Why wouldn’t I know my best friend’s favorite things?

“Uhhhhh...” Drew just trails off and looks away. “I guess not since I was a kid.”

“I know Eva as well as I know myself,” I tell him.Maybe better, actually.

I seem to have no problem delving into what makes her tick—every single thing she loves, the things she doesn’t like, her fears and her dreams. Why is it so difficult for me to dig that deeply within myself?

“That’s how I feel about Audrey,” he says and lifts his eyebrow again. “Yousureyou two are just friends?”

I give him a pointed look. “The fact that you can’t believe that I could be friends with a girl without trying to sleep with her says more about you than it does about me.”

That’s the type of thing I always say when the topic of my friendship with Eva comes up, but it’s also not true. I’d move our friendship across that line in a heartbeat, if that’s what she wanted.

Still, Icanandhavemaintained a platonic relationship with her my whole life and plan on continuing that trend moving forward.

“I wasn’t talking about trying to sleep with her,” Drew says. “I was talking about finding that person who makes you feelwhole.”

I press my lips together and remember how—only a few weeks ago—he and Colt gave McCabe similar advice about what it was like to be in love, while I sat by and pretended I had no clue what it felt like.

Slipping my card out of my wallet, I hand it to the bartender, asking him to keep a tab open for our table. Then I turn to Drew, determined to deflect his comment about Eva making me whole. Iknowit’s true, but he doesn’t need to.

“See, that’s the thing,” I say with a shrug and a smirk. “I alreadyamthe whole package.”

Chapter Fifteen

EVA

I’m chatting with Audrey, Jules, and their future sister-in-law, Lauren, who just showed up with their brother, Jameson, when I hear Drew and Luke laughing behind me. Then, Luke leans down and places a drink on the table in front of me. When I glance at him, questioning why he’s giving me a margarita, he whispers, “Virgin coconut peach margarita,” before pulling out his chair next to mine.