Page 92 of Jaded

“You certainly got the word out about the first Dingoes–Ice Out interaction.” His brows curve upwards as he drives another point home. Okay,yes, but . . .

“It blew up on social media,” I say, correcting him again. “I got lucky. I don’t know anything about who actually skates there.”

“Then maybe”—Coach’s gaze slides back towards me—“you should ask Mr. Taylor for recommendations.”

“What—”

Coach snorts. “Please. He’s been skating in that bullshit since it started.”

That one I can’t refute.

“He knows where to get the invites,” Coach continues, like I’m not struggling to formulate coherent thoughts. “Bet he’d know who to give them to, too.”

I grit my teeth together, trying to tread water against this tidal wave. “He doesn’t know who people are!”

“He doesn’t need to, does he?” Coach shrugs, already walking away. “I just need to know the number on the shirt.”

He’s gone before I can find the words to formulate a protest. So then I’m standing by myself, reeling. Because how the hell . . .

I slump back against my truck. Stare out over the empty parking lot—the rest of the team sure seems eager to get home.

But I’m not.

Why would I be? No part of me wants to sit alone in my house, trapped with my thoughts, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to handle this whole open-tryout thing. You know, in order to save this team and my career.

My grasp on positivity feels suddenly precarious. How easy it would be to slip and fall into darkness.

Maybe I’ll take myself on a nice long, snowy hike. That always helps me think. Or see if they’ve opened the ski lifts yet, snowshoe up if they haven’t. Or maybe . . .

But I don’t want to be alone. That’s the bottom line.

I lean against the back of the truck, and I do something that is maybe dumb or brilliant or who even knows anymore ’cause my brain’s rolling around way too fast.

My phone rings against my ear.

“Olli?” Nat’s voice on the other end registers definite surprise. Oh, probably because who the hellcallsanybody anymore? What am I, eighty?

“Wanna go for a hike?” The words tumble out of my mouth and plunk onto the sidewalk at my feet. Welp, no going back now.

“A hike?” The confusion in his voice deepens, but it’s tinged with something else—amusement? “Oh, the one where we’re not sure if you’re gonna kill me or kiss me against a tree?”

“Yes, that one.” I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning like the stupid idiot I am. “Nature helps me think.”

“Well, that’s a new one.”

“C’mon, what else you got to do? There’s no practice—” I wince. Because I’m implying that the team, his job, is all he’s got, when I know for a fact it’s not. “Bring the kids!”

“You want to go on a hike with two teenagers?”

I shrug even though he can’t see it. The wind’s starting to pick up, sending a sheet of icy air straight through my light jacket. “Sure. I mean, it might protect you from being kissed or killed?”

He laughs. “I’d hope. But you never know.”

“I am rather devious.” But he’s right—it does kind of save me the effort of having to think about whether it would be appropriate to pin him to a tree, and you know. Kiss him.

“Bring them,” I say, so bold, so self-assured.

And that’s how I wind up in the snowy woods, miles outside of town, with two cranky city slickers. And Sydney. Trying to explain how Coach and I are supposed to be saving this team with some half-baked idea . . .

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