Page 19 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

They all turn to me and I’m grateful for the beard I’ve been able to grow since I was about thirteen. Otherwise, they’d see that my entire face is red. “It’s hard to say,” I hedge. “Had a lot of fun times. It was a really, really good break.”

“The fuck?” Ollie’s eyes are wide. “Pete Santos, you dirty dog. Who were you having the sex with?”

“Dude, you can’t just ask people who they’re fucking,” Deano scolds.

Ollie’s jaw hangs open. “Hold up, are you giving me manners advice? You were ten minutes late to my dinner party.”

“Dinner party?” Deano volleys back. “Are you sixty? And let me remind you again that all you did was order pizza.”

“You’re forgetting the chips,” Ollie reminds him, holding up his wounded middle finger, because of course that’s the one that was injured while he was performing the perilous chore of opening snack bags.

While they continue to bitch at each other, I notice Rosco’s eyes on me.

“What?” I ask, taking a sip of beer.

“You winced,” he says, like he’s got a witness on cross examination .

“What are you talking about?” I answer, playing dumb and hoping he skips to another line of questioning. Rosco’s headed to law school next year, and I have no doubt he’ll fit right in.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, calling me out and nailing it.

“Ollie brought Mickey up to speed and explained that Holland’s cookies were safe to eat.

And in response to Mickey’s comment that Holl hates me as much as Claire hates you, Ollie claimed that would be impossible.

And it would be. Holland doesn’t hate me, not in the least,” he says, reclining in his chair.

“And something tells me Claire doesn’t hate you as much as she pretends to. ”

“I’m pretty lovable,” I toss out, grabbing a cookie from the tray Holland made.

“That lottery is damn tough to win,” Rosco says, “especially if you’re not an athlete. But Claire got lucky. She earned a spot on the coveted marine bio trip. The same one you were on. Did you happen to run into each other while you were there?”

“Did Holland say something?” I ask, sounding desperate because that’s what I fucking am. I got back into town yesterday, and though Claire made it clear our enemies-with-benefits arrangement was temporary, I’ve been checking my phone like a fool to see if she messaged me.

She hasn’t.

It’s not surprising. She’s never been anything but straightforward with me, so I’m not sure what the hell I was expecting. That must be why I’m nearly frothing at the mouth to find out if Holland dropped any hints about Claire’s time in Florida.

“What would Holland say?” he asks, bringing me back to reality and sounding just like the lawyer he’s aspiring to be.

Fuck all this pretense. I have nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of. And Rosco knows something, that much is clear. I’m not sure if Holland tipped him off or if he’s just that good at picking up clues, but I’m not fooling him, so I’m done trying.

“Anything,” I answer. “Did she say anything at all about me? Or about Claire and me and what happened on the trip?”

This house has been a hive of activity all night. Between the weird noises upstairs, Mickey ranting and pacing in the front room, and Deano and Ollie bickering like an old married couple, I figured it was noisy enough to drown out any juicy bits of the conversation I’m having with Rosco.

Turns out I was wrong. Because, of course, the whole place went eerily silent the moment I asked Rosco what he knew about what happened between Claire and me when we were in Florida.

If Ollie was surprised to find out that sex was the highlight of my holiday break, he’s damn near poleaxed to discover that I was having it with Claire.

“Hol-y shit,” he crows, letting out a low whistle as Mickey strolls back in, slipping his phone in his pocket.

“Everything good with Birdie?” I ask. I know what it’s like when your siblings are going through shit, and you have to sit on the sidelines watching. It sucks to feel that powerless, so I want Mickey to know we’ve got his back.

He shrugs in response. “It’s not good, which is why I’m trying to convince her to move here for school. Living at home isn’t the best situation, and after all the shit that went down tonight, I might finally have her convinced. ”

“I hope it works out, man. I love having my brothers close by, even when we drive each other crazy.”

Ollie’s eyes are bugging out of his head. “Dude, yeah, whatever, Birdie can move in here for all I care. Santos just dropped a fucking bomb on us, and you missed it.”

Mickey fills his plate and turns to me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Ollie’s overreacting. I?—”

“He slept with Claire. They’re hatefucking.” Ollie interjects like it physically pained him to keep that information in his brain for more than thirty seconds.

“We’re not hatefucking,” I correct, but Ollie jumps the gun again and misconstrues my words.

“You’re lovefucking? Or just normal fucking? Is there a word for normal fucking?” he asks.

“Yeah. Fucking,” Deano answers.

“Right, right,” Ollie says, snapping his fingers. “All right, Pete, what’s the deal. I’m basically a love expert, so you can ask me anything.”

I open my mouth to decline Ollie’s offer as politely as possible, but the back door opens and JT steps into the kitchen.

Suddenly, speculation about my love life is forgotten as all eyes turn to JT.

Rumors have been flying around campus, but I don’t usually pay any attention to that shit.

But Ollie likes to be in the know. And he hates being the last to find out.

So, if the whispers are true, our goalie is about to have questions fired in his direction like pucks whizzing by at breakneck speed.

I feel bad for JT’s impending interrogation, but I can’t lie and say I’m not relieved the heat’s off me for the time being.

The truth is, I’m not sure what to do about Claire.

Our arrangement was temporary and she’s hardly part of my cheering section, so why does my mind keep reaching for thoughts of her?