All of us turn and look at the sliding door to the deck, where Astrid—Sloane’s best friend—and Grayson O’Connor—our goalie—are stepping through, wearing their swimsuits. Astrid looks at us all curiously, while Grayson is still trying to get the sliding door shut behind them.
“Astrid!” Sloane calls. “Come get in the pool,please!”
“Luca is still obsessing over that new strategist,” Cal says to Grayson, who looks at me with a little more deference. I’ve got a few years on the guy, and he respects my position as captain, unlike my best friend.
“What’s wrong with her?” Grayson asks. “She seems pretty nice.”
Astrid slides into the pool while Sloane yells, “No! Don’t ask him that!”
But it’s too late—I’m already fixing him with a look. “What’s wrong with her? Probably nothing. But there is alotwrong with the circumstances of her being hired. No online qualifications. Other than this story about working with the FBI, no history. Nothing online about her, a hometown, where she came from—nothing. How do we even know that she’s telling the truth about the FBI thing? And I heard that she’s on parole.”
“I mean, Vic hired her, right? So she’s probably fine. And she told me she watched one of our games from last year,” Grayson says, setting down his towel on a lounger and heading for the pool. “Asked me if I was experiencing any mental health problems. She seems pretty perceptive. Maybe she’ll be good in the role.”
Last season, he’d fostered two girls after his best friend died. It seriously weighed on him, and his performance suffered. I would never tell him as much, but it definitely had something to do with us not coming home with the Stanley Cup. The two girls just went back to live with their biological aunt less than a month ago.
“Sure,” I mutter, rolling my eyes when Sloane makes a gesture at me like,see? Wren knows what she’s doing!“No offense, Grayson, but a monkey could watch the games from last year and pick up on your anxiety. That does not make her some sort of genius.”
“Here’s my take,brother,” Sloane says, standing in the middle of the pool and cupping water in her hands. “You arethreatenedby her.”
“Threatened?” I scoff, shaking my head. “She’s like, barely five feet tall.”
“One, she’s definitely taller than that—you’re just physically freaky. And two, I don’t mean that she’s going to beat you up. I mean you don’t like people sayingshe’ssmart because it threatensyoursmarts.”
My eyebrows are so high I worry they might disappear into my hairline.
Sloane turns to Astrid, whose short black hair is also now plastered to her head. “Astrid, do you concur?”
“Sure, seems solid to me.”
Sloane looks back to me with an expression that saysSee? doctorate in psychology agrees with me.
“I am not threatened—” I start, prepared to keep listing out the things about Wren that are putting me on edge. But once more the sliding door opens, and I stop.
When I turn, I expect it to be Maverick Hawkins and Ruby, his wife. Maverick might actually be on my side with this—he’s theonly other person who might be as guarded and suspicious as me, with the stuff he’s gone through.
But it’s neither Maverick nor Ruby.
It’s a woman in a little red bikini, holding a tote bag on her elbow, her strawberry blonde hair twisted up into a knot on the top of her head. Her long, tanned legs shimmer in the sun like she’s rubbed herself in glitter. She’s wearing white sandals, and her toenails are painted pink.
Wren holds herself like she doesn’t care who looks. Like she wants everyone looking at her. My eyes travel of their own accord, taking in the smooth slope of her neck, the little dip of her clavicle, the little bows on her bikini top, the gem sparkling in her belly button.
Too late, I realize I’m staring and rip my gaze away.
“Wren!” Sloane calls, splashing a bit and waving her over. “You made it! Please tell me you’re interested in playing mermaids with me.”
“Not hard to miss a house like this,” Wren says. Although her eyes don’t cut to me, I feel her recognition in the way she gives me a wide berth, moving to the other side of the pool to set her things down. “And that depends—what kind of lore are we working on? I’mnotgood at holding my breath.”
I fight for Sloane’s attention while Wren turns, shrugging off her loose, open cover up. Once Sloane’s eyes meet mine, I make a face at her that saysYou traitor.
Sloane makes a face back that says,Stop being weird!
“I should probably get the meat going,” Cal says, clearing his throat and getting to his feet. I glance between him and my sister—as much as I want to stay here and keep an eye on Wren, I also want a second to talk to Cal privately.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, getting to my feet and following him inside. The air conditioning swallows us up, sending goose bumps over my skin, and I lean against the counter as he starts to pull meat from the fridge.
“Are you going to start talking about Wren again?”
I glance over my shoulder to make sure the sliding door is firmly shut. “I know you guys think its overkill, but I’m telling you there’s something off about her. It wasn’t just thatnothingcame up, man, there was this weird headline—”
