Page 47 of Trick Shot (Bainbridge Hockey #4)

Claire

“ W ait, are you serious?” I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed while Pete is sprawled out next to me.

“I’m totally serious. I’m not telling Kersey that his girlfriend might be cheating on him.”

And then, like he didn’t just say the dumbest-ass thing in the world, he picks up his fucking coffee and takes a sip. My mouth would be agape right now, but I have a clay mask on my face, so my range of motion is limited.

I lean over my boyfriend and the action makes my nipples graze his stomach. But now is not the time for me to remember how sexy he is. I have more important things to do.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sniffing your coffee,” I say, although it should be obvious. I’m holding the cup to my nose and breathing in the scent.

“Why?”

“For paint thinner. Or some hallucinogen that’s been slipped into your drink and is making you think that keeping this information from Kaden is the right thing to do.

Pete’s not even smiling at me. His expression is neutral. “It is the right thing, Claire. I’ve known Kersey since I was a kid. He’s a little different, yeah, but he’s like family to me. This is going to destroy him, and I won’t be part of that.”

It takes me a minute to formulate my words because whatthehell ?

We didn’t talk about the situation when we got home from the game last night because we had better things to do, but now I think it’s something we need to address.

“We’re just the messengers, Pete. Yes, this information may hurt him, but he’s being hurt right now, and he doesn’t even know it.

Look, maybe there’s a totally plausible explanation for why Sophie’s freaking underwear and jersey were not on her body.

And why she didn’t show up to the celebration until it was time to leave.

For Kersey’s sake, I hope there is. But the fact is that he deserves to know. Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Pete sighs. “Kersey and I are totally different people. Trust me, this will make him doom spiral. He’s completely devoted to her, and it doesn’t matter that none of us really get what he sees in her.

And maybe she’s not the most likable person, but he likes her.

Hell, he loves her. And that’s enough for me. ”

I literally don’t understand what is happening right now. It’s like Pete and I are watching the same movie but seeing different plots.

“So, you’re just going to be in his wedding this summer? Stand up at the altar like you don’t know what you know, and?—”

“We don’t actually know she’s cheating on him,” Pete says.

I don’t let his interruption slow me down at all. “And then, when it all comes crashing down, you’re just going to act surprised?”

“I’m not destroying his entire world on a suspicion, Claire. I’ve got enough going on in my own life that I don’t need to wreck anybody else’s. He’s happy right now, and if there’s one thing the past few years have taught me, it’s to hold on to happiness when you have it.”

His words take the temperature in the room down by about two degrees. He must feel it, too, because he blows out a breath. “Look, I don’t want to fight about this. I just want to spend the morning with you. Can we agree to disagree?”

I nod, because I can’t think of anything else to say. I don’t want to fight, either, but Pete’s response doesn’t make any sense to me. Still, I want to spend the morning with him, too, so I hop off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s time to take my mask off. And then I thought maybe I’d hop in the shower.” My smile is playful because we don’t have much time together, and I don’t want to spend it arguing.

He smiles back at me. “Huh. I have to shower this morning, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, peeling off my t-shirt and tossing it in the hamper. Well, it was Pete’s t-shirt, but it’s mine now.

He’s off the bed and out of his boxers in record time. And when we get in the shower and he gets on his knees for me, I forget we were ever arguing at all.

Just twenty-four more hours, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I have one more day in wine country and then I can head back home to Bainbridge and go back to my normal, everyday life—a life that does not involve hearing Sophie Robbins’s personal philosophy on everything from the joys of fasting to the dangers of sunscreen.

I may not survive the next twenty-four hours.

Leslie and Garrett have given me great feedback on the articles I sent them, but they wanted something new, something fresh. So, when I pitched the idea of doing a girls’ weekend on a college budget, they jumped on it.

I invited Holland and the rest of the crew, and that included Sophie. I didn’t think she’d actually come, though, because she rarely hangs out with the rest of the girls.

She seemed disinterested at first, but as soon as she saw where we were going, she was in. Josie was excited, too, but then she realized Iris had a ballet recital. Annabelle’s in rehearsal, Mel’s at work, and Maggie’s about nine million months pregnant.

So it’s just the three of us.

Holland and I had so much fun planning this trip, and Sophie has managed to find something wrong with everything single thing we’ve done.

The winery was too crowded. The farmer’s market smelled like a farm, and the charcuterie board class led to a twenty-minute lecture about the evils of pasteurization.

Take right now, for instance. It’s a warm April day and the sun is shining.

We’re at an outdoor café drinking iced coffee.

Some people might compare this to heaven, but not Sophie.

She forgot her sunglasses and she swears the barista snuck sugar into her latte, even though we all watched him remake it twice and there was no sleight of hand or magical sugar fairy involved.

To my credit, I haven’t even brought up her underwear. Not once. Not even when we passed a lingerie shop.

I still think Kersey deserves to know something’s up, but he’s like family to Pete, and I don’t want to disturb that relationship, especially not when what I have with Pete is so new and going so well.

His mom’s surgery is scheduled for next week, just two days before he leaves for the national tournament. Thankfully, it’s in DC this year, so he won’t be far. And besides, Leo, Henry, Gramma Dottie, and I can hold down the fort.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“No, sorry,” I say to Sophie. “I was thinking about my to-do list next week. What were you saying?”

“I’m skipping dinner tonight. The place you picked is Italian, and I don’t eat pasta.”

“Okay,” I say, not bothering to point out that there are loads of non-pasta options on the menu.

“We can find a new restaurant, if you want,” Holland says, rubbing her temples. She must be as sick of Sophie as I am, but she’s much better at masking her emotions.

Sophie waves off the suggestion. “It’s fine. I’ve eaten enough processed food to last me a month since I’ve been with you two.”

I take another sip of my drink to keep my mouth from saying something nasty. Just twenty-four more fucking hours, I remind myself.

We finish our snacks and head back to the inn.

I’m looking forward to an evening with just Holland, but when I step out of the shower and into our bedroom, I realize plans might have changed.

My bestie is curled up in bed with a box of tissues on her lap.

Her nose is red, her eyes are heavy, and she looks miserable.

“Oh, no. Did the little germ-mongers get to you?” I ask. Holland’s student teaching in an elementary school right now and the place is basically a Petri dish.

“Yes,” she says, blowing her nose. “I started to feel crummy this morning, and it just keeps getting worse. ”

“Do you want tea? I think I saw a pharmacy in town. They might still be open. Should I?—”

Her arm darts out from under the covers and reaches over to her nightstand. “I have some cold and flu meds in my makeup bag. I might want tea later, but right now, I just want to sleep.”

“Done,” I say, grabbing my bag and turning out the light. I’ll have my phone on if you need me, okay?”

A muffled groan is the only response I get, so I head back into the bathroom to slip on sweats and a tee.

“You’re going out to dinner in that?” Sophie asks, her nose wrinkled as she leans over the vanity to plug in her straightener.

“Holland doesn’t feel great, so we’re staying in. What are you up to tonight?”

She smooths some product into her hair and combs it through. “There’s an art exhibit at the university. I’m meeting some friends there. It’s sold out or else I’d invite you along.”

No, she wouldn’t. And if she did, I’d decline. But we both smile politely at each other while Sophie sprays her hair.

“Have fun,” I call as she leaves. She doesn’t even bother replying and that’s fine with me.

I open my laptop and start working on notes for the article.

An hour later, I’ve made decent progress when I hear my phone buzz.

I’m hoping it’s Pete because we haven’t talked all day, but when I pick up my phone, the screen is empty.

My phone’s fully charged, and it’s saying I have no messages.

I hear another buzz, but my phone is silent.

I’m not quite sure what’s happening, but when I stand up and shake my blanket out, I see a phone wedged in the couch cushions .

It’s not Holland’s phone because I saw it charging on the nightstand.

And my phone is in my hand. When I free it from the cushions, I recognize the glittery case, and I’m not surprised that it’s Sophie’s.

I am surprised by the messages I find there.

In hindsight, I could have done a lot of things when I found Sophie’s phone. I could have left it there. I could have put it on the counter for her to find when she got home. I could have texted Pete and let him know what was happening.

But I didn’t. I acted on instinct.

After checking on Holland, I slipped on my sneakers and got in the car. Using the address I found in the thread, I made it to Woodcock University in under twenty minutes. But I didn’t go to the “sold out” show at the art museum to return Sophie’s phone.

I drove to the hockey arena on the edge of campus. Why? Because that’s where Assistant Coach Dan Silva’s office is.

And according to these texts, that’s where Sophie is tonight.

It’s also where I am. Sort of.

Sophie and Dan are in his office.

I’m in the closet in his office.

And okay, I know that’s bad.

In fact, it’s worse than bad, believe me. But those messages creeped me the hell out. Something is up with Dan Silva, and I had to investigate.

It would have been a lot easier to take screenshots, but then I wouldn’t have the pleasant experience of listening to Sophie and Dan have sex while I’m stuck in a hockey storage closet eight feet away.

Months ago, Pete told me that the stink of a hockey bag is unlike any other foul smell, and he was not wrong.

This is torture. The sex noises and funky stench are bad enough, but the secrets Woodcock has been keeping are even worse.

I knew something was off. I could sense it. But I had no idea it would go this far.

A glance at my phone tells me I’ve been in here an hour already. And they arrived a few minutes later, which is the only reason I ducked into the closet.

When I hear words instead of moans, I start tuning in again.

“I’m not doing this again, Dan.”

“You say that every time, Soph, and yet, here you are again.”

“Don’t be an ass. Sometimes I feel like the only reason you’re with me is for the information I’m giving you.”

“Aw, Soph, you know that’s not true.”

I can’t see this guy, but he sounds like a weasel. When I hear his next words, I know I’m right.

“Besides, the info you’ve given me lately has been shit.”

I brace myself for the shrill tone in Sophie’s voice, because I’ve heard it all day and I know it’s coming.

“Are you for real? My intel is shitty? What about the game Bainbridge lost. The one I knew Kaden would play in before anyone else knew? That little tip made you tons of money. Maybe I should start asking for my cut.”

“You’re wearing it. Christ, the amount of money I spend on you every month rivals my mortgage.”

“If that’s how you feel,” Sophie says, and I swear I can see her pouting, “then maybe it’s time for our little arrangement to end. ”

When I hear the slam of a door followed by Silva’s voice, I know that’s my cue. About two seconds after he’s out of the room, I make my escape.

If all that wasn’t bad enough, now I have another problem

What do I do with the information I have?