Page 45 of The Puckable Playbook

He pulls out his phone, taps it a few times, and then brings up a picture of the four of us yelling. I have the most ferocious look on my face.

I cringe. “Tell me not everyone has seen that picture.”

“My parents took it. They were sitting a few rows ahead of you guys, and no, I won’t tell you that I sent this to the team group chat.”

My stomach squeezes. “You didn’t…”

“I did.” He grins, and he has a charm about him because I really want to throw up right now, but he’s making me feel better about it. “It was too good to pass up. Plus, it was nice seeing someone in the stands other than family.”

I rub my temples, still staring at me in my open-mouthed, God-knows-what-I-was-screaming glory. “Glad to be of service.”

“Is that you, Len?”

I sit straighter, my elbow slamming down on the table. Clark’s holding two cups of coffee and peering at the picture.

Zaiah’s teammate stands. “I take it this is your seat?”

Clark laughs, still peering at the picture. “You look ridiculous.”

Zaiah’s teammate gives him a funny look. “It was all in good fun.”

“Who are the others? Is that your family?”

I stare at him, sure I’ve mentioned before that it’s only me and my dad, which would mean this obviously couldn’t be my family. But it’s okay. He can’t be expected to remember every little thing about me. “No, that’s Zaiah’s sister and parents.”

“Oh, jeez.”

My stomach twists. Zaiah’s teammate is still giving Clark some major side-eye and shuts the screen off, finally taking the picture away. He steps out of Clark’s path, his look frosty. “See you later, Len.”

“Yeah, later.”

Clark offers me a cup, and I wrap my hands around it, watching Zaiah’s teammate leave the café. I’ve only been Zaiah’s roommate for a few days and the hockey team already knows me. Wonderful.

Clark shakes his head, then takes a sip.

“What?” I ask.

“You don’t seem the type.”

I’m sure I should come back with something flirtatious, but my mind is stuck ontypeand won’t move on.

I can’t do anything right. Not studious enough for Clark. Not pretty enough for Zaiah. Not thatthatmatters now.

When am I ever going to be enough just the way I am?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Zaiah

The clangof sticks reverberates around the rink. I stand from the bench and knock my own against the sidewall while my team scrimmages. Luckily, the rib pain is nearly healed thanks to Len. The trainer should okay me to come back to practice in a couple of days. If they don’t, I’ll revolt.

Adam skates up to the bench and stops quick, sending ice shards flying my way. “Dick.” I give him the universal sign for what I think of that move, and he laughs it off before throwing his legs over the wall during a line change.

He takes off his helmet and shakes his head, his sweaty hair moving with his momentum. “You seem pissed.”

“Just want to get back out there,” I answer, staring longingly at my teammate handling the puck.

He shrugs. “That’s not all.”

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