Page 15 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“Sorry Trev, Alvarez is saving that seat for Declan,” she says with the sweetest, fakest smile I’ve ever seen on her lips. Still sputtering, Alvarez nods. He’s my favorite teammate.

“You can’t save seats. That’s not fair,” Carter protests.

“You know that’s bullshit. You save a seat for Stone whenever he has a new game downloaded you want to play,” Brick says from right in front of me. Shoving Carter past the empty seat, she turns back to give me a wink. She’s my favorite teammate too.

I hand Miranda her purse and sit next to Alvarez. His dark brown eyes are twinkling as he tilts his cookie bag toward me.

“Thanks.” I grab a peanut butter chocolate chip.

“You’re welcome.”

The cookie is huge. I break it in half and reach across the aisle to offer half to Miranda. I know she loves chocolate and peanut butter together.

“Ooh, yeah, thanks.” She takes the cookie, breaks her half in two, offers a piece to Daphne, then leans forward to see past me. “Thanks, Alvarez.” She turns her smile to me next. “You’re spoiling me today, Dec. Rearranging my office, the tea, now a cookie. How are you going to top this?”

Her gray eyes are sparkling, and I sit there, grinning like an idiot, looking at her like a lovesick fool.

Alvarez nudges me as the bus pulls away to start the twenty-minute trip to the airport. I realize Miranda is waiting for an answer to her question.

“I’ll think of something,” I say. Brilliant. I’m a fricking wordsmith.

“I washed your thermos,” Miranda says, nudging her backpack with her foot. “It’s packed in there, I’ll give it to you when we get to the hotel. Thanks for the tea. It was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. Why did you drink the coffee at breakfast? You shuddered each time you took a sip.”

Miranda’s beautiful face flushes. She leans across the aisle and whispers.

“I didn’t want to be rude by saying no. I want them to like me.”

Is she truly worried someone is going to dislike her because she turns down a cup of coffee? Her earnest expression and the way she bites her lip, probably in anxiety, says she is.

I reach across and put my hand on her arm. I hear an ooh come from the rear of the bus but ignore it. Miranda glances that way, but I give her arm a light squeeze to call her attention back to me.

“Ignore them,” I murmur.

Alvarez talks loudly to Daphne, and Logan joins in, to bury our conversation among the other noise. I’m lucky to have good friends like this.

“You don’t have to change who you are to get people to like you,” I say. “You’re wonderful the way you are. Stone is a good guy. He was teasing me about the tea. It’s a joke between us. He doesn’t care if you prefer tea or coffee. He was being friendly and wanted you to feel welcome.”

She nods and sits back in her seat. I reluctantly remove my hand from her arm. Daphne meets my eyes and gives me a subtle brow raise. She’s telling me to cool it. Bedard has started a joke I’m a mind reader, and I play it off. I’m not telepathic, like they think I am, but I am intuitive and pick up on the surrounding vibes. Being this into Miranda and being obvious is going to put a ton of attention on her. I can’t do that to her. It’s my job to protect her, even from myself.

Alvarez and I spend the rest of the ride talking about the Spokane Sasquatch we will play tomorrow night. Since we play the same position, we share info on what we’ve noticed in the game films we’ve studied.

“Their first right wing, Ollie King, is strong on the face-offs. Their best. Great on the power play too,” Alvarez says. “We will need to neutralize him.”

The bus pulls into the airport and stops near the hangar for our chartered jet. I’m glad we travel in style. I know not all teams have it this good.

We spill out of the bus and walk through the building to cross the tarmac to our jet. Daphne joins us as we walk through the building to cross the tarmac to our jet.

“Ugh, baby brain. You got everything to the jet company with your passport, right Randi? I know it’s a domestic flight, but since you’re Irish and this is the first flight you’re on, I want to make sure you’re clear to fly.”

“I have dual citizenship,” Miranda says, “and fly on a US passport. I’m good.”

“You are?” I ask.

“Yeah, my father is American, but lived in Ireland long enough to pick up the accent. When he’s in the US, he sounds like he’s from wherever he is. Boston, Chicago, Kentucky, you’d swear he was a native. He probably has a North Jersey accent now.”

“I never knew that,” I said. “I didn’t have a reason to, I guess, but I always assumed he was Irish.”

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