Page 20 of Racing Heat

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“For someone who scored the lone goal tonight and kept us well within playoff berth, I would say you shouldn’t be this sad.”

She shakes her head. “There’s nothing wrong with my mood.”

“Do you need another shot?” I tease her.

“Might help,” she admits.

“I’m not sure August will buy another round for the bar.”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t buy me one, right?” She’s getting drunk on the alcohol, but I wish she was drunk on me.

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I lean in closer to her and whisper, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

She giggles and steps back so that I’m not so much in her space anymore. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“What type would do something like that?” I ask her.

“August.” She grins at me, nodding adamantly at her choice. “Hewould do something like that. You just seem too wholesome.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do. I had a whole other life across the pond.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” It’s her turn to lean into me now.

“No.” I smile. “That’s usually something I reserve for date-night conversation.”

“And this isn’t a date,” she reminds me.

“Oh, I know that. This isn’t the type of place I like to take my dates.”

“Where do you like to take them?”

“Out for a nice meal of fish and chips maybe. A nice pub where we can order a few pints and share war stories. Or if she’s feeling fancy, a nice dinner—have a steak with a nice bottle of wine.” I pause and take a swig of my beer.

“And share war stories,” she finishes for me.

“Exactly.”

Cassie laughs and I love the sound. It’s so light and happy. Almost sounds like a bell.

“Would someone like you enjoy a date like that?” I’m flirting. Asking dangerous questions, I have no business asking her, especially with the team, coaching staff, and one of the team’s owners standing around us. But the alcohol in my system has made me bold.

“Maybe. I’m a steak-and-wine kind of girl. Never really had fish and chips.”

“Well, we should fix that,” I tell her.

“Fix what?” Hendrix chooses that moment to come over and interrupt our private conversation. I take comfort in the fact that at least she’s smiling right now and not looking like someone kicked her kitten.

“Oh, she’s never had fish and chips.” I immediately dislike that she came over into our space.

Her brows are furrowed, and she keeps looking from Cassie to me like she thinks she stumbled onto something. And maybe she has. But I want to figure out what that is without her standing here.

“Yeah, I haven’t either,” she says. “He keeps saying he’s going to take me sometime. You should come along with us.”

I narrow my eyes, as if to ask her what she thinks she’s doing. But Hendrix actually has the gall to wink at me.

“That would be so much fun,” Cassie says. “I would love to.”