Page 68 of Center Ice
“Are you sure”—his gaze flicks back to the neonCity Polesign hanging above the door I just walked out of—“you weren’t at your weekly dance class?”
Even the cold wind that whips through at that moment can’t stop the full-on flush that creeps across my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure he just watched me walk out of there, and the sign—with its electric blue pole and red high heel—leaves no room for interpretation.
He gives me his trademark smirk as his eyes continue to assess me. “I think you do. And I think you want to tell me about it, but you’re not sure how I’ll react.”
“I think I just want you to mind your own business.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, wishing I could just melt into the sidewalk so we didn’t have to have this conversation.
He steps in so close that I have to tilt my head up to see him. “Youaremy business, Audrey. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move forward here.”
I open my mouth to respond, but pause when I hear, “Jenkins,” yelled at the top of some guy’s lungs from behind me.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing this is about to get awkward.
“It’s Colt. I’m meeting him for dinner.”
“Shit.” The word comes out on an exhale, and I look over my shoulder to see Colt barreling toward us. “Hey, Colt!” I callout, plastering a smile across my face and hoping that acting like my brother’s best friend seeing me and Drew together isn’t a big deal. And then I realize that it isn’t, because I already told Jameson, who probably told Colt.
Colt pauses mid-step, clearly surprised to see me talking to Drew on the street. Then his face goes hard as he looks at Drew. Okay, so Jameson hasn’t told him.
“Audrey,” he says with a small nod as he stops next to us.
“Good to see you. Okay, gotta run. Jules is at home with Graham, and I told her I’d be back as soon as I finished my errands.”
Colt’s lips press together like he’s trying to hide a smirk. “Tell her I said hi.”
“Why? You trying to piss her off?” Jules and Colt have a tumultuous relationship, where he’s always egging her on, trying to get a rise out of her. It was funny when she was a kid, but now it just annoys her, and by extension, everyone else.
“Always. We still doing Halloween, like usual? Or are we moving it to Jameson and Lauren’s this year?”
“Hmmm, we haven’t talked about it yet,” I say, wondering why Jameson hasn’t brought it up. Halloween is always the holiday he made the biggest deal out of. He loved to decorate the outside of our brownstone with enormous cobwebs and huge, fuzzy spiders. On the day itself, he’d usually stay home so he could sit on the front steps and pass out candy, while Jules and I took Graham out trick-or-treating.
Then a few years ago, Graham wanted to be Woody fromA Toy Storyfor Halloween, and he insisted that Colt be Buzz Lightyear. Luckily, Colt’s pretty much an overgrown kid and thought it was a great idea. And he’s come trick-or-treating with us every year since.
“Okay,” Colt says, “well, keep me posted.” Then he turns to Drew. “You ready for dinner?”
“Yeah,” he says, then glances at me. “Good seeing you.”
“You too,” I say, then head off down the street toward the parking lot, feeling like I dodged a bullet by not having to finish that conversation with Drew. For now.
And when I turn the corner, I glance over my shoulder, and Colt and Drew haven’t moved an inch. Instead, they look like they’re engaged in a pretty heated debate, which doesn’t bode well for Drew if he’s trying to build a good relationship with his new teammates.
Chapter Thirty
DREW
“Just let me explain when we get inside. It’s cold as balls out here,” I say to Colt when he finishes his inquisition about what part of ‘stay away from Flynn’s sisters’ I didn’t get.
“Never understood that phrase.” He shakes his head, his sandy blonde hair blowing around in the breeze. “Areyourballs cold? Because mine sure as hell aren’t.”
I snort out a laugh and shake my head. “Are these the ponderings that keep you up at night?” Colt’s a good guy, but he can be kind of an oaf sometimes.
“Not exactly,” he says, and starts walking toward the restaurant, which is only a few doors down from where I now know Audrey takes pole dancing classes. I can’t fucking wait to hear more about that.
The restaurant is stuffy and warm when we come in from the cold, and I’m so busy taking off my jacket as the hostess leads us toward the back corner of the restaurant that I don’t notice a table full of my teammates until we’re right in front of them.
“What the hell are you all doing here?” I ask as I slide into the round booth next to my team captain.
