Page 12 of The Wingman

“You okay?” Hayden smiles and arches a curious brow. The others have returned to their conversation, not paying attention to us.

“Fine.” My voice sounds high and weird, so I clear my throat again. “I can see it, you playing offense.”

He gives me a strange look. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

Hayden’s a big guy like the other defensemen, but there’s something about the way he plays—fluid and easy, like he’sfilling in the gaps on the ice—that makes me think he’s holding back. Like he’s playing for others but not himself.

My thoughts go to the analytical models I have saved on my laptop at home. A couple of years ago, I found a hockey analytics conference on YouTube. I watched video after video of people discussing how they use data and statistical analysis to find patterns and predict outcomes. This data helped the teams play better, recover from injuries faster, and score more goals.

I built my own models, just to see if I could. Unlike my boring day job, it was everything I loved about math in university: how it helps the world make sense, how you can practically predict the future by understanding the past.

I haven’t opened them in forever, but maybe I could use them to help Hayden.

I wave the thought away fast.

The Vancouver Storm have a whole coaching and training staff to help the players be their best. They don’t need some woman who likes to plug numbers into a program as a hobby getting involved.

There are consequences that come along with being wrong with this stuff. Shame aches behind my sternum. My mistakes can affect other people.

“Darcy?” Hayden studies my face with concern. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” I force a laugh, shoving away the memories from my first job out of school, the memories I thought I’d buried so well. I pull out my phone. “I’ve been reading about being a player.”

He gives me a wry smile, eyes twinkling under the bar lights. “Research? You did research?”

“Of course.” I give him aduhlook. “Do you even know me?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Okay, Andersen, what did you find?”

I pull up the bookmarked site. “How to Be a Player 101.”

CHAPTER 6

DARCY

“No.”Hayden laughs, peering over my shoulder at my phone screen. “This isn’t real.”

“It is. Just wait.” His fresh-out-of-the-shower scent washes over me, clean and sharp, and my stomach dips. “Rule number one: A player is always confident and chill.” I give a pointed look to Hayden beside me—stretched out with his toned arm across the top of the booth—and match his body language. He moves his arm away to give me space. I’m shorter than him, so I have to stretch to reach the top of the booth. It looks neither confident nor chill, but it makes Hayden laugh.

I tip my chin, give him a sleazy smile, and wink. “Hey, baby, how you doin’?”

He snorts. “You’re a natural.”

“Thank you.” I chuckle and turn back to my list. “Rule number two: Have a player-worthy pad. Leather couches and a big-screen TV will make women feel at home.” My expression turns dubious. “I don’t know if that’s true, but your apartment is nice.”

He wasn’t lying during his emergency phone call—he does live in the penthouse of his building in the Gastown neighborhood. It’s a loft-style apartment with brick accents, two-storywindows with a view of the North Shore, a sprawling kitchen, and a huge patio with a hot tub, covered seating area, and tons of greenery. It’s perfect for entertaining and hosting parties, and I’m sure it would impress any guy I go out with.

I picture bringing guys there after dates, though, and get a weird twinge in my stomach. Hayden’s my friend, and I dated Kit in front of him for years, so it shouldn’t matter, but putting the moves on a guy while Hayden’s in his bedroom, or worse,watching? That gives me thenofeeling.

“Ourapartment,” he says.

I give him a curious look. “Hmm?”

“You said ‘your apartment,’ but you live there now, too.” His mouth tips up. “That was the deal. You promised.”

Warmth settles in the middle of my chest. “You own it, though. And I don’t pay rent.”

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