Page 11 of Goalie Lessons

“You’re qualified.” Sloane smiles and drops her sunglasses down again. “And besides, it would be an important job. There’s this guy on the team—I guess his best friend died a few months ago? We had no idea. But apparently, he’s taking in these two little girls.”

“Taking in?”

“Like, his best friend died in a plane crash. Whole family was on that vacation, coming home in that plane, and he was listed as a godfather, so he can take them. But that’s a lot, you know? So, wouldn’t it be good to have someone on the staff who can be there for the guys to go to? I have this idea that if it was more like a trainer, and less of this stigmatized thing, that some of the older guys on the team might be more likely to take it seriously.”

“Who is it?”

“Who is who?” Sloane’s face is tipped up to the sky, golden hair trailing in the water.

“The player? Adopting the kids?”

“Oh.” Sloane takes a sip of her drink. “I think you danced with him at the wedding, actually. Grayson O’Connor? He’s the goalie. Nice guy, really quiet. Luca and Callum were telling me he’d been doing really well this summer for training and stuff. I hope this whole situation doesn’t mess with him too much.”

“Huh.”

Sloane keeps going, talking about all this money the Frost has, now that they’ve locked down a wealthy investor, and how that money would help her expand the positions and support for the players. But I’m only half paying attention. Because most of my focus is faced backward. Thinking about Grayson O’Connor at that wedding. How there was something different about him. How my gaze just kept snapping back to him wherever he was.

How I’d quickly picked up my things and darted out of the guest room at the moment he fell asleep, far too embarrassed to stay after what happened.

“Oh mygod,” Sloane says, breaking me out my memories. This time, she actually moves too quickly, and her soda sloshes into the pool. “What are you thinking about? What is that look on your face?”

She’s known me for over eight years. Of course she sees the look on my face, and of course she can read into it perfectly. I’m great at hiding from everyone else—Sloane, not so much.

“There’s no look,” I say, desperately trying to school my features. The way I change my expression might actually make me lookmoresuspicious.

“No—oh my god, what is it? Did something happen while you were dancing with Grayson? At the wedding?”

I was there when Sloane switched her major to journalism, and I remember thinking that was the perfect choice for her. Now, leaning forward, looking at me, she has that hungry I-want-the-scoop look on her face.

After that night, I decided I’d keep this firmly to myself. Telling even Sloane felt grimy, like a kind of gossip I wasn’t interested in. Grayson was sweet and gentle. Kind and alluring. What happened may have been his fault, but it didn’t make him a bad person, and talking shit about him felt like a low blow.

I bring my drink to my mouth, giving myself more time to think. The straw makes a noisy sucking sound at the bottom of the nearly empty glass.

“Just tell me,” Sloane pleads, grabbing my floaty and pulling me toward her roughly so they bounce off one another, creating ripples in the water. “Please, Astrid, whatever it is—I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

I blink at her, raise my eyebrows, and she mimes zipping her lips—something so cartoonish that only Sloane could pull it off without looking ridiculous.

“Okay,” I sigh, letting out a long breath of air. “Nothing happened while we were dancing.”

“Then…oh my god, Astrid.No. Are you serious?”

Sloane lets out a string of long giggles, bouncing a bit, her golden curls jostling over her shoulders. It should be annoying, the fact that she still acts like this, even though we’re nearing thirty, but there’s something weirdly comforting about it, knowing Sloane is the same as she’s ever been.

“I…am. Serious.”

“When? Tell me all the details.”

“After your send-off, I went back to my room—”

“No, wait—I mean, like, I didn’t even see you interacting! It was just the dance, right?”

“I mean.” I clear my throat, looking up at the blue sky for help, realizing how weird this sounds. “It was like, there was some…connection between us. Like I couldn’t stop looking at him all night, and he couldn’t stop looking at me.”

“And when you went back to your room?”

“He was waiting for me.”

“Holyshit,” Sloane says, fanning herself. “That’shot. I didn’t know Grayson O’Connor had it in him!”

---