Page 53 of The Roommate Game

“Thanks. I wish we could have sneaked in another couple of goals.”

“You and me both, but we had a great run. The best we’ve had in many years.”

And I’d been around for six of them.

I smiled wanly. “Yeah.”

“This probably isn’t a great time, but I heard you’ve been in touch with Coach Finley at the high school. He contacted me the other day for a referral, says you’re his number one candidate to take the assistant coaching gig.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and incidentally, the referral is a formality. He wants you, and I think you’d do a damn fine job. Are you serious about coaching? I seem to recall something about law school.”

“Law school isn’t for me,” I said diplomatically.

“But coaching a slew of hormonal hockey hopefuls is?”

“I think it would be cool. And I think I’d be pretty good at it.”

Coach’s once-over had an edge to it. “You’d be damn good, and they’d be lucky to have you.”

I did a double take. “I…thanks.”

“There’s a reason you’ve been captain for the past few years, Langley. You might not be the fastest skater, the highest scorer, or the best on defense, but you excel at making others believe that they might be. That’s a talent. The fact that you love the game too makes you a natural. With a little experience at the high school under your belt, you’d be a shoo-in on my staff. Hell, you might even take my job one day.”

We chuckled as if sharing a joke, but my head was reeling. First of all, Coach was stingy with praise. He didn’t bullshit or placate. If he believed in me, he meant it, and the part of me that had been busy mending broken pieces really fucking needed to hear that someone I respected thought I had potential.

I immediately thought of Rafe and turned to seek him out in the crowd as Coach drifted off to speak to Ty and Walker. There he was…in the corner—with Eli.

Brady bumped my elbow just then, snatching my Coke from my hand and replacing it with a beer. “Drink up, buttercup. This piss water will have to do till we break out the tequila. Party at your house, right?”

I set the beer on a nearby table, pulling Brady in for a sideways bro hug before he could protest and ruffled his hair. I’d found the art of diversion worked to keep my friends from hounding me about my puzzling new lack of interest in partying.

“It’s your turn to host.”

Brady pushed me away, brows furrowed indignantly as he smoothed his hair into place. “We have an apartment, you have a house. C’mon, I’ll help get the word out and?—”

“Not tonight.” I checked the corner again and stepped away.

Brady grabbed my arm. “Whoa. You’re seeing someone, huh?”

“Am I?”

“Who is she?” He scanned the restaurant.

“Bye, Brade.”

“Gimme a hint,” he cajoled.

“Text me. I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

Okay, that was a lie. Didn’t care.

I made a beeline for Rafe and Eli, and made a point of giving the pinky bandit a slightly hostile once-over. “Eli. How’s it goin’?”

“Great. Congrats on your season.” His smile was pleasant enough, but his lazy hand on Rafe’s waist made me want to knock his teeth out.

“Thanks. Hey, I need to grab my roomie for a sec. ’Scuse us.”