Page 23

23

JAKE

“ W eren’t we supposed to take the kids to the diner for shakes after practice?”

I stole the puck from Trinsky and passed it to Eli, who sped away with one last glance over his shoulder as if worried Denver’s forward was about to come after him with guns blazing.

“Yep.” Trinsky slowed at center ice with his hands on his hips. “You jonesin’ for chocolate?”

“Chocolate peanut butter with chocolate chips.”

“Dude, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Right?” I brushed his shoulder, sliding my pinky finger along his. “Cradle the puck, Jensen. Don’t push it.”

We separated, cheering Eli’s goal and finding each other again when Dimistri, a D-man from Pittsburgh ran through a spiel about the defense’s breakdown.

“You’re killing me, Jakey,” he hummed, eyes on the teens a few feet away.

“Sorry. It’s your fault for not coming by last night.”

“Denny and Hank were at Annie’s and stopped by afterward. It felt like a hostage situation. I couldn’t leave without a good story, and I didn’t have one of those. I told you Annie’s on to me. And by the way, if you give me another hickey, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

I laughed aloud and all heads swiveled in our direction. I made up for it by slugging him in the arm, but it was a weak gesture. In fact, it was beginning to feel like the cat was out of the bag. Well, partially anyway.

Trinsky and I were friends—and after getting caught by Smitty and the kids, I’d officially given up the pretense. It was hard enough to keep my distance and not stare at his sexy body during camp time. I couldn’t do that and act like I hated him too. Yeah, there’d be no Oscar wins in my future.

“I’d love to see you try.” I checked the time, bumping his elbow. “See you at the diner.”

We took our skates off and waited for our campers in the lobby before trudging as a group a few blocks to the Elmwood Diner. We’d done this a few times. JC’s poutine and large shakes were a camp staple.

The teens gravitated toward the bigger booths, climbing over each other and squeezing in till they were packed like sweaty sardines. The coaches were a bit more civilized. Six of us sat two tables away from them, talking about a wide variety of important topics, like what those frozen flavored tubes that were popular when we were kids were called.

“Otter Pops,” Denny said, licking whipped cream off his shake.

Trinsky and I shared a clandestine look that could have become dangerous if his cell hadn’t buzzed and ruined the moment. He fished his phone from his pocket, the conversation continuing at the table without skipping a beat.

“Freeze Pops.”

“Ice Pops.”

“Fla-Vor-Ice,” I offered.

“What do you think, Trinsky?” Dimistri asked.

Trinsky glanced up from his cell distractedly. “Otter Pops. Don’t bug me. I’m workin’ here. My agent is finalizing my contract. I’m gonna need a milkshake selfie to celebrate.”

“I’ll take it and post it for you.” Dimistri eyed the college-aged women at the table in between ours and the boys and added, “Hashtag Trinsky’s milkshake brings the girls to the yard.”

We chuckled, but a minute later, the women descended on our table. It was harmless. The sort of flirtatious fan moment we dealt with regularly. These women weren’t locals, though, and they were very…enthusiastic.

“Can we bother you for a selfie?” A pretty brunet with a low-cut sundress put her hand on Trinsky’s arm.

“Yeah, no problem.” He stood and posed for a few pictures.

“You better ask Milligan too,” Nikitinova chimed in. “He will get jealous.”

“Oh, no. We can’t have that.” A blond with long, curly hair and red lipstick purred.

I assured them I wasn’t jealous in the slightest, but now the guys were fully invested in making me uncomfortable, and our teen charges were watching the show with envy as if they couldn’t imagine anything cooler than being pursued by a group of pretty women. And maybe they were on to something, but it didn’t feel so great to me.

It took me a second to realize that it wasn’t the women or our idiot friends egging them on. It was the knowledge that this was the real world seeping into our private oasis. This wasn’t a well-meaning family member accidentally intruding on a quiet dinner. These were strangers looking for access to celebrities. Like it or not, that was us.

The brunet fluttered her impossibly long lashes at Trinsky, and dragged long red fingernails over his inked biceps. Bile rose to my throat on cue.

It was madness. I had no right to be jealous. At all.

“Hey, Milligan, what do you say?”

I snapped out of my reverie with a cough. “About what?”

The blond smiled up at me. “We’re staying at the Black Horse Inn. Come by for a drink at the bar later.”

“I’ll give you my number,” the brunet said, pulling a pen from her purse. “Can I write it on your hand?”

Trinsky played along, waggling his brows as if that were a borderline X-rated suggestion. The table hooted, the girls laughed, the campers craned their necks to see what was going on, and me…I died a little inside.

Reality was coming for me and it was going to suck, big-time.