Page 3 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Pete

I ’m a good guy. I’m not bragging. It’s just a fact. I’m honest to a fault. I’m loyal as they come. I’m a caring son and a dependable brother. No one on my hockey team has been arrested this year, and I shovel my neighbors’ sidewalks without ever being asked.

But somewhere in this life or a previous one, I must have fucked up royally. Otherwise, I wouldn’t deserve this kind of torture.

Claire Fowler always looks good. In sweats and a tee, she’s adorable. In jeans and a hoodie, she’s pretty as fuck. In a strapless cocktail dress at the hockey fundraiser this past fall, she was a goddamn vision.

But in a bikini?

I’m in danger of losing my mind. And it’s only day three.

It’s not like Claire is the only person here wearing a bathing suit.

Hell, we’re on the beach. But she’s the only one who has my attention, though that’s nothing new.

I’ve been captivated by Claire since the day we met, but the feeling isn’t mutual.

The woman hates me. Despises me. Glares lasers through my soul every time she sees me.

And I have no idea why.

I’ve racked my brain and my friends’ memories and none of us can recall any grave sin I committed against Claire.

The high today is only in the mid-70s, but we’re northerners, so it feels downright tropical. If the temp creeps any higher, I might just shuck my gray t-shirt and catch some rays.

Then again, I might not.

I don’t need another reason for Claire to think the worst of me.

And don’t give me all that body positivity stuff.

I am positive about my body. I’m strong as hell, faster than any guy my size has a right to be, and more agile than you’d think.

My body does its job and then some. But unless Claire has some penchant for dad bods or a secret fetish for chest hair, I doubt she’ll appreciate me putting myself on display.

The last thing I need is to see a look of utter disgust on her face when she glances in my direction. There’s already contempt, no need to add repulsion.

She keeps looking my way, though, almost as if I’m a venomous snake and she’s got to keep tabs on me so I can’t sneak up and strike when she least suspects it.

Claire doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me, and though I have no doubt her lithe, muscular form is far from weak, I can’t picture her tossing all two hundred and fifty pounds of me very far.

Before I can let my mind run away with an image of Claire with her hands on me—even if it is to haul my ass into the ocean—Kinsey, another assistant, comes to relieve me of my duties so I can take a lunch break .

“How’s it going, Pete?” she asks, beaming up at me as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Kinsey is one of those cute, pocket-sized girls. I’d crush her if I ever tried to hug her, not that I would. I don’t touch people without an express invitation.

Kinsey has no such qualms, though, since she latches onto my forearm while she awaits my answer. I’m guessing she’d rather grab my bicep, but it’s out of reach. Or maybe she’s got an arm thing.

“Pretty good,” I say, extricating myself from her light grip and taking a step back. “Thanks for switching me out. I’ll be back in thirty so you can relieve Tess.”

I reach for my water bottle, but sadly, my quest for hydration signals my downfall.

“Are you gonna party with us tonight, Pete?” she asks, her eyes wide. Is that supposed to be a cute thing? I think it is, but she just looks like one of those freaky cartoon characters. The effect is unsettling, especially when she starts batting her comically long eyelashes.

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “Might just catch up on sleep and turn in early tonight,” I say, clutching my water bottle, and turning to go.

A spray of sand hits my chest as she literally stomps her foot. Seriously, is she twelve? “Pete,” she whines, making my name sound like it’s got about nine syllables. “You have to come. I promise, you and me will have so much fun if you come out tonight.”

I’d correct her grammar, but I don’t want her to kick sand in my face. And I don’t want to keep this conversation going, so I offer a half-hearted shrug and duck out when students step up to our station to replenish their supplies.

There’s a pavilion about thirty yards away, so I head in that direction and toss my bag on one of the picnic tables.

I unpack the sandwiches and fruit I grabbed from the faculty lounge this morning, and dig in while scrolling through my phone.

Finding the text thread I want, I tap out a quick message.

Pete: How’s Ma?

Leo : She’s good. She’s working from home today.

Pete : Why?

Henry : Because we’re awesome and she can’t bear to be away from us.

Rolling my eyes at my youngest brother’s message, I take a bite of my sandwich and open my container of fruit salad.

Leo: There’s a flu bug going around her office, so she’s playing it safe and staying in. How’s sunny Florida?

Pete: Is she taking her meds?

Leo : Of course she is. Go enjoy the sunshine, you lucky bastard.

Henry : Tell him the truth, Leo. She hasn’t taken them in days. We sold them to the highest bidder. But the good news is, we got enough cash to join you on your vacation. Hope you’ve got bunk beds!

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a calming breath. People wonder how I can wrangle my teammates and never lose my temper. They marvel at the fact that I’m going to make a career out of teaching science to middle schoolers. They want to know where my patience comes from.

Henry Martin Santos.

That’s where.

My brothers and I follow the textbook definition of birth order. I’m the responsible one, the one who acts more like a dad than a brother. Leo is the consummate middle child. He’s the voice of reason and the mediator. And Henry? He’s the baby. The charmer. The jokester .

He’s always cracking one-liners or spinning tales. It annoys the shit out of me, to be honest, but he makes Ma laugh, and she needs that, so I settle for giving him side-eyes and noogies at every opportunity.

Henry : You still there, big guy? You didn’t stroke out on us, did you?

Leo : Nice going, Hen. He’s probably boarding a plane as I type.

Pete : I’m still here. Leo, you’ve got practice tonight while Gram has card club, right? Is Mrs. Saltzman coming over?

Leo: Yep.

Pete : Good. Hen, how’s French? Did you catch up on your missing work?

Henry : Nah. But my tutor’s hot. We’re probly gonna run off to Paris and elope. So I won’t need the credit because I’m dropping out. On the plus side, I bet I’ll learn French when I live in France.

Pete : At least you’ve got a plan. Tell Ma and Gram I love them and I’ll call tonight.

Leo : Dude. We got this. Just go have fun. Or swim with manatees or whatever.

Pete: I’ll call tonight.

The boys don’t respond, and that’s fine.

I know they get pissed at me because I hover, but I won’t apologize for that.

Over the last several years, I’ve watched Ma go through hell.

She was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was even younger than Henry is now.

Dad left about six months later, and I became the unofficial head of the family.

It’s a role I don’t take lightly. So yeah, I micromanage and piss my brothers off, but if they knew how close we came to losing Ma back then, or even last fall when her cancer returned, they’d cut me a little slack.

I feel a headache coming on, so I chug some water and check the time. I’ve got eight minutes left on my break, so I pull up my contacts and make a call.

Van answers on the second ring.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” my best friend asks.

“Can’t complain. It’s sunny and warm and I’m getting paid to play in the water. Life could definitely be worse. How about you?”

He knows what I’m asking. I want to know if he’s seen another doc or if there’s been any change in his prognosis.

Life can be pretty fucking unfair sometimes.

That’s a fact I know well. Just over a month ago, Van was getting looks from scouts and planning for a future in the NHL.

In a split second, everything changed. A dirty hit shattered his knee and the career he had his heart set on.

“Surgery’s scheduled for the week after next. But I’m good. I’ve got the world’s best nurse taking care of me.”

“Tell Josie I say hi.”

“Will do. She’s in the shower now. We had a… um… I mean, I had a PT session, and?—”

“Anyway,” I interrupt, cutting him off. I’m damn glad Van and Josie sorted their shit out.

They’re two of my favorite people in the world and there’s no doubt they belong together.

But I don’t need to hear about their exercise regimen, or whatever they’re calling it.

It’s bad enough that in a few weeks when Van and I are back at school and living in the hockey house, I’ll have to hear whatever it is they’re up to because the walls are so damn thin.

That alone will be torturous enough. No need to start now.

Van just laughs as I gather up my trash and toss my containers back in my bag so I can re-use them tomorrow.

“Got any big plans for tonight?” he asks. “Half the baseball team is on your trip, right? You know Lanza’s probably got a freaking bar set up in his dorm room. ”

Technically, we’re on a dry campus and it’s a school-sponsored trip, so drinking is forbidden.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t done. I’ve never taken this course as a student, but this is my third time being here as a research assistant.

I’ve got to keep my nose clean, which means I steer clear of the shenanigans a lot of the students get up to.

“Half of freaking Jock Block is here,” I tell him, referencing the nickname we have for Thurston Street.

“The year I went, it was like freaking Greek Week.”

“Oh, yeah. The Sig Delts are here in full force. One of them tried to climb me like a tree to get me to come to their impromptu mixer tonight.” I say, casting a glance at my station as I head back to the beach.

“Hell, yeah, man. Let loose and have a little fun,” Van says.

I know he means well, and even I can admit that I could do with a little relaxation, but spending any more time in the presence of Kinsey the foot-stomper is not on my list of fun things to do.

“So nice of you to join us.”

I’ve got my ear to my phone, but I know Van’s not the one talking to me.

Dropping my bag onto the sand, I turn to see Claire Fowler skewering me with her fiery gaze.

If I meet her eyes head on, there’s a fair chance she’ll turn me to stone.

That’s why I let my eyes wander down every curve of her body.

Yeah, that’s totally why. It’s self-preservation.

“My deepest apologies for taking a lunch break,” I deadpan.

For half a second, I think she might apologize or at least concede that I have the right to sustenance. But just as quickly as that flash of humanity descended, it’s gone. And in its place is the shield I know all too well .

“While you were on your break, your little girlfriend decided to sunbathe. But there’s too much shade here, so she wandered off in search of the best place to tan.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I stammer, because for some strange reason, that’s the only part of her rant that my brain latches onto.

“Ok, your fuckbuddy. I don’t care what you call?—”

“Don’t have one of those, either,” I say, cutting her off.

I know I’m fixating on a detail that’s not remotely important, but I can’t worry about that now.

What I need to worry about is where the hell Kinsey traipsed off to.

Dammit. Why couldn’t she sit still and, I don’t know, do her job for half a freaking hour?

I scan the beach for a good minute, but Kinsey is nowhere in sight.

“She’s at the pool.”

Claire’s voice cuts through my internal rant. “Kinsey is?” I ask, knowing the answer before I even finish the question.

“If clingy koala-girl goes by the name Kinsey, then yeah,” Claire affirms.

“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing the tablet from the table and cursing again when I realize she didn’t even bother to collect any data.

“Don’t you guys get paid for this?” Claire asks. “Or are you all volunteers?”

I shake my head. “It’s basically a paid internship,” I tell her before stalking away to check in on the various groups Kinsey left behind.

I know I’m being uncharacteristically rude.

I know it’s not Claire’s fault that my co-worker ditched her shift to get some rays.

Claire Fowler may have been the bearer of bad news, but she wasn’t the cause of it, so I have no right to be curt with her.

But, dammit, she pushes every one of my buttons. And that’s some bullshit, because I’m famous for being buttonless. I mean it. My cool is legendary. My patience is endless. I teach middle schoolers, for shit’s sake. When it comes to dealing with attitude, I’m a pro.

But when it comes to dealing with my attraction to Claire, I’m a fucking novice.