Page 12 of Rookie Season
“Oh. Um, I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” I start.
“I’ll say,” Noah says, rolling his eyes before he stalks out of the room.
I watch him go, trying not to think too much about how tense his shoulder muscles are.
“Taco?” Fisher asks me, ripping open the bag and smiling like that whole showdown didn’t just take place.
“I thought you guys were going to be out late?” I ask, accepting a taco from him because I’m starving and they smell delicious.
“We felt bad we weren’t here to welcome you and help you move your stuff in, so we wrapped up our night early and came home.”
His comment catches me by surprise, and I’m a little mortified to feel my eyes burning at the thought of these two big hulking hockey players giving up their potential hookups for the night to be here with me.
“Thank you,” I say softly. I’m touched. And also grateful, because being here alone all evening with Noah after what just happened—what I justsaw—would be…a little weird.
“I don’t think your friend Noah’s very happy I’m here,” I add cautiously, but Fisher just shakes his head.
“Nah, that’s just Downsby. He’ll take a minute to process it, then he’ll get over it. Right, Matthews?”
“Right,” Penn, who’s now lying on the couch with Harry on his chest as he flips through TV channels, agrees. “He’ll be fine, Ally.”
“Allegra,” I correct automatically. My only nickname has ever been “Legs,” a stupid moniker my Uncle Liam saddled me with when I was about three that unfortunately stuck.
“Nah, I like Ally,” Penn says with a devious grin. “Downsby can keep calling youMissAlly, though.”
“I agree,” Fisher pipes up. “Allegra’s so long and fancy, it reminds me of my first name.”
“What, you don’t love the name Archibald?” I tease, because I’m not going to lie, I don’t hate Ally at all. Plus, fresh start and all that.
Fisher throws a corn chip at me.
“Ally it is then,” I say with a laugh, suddenly feeling like I’ve walked right into a real-life episode ofNew Girl.
Complete with a hot, grumpy roommate that I absolutely cannot and will not ever imagine naked again.
CHAPTER 6
NOAH
Striding into the Lions’arena for my first NHL game has me alive with nervous anticipation. I’m wearing a new custom suit, made for me by some designer I’ve never heard of but Fisher raved about. And I gotta admit, he was right about splurging out on a great suit, because I feel pretty damn good in this getup. It’s black with white pin stripes and a simple white dress shirt beneath it with a turquoise tie that matches the turquoise in our jerseys.
I’ve got my pregame drink order in hand, a dirty chai latte, and cameras from the Lions media team click wildly as I walk down the long hallway that leads to our dressing room. Penn is on my left, also dressed to the nines thanks to Fisher’s suit guy, and Fisher is on my right. As he passes one of the cameras, he winks and does a finger gun.
I ignore him and walk faster so I’m not in a photo with him acting like a dumbass.
When we arrive inside the dressing room, we change quickly into our gear and head out onto the ice for warmups. Sandine and Carver have left me alone so far, thank goodness. After the last few days, I’m not sure I could handlemore stress. First the nepo baby thing, then finding out I’m living with a womananda cat.
I woke up yesterday morning to find Ally padding barefoot towards the bathroom that I guess we now share, beating me to the shower. She was wearing some ridiculous pink silky pajama shorts and a camisole that sent me running in the opposite direction. I ended up spending most of the day at the iceplex, then worked out to waste more time, and then had dinner at Mitch and Andie’s house…all to avoid Ally. And Harry. I hate cats. The loft was perfect until two nights ago.
But when I skate onto the ice, my whole body relaxes. No place feels like home quite like the ice does. I’ve felt that way ever since losing my parents back in fifth grade. The cold iceplex and the swish of my skates was my solace then, and it still is.
I skate in a few circles in our zone before dropping down and stretching my hip flexors. I spot Penn and Fisher shooting pucks at the goalie, which he blocks deftly, and end my stretching. When I make it to the guys, the goalie skates out of the net and starts his own stretching routine.
Penn smiles as he looks around in awe. “Our first NHL game; can you believe we’re actually here?”
We’ve been dreaming about this day since our first practice together in college.
“Wild, right?” I grab a puck with my stick and line it up to shoot into the empty net. Right as I pull my arm back to send it, Fisher’s booming voice nearly breaks my ear drums.
