Page 34 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
Smoldering. I haven’t even had my coffee.
Instead of scowling, which I’d prefer, I lean against the rink boards. My smirk’s a littlecrooked—I can feel it—but it works. I know it works. That’s the problem. Clara squeals behind the lens like she’s directing a perfume commercial.
I blow out a breath through my nose and mutter, “I should be at the ranch.”
“What?” Clara calls, stepping in and adjusting my shoulders so I’m facing sideways.
“Nothing.”
I’d rather be wrangling Edgar the goat or sweeping out the barn at Happy Horizons. At least when the animals stare at you, it’s not because they want to follow you on social media. Ever since he hurt himself, Scotty has tasks for me—carry feed, fix a broken latch, hold a chicken that looks like it wants revenge for a crime I haven’t committed yet.
No cameras. No berets.
“You know,” Clara starts, and I’ve come to recognize that tone of voice. It means she’s going to try to convince me to do something I don’t want to do. “You’d really be great at the Drench for Defense event. A goalie getting soaked? Who wouldn’t love that?”
“Not a chance.” I appreciate that everyone is coming out of the woodwork with fundraising ideas, but I’ll sooner buy up all the cupcakes at the bake sale than let anyone show off my pecs for money.
“It’s for a great cause, and online they’d love?—”
“Mademoiselle Clara, it is a no.”
“Okay, okay,” Clara chips as she sets up the phone for another shot. “In that case, blow a kiss to the camera!” Clara chirps.
“Let me offer you something even better.” I grin a little to soften it, then give a wink instead. One wink. No more. Any more and I’ll need hazard pay.
“Very nice, Clément. So French.”
“Hey, Frenchie,” Cade calls from behind the benches. “Better pace yourself. Bachelor auction’s gonna need all the charm you’ve got.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s lounging like a man with too much energy and not enough supervision, tapping his stick against the bench in a slow rhythm.
“Not a chance I’m doing any auction,” I say immediately.
Cade grins. “Come on, man. You’re the star import. The ladies’ll lose their minds.”
“I am not for sale.”
“You’re not doing the Drench, so at least do the auction. It’s to raise money for the town.”
“Still not for sale.”
He laughs and tosses a puck into the air, catching it without looking. “Just imagine it—dim lights, dramatic music, and you strutting out like a Parisian James Bond. The crowd goes wild. Someone offers ten grand for a dinner date and a signed puck.”
“I love America,” I say. “But I cannot bring myself to do it.”
“You afraid no one’ll bid?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m afraid someonewill.”
That shuts him up for a second. Then he shrugs. “Fair.”
I tug the beret off and toss it gently onto the nearest folding chair. “Auctioning myself off like a steak at a butcher’s counter, that’s where I draw the line.”
“But you’ll wink at the camera?”
“Winking is free.”
Clara’s fussing with her phone, and Cade’s now ranking who’s going to fetch the most bids like it’s fantasy football. This is my chance to make a break for it.
