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I didn’t even know the exact numbers, but I’m not surprised she does. “His stats are impressive,” I admit, guiding her toward the table. “He’ll be in the top one hundred best defensemen of all time before he retires.”

She nods. “No doubt.” Her lips kick up mischievously. “Of course, he’ll be after Sebastian.”

I chuckle. “Of course,” I appease her.

When we get to the booth, everybody quiets down. “Boys,” I greet, keeping my hand on the small of Olive’s back. I can tell she’s buzzing with anticipation, which makes me smile to myself. “This is Olive. Olive, the boys.”

“You not going to introduce us to your friend?” Moskins asks, grinning.

“Trust me, you don’t need to be introduced,” I inform him, gesturing for Miller to scoot in to make room for Olive and me.

She glances at the booth with her bottom lip between her top two teeth, then the rest of the guys briefly, before choosing to take the only seat left at the end of the table.

She pays me no attention when I slide into the spot next to Miller, choosing to address Moskins instead.

“You’re a right wing with a pretty impressive PPG over the past two seasons.

I’ll give you that. What is it now? A one-point-one-nine? ”

His brows go up, and that slick grin that he shoots women quirks up the corners of his mouth. I’m tempted to slap it off him. “Someone did their homework before coming here.”

Olive sits back in her chair. “I didn’t need to. And I wouldn’t get too high and mighty, those kind of stats wouldn’t even make you top five. Maybe the top ten.”

His eyes narrow. “You know someone better in the NHL right now?”

“Bodhi Hoffman has a one-point-four-eight points per game average over his last season alone,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “ He’s in the top five.”

As much as I hate hearing Hoffman’s name, it’s humorous to see Moskins’ reaction.

“You do realize they’re saying I’m one of the best shots in the league, right?” he asks her defensively.

Olive shrugs like she doesn’t really care. She probably doesn’t, either. To her, stats are stats. “I think you’re a good player, so I’m not shocked they’re saying that.”

Clarkson smacks Moskin’s back. “You can’t have every woman fawning over you, dude. Sometimes you need to give your ego a break so other guys can get a chance.”

A few of the guys snicker.

He grumbles under his breath, finishing the rest of the beer in front of him. “Hoffman ain’t that impressive. More people talk about his looks than his slap shot.”

Olive appeases him. “You’re not wrong. He’s always been more of a wrist shot kind of guy.”

Miller snorts at the comeback.

Moskins clenches his glass. “You would know that intimate information, wouldn’t you?”

Clarkson clears his throat. “Enough.”

Before the right wing can speak up, I say, “I don’t want to hit anyone tonight, Moskins, so be careful what your next words are going to be.”

Thankfully, he chooses to close his mouth.

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’s your gimmick?” 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.”

Something in her eyes dims.

“I take it Henderson doesn’t like knowing his sister is rooting for another team?” Miller guesses.

Olive is quiet.

“He doesn’t know?” Clarkson asks.

Moskins laughs. “That’s gold. He’s about to have one hell of a reality check then.”

I turn toward him. “She’ll tell him when she’s ready. It’s none of your goddamn business one way or another.”

He holds his hands up. “You two are in public. You really think people aren’t going to post about that? You’ve never been seen with anybody, and now you’re out and about parading her around. What do you think is going to happen?”

My jaw gets tight.

Olive puts a palm on my arm. “It’s not the end of the world.”

I don’t listen to her. “If you make it a point to get this out there, I’ll make your life hell, Moskins.”

Clarkson swipes a hand down his face. “We don’t need to throw threats around. Nobody here is going to say anything. Right, Moskins?”

Moskins stays silent.

“ Right ?” the captain repeats.

The right wing’s nostrils flare. “Fine.”

I don’t buy it for a second. “Everybody deserves to have their privacy. I’ve always thought that. I may not be any of your best friends, but we are a team. And Clarkson seems to think that means staying loyal to each other. That deserves some respect if nothing else.”

Moskins counters my point. “But she’s not part of the team. She’s got ties with one of our biggest competitors. We don’t have to trust her.”

“She’s not your competitor. She’s a person,” I state, feeling the tension grow thick in the lounge. “And she’s somebody I care about. If you knew anything about respecting women, you’d know that I’m not asking you for anything big.”

Clarkson cusses under his breath. “Let’s take a breather. We’re all good here.”

“Are we?” Moskins questions. “Because it sounds like he’s taking a dig at me.”

It’s Miller who chimes in. “You sort of started it, bro.”

He gets shot a daggered glare from Moskins before the person in question turns back to me. “I don’t get whatever this is, but I’ll play along if you want to act like being part of this team means something to you. But that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

We’re all silent.

Olive squirms in her seat, glancing between me and Moskins.

Nelson is the first one to break the silence. “I need a refill.”

A few of the guys murmur in agreement.

I put my hand on Olive’s leg under the table.

She puts her hand on top of mine.

We share a look.

But the dim remains in her eyes.