I grit my teeth. It’s the same dang jacket as Renthrow and Theilan’s. What is she talking about?
REBEL:I think April has an extra Chance McLanely sweatshirt I can borrow.
Oh-ho. This woman is about to make me lose my mind.
Tired of the back and forth texting, I call Rebel directly.
She answers in a sultry voice, “Hey, Gunner. You still haven’t told me which outfit you prefer.”
“I’ll tell you in person,” I growl.
There’s a beat of silence. I can imagine her eyes widening and then narrowing as she tries to get in front of whatever I’m planning.
“Shouldn’t you be at the stadium early for warm-up?” Her voice cracks at the end of the statement, betraying her nerves.
“I’ll swing by on my way.”
“Y-you don’t need to?—”
“I can’t tell if those outfits look good or not from a picture. I need to see it in person.”
“Wait, Gunner…”
“I’ll see you in ten.” I hang up, zip my gym bag closed and gallop down the stairs.
Mom is in the kitchen, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. My instinct is to blow past her and jump right into my car, but I slow down instead.
“I’m heading to the stadium now,” I announce.
“Okay,” she says with an exaggerated sigh.
“Make sure you bundle up tonight.”
“Mm-hm.” She continues stirring the pot lethargically.
I tap my finger on the granite countertop, nod my goodbye and head outside.
Mom’s affronted stare lasers into my back as I open the front door. I can tell she wants me to stick around and sooth her ruffled feathers.
Any other day and I would, just to be respectful.
But a very frustrating blonde—the most frustrating blonde in the universe actually—is waiting for me. Probably nothappilywaiting, but so what? Rebel knew what she was doing when she sent me those pictures.
On the drive over to her place, Rebel calls my phone, but I don’t pick up. I’ll see her in a few moments anyway and she can say whatever she wants to my face.
The sun is beginning to set as I find a parking spot in front of the realtor’s office. Rebel’s place is one of the three units on the second floor.
I grab the jacket I brought from home and head up there.
My boots pound up the stairs and I’m barely winded by the time I stop in front of her apartment and knock.
The door swings open as if she’d been waiting for me. She’s changed out of the bathrobe and is now wearing a pink T-shirt, pink shorts and fuzzy pink slippers.
“I can’t believe you drove all the way here,” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m going with a regular, non-hockey-themed jacket tonight. That’s what I was calling to tell you before you raced over for nothing.”
I take her hand and jerk her into the narrow hallway with me.
The door slams shut behind her.
