Page 74 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
I want to be somewhere else,anywhereelse. On the ice. In the bathroom, fixing a leaky faucet. At a DMV line that stretchesto the next town.
Ms. Thompkins’ voice booms. “Who would like to spend a couple of hours with Jackson?”
Jackson gives a little wave, does the required turn, and stands like he’s waiting to be knighted.
I lean back against the wall and sigh. I could have volunteered to work the bar. Serve drinks. Wash dishes. Maybe host a charcuterie workshop—something that aligns with my skill set.
Instead, I let peer pressure and a moment of ill-advised confidence talk me intothis.
Meanwhile, I let Marcy believe I wasn’t going to do it, and I will never forget that look on her face when Jamie blurted it out. She was hurt.
Jackson’s bid climbs steadily. There’s a shout from a woman in a sequined denim jacket and an expression of deeply committed fandom.
The next thing I know, Jackson’s turn is over and I don’t know who won him.
“Next up!” Ashlyn calls. “Cade Lennox!”
Cade jogs out, charming and polished. The crowd surges again.
I stare at the floor and wonder if I can use my migraine situation as an excuse, but I’m not ready for that truth to be out there.
I could tell them I’ve come down with an acute case of cultural misalignment. That much would be true. But then Maple Falls would miss out on making that extra money and I’d be labeled as the guy who didn’t play well with others.
Instead, I adjust my cuffs, breathe, and I pray that when it’s my turn, I can walk out there like it means nothing. It really is nothing, because there’s only one woman I want.
One woman who isn’t even in the crowd.
The lights go bright again as Cade walks offstage, red-faced but grinning like he just won a prize and not the other way around.
“Next up, our Euro export!” Ashlyn crows from the mic.
“Can I fake a cupcake emergency?” I mutter, hoping that the guys around me think it’s a joke.
“Go on,” Weston says, nudging me with his elbow. “Flash those smoldering eyes. You’re about to make more money for this town than the firemen calendar and the PTA bake sale combined.”
Asher smirks. “With that accent and your whole brooding don’t-wanna-be-here energy, the women out there are about to lose their collective minds.”
I grimace. “I am not brooding.”
Lucian raises a brow. “You literally just said you might fake a cupcake-related injury to avoid going onstage.”
“I was joking.” I wasn’t.
He adjusts his sleeves and leans in. “If you’re lucky, it’s the accountant who’ll bid highest.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
Lucian grins. “Marcy. Saw her out there.”
My pulse kicks harder. “She’s here?”
“Yup. Back right. I spotted her when the lights went up for Cade. Arms crossed. Eyes locked on the stage like she was trying not to enjoy herself. But I’d bet you anything, she’s not here for the cupcakes.”
My mouth is dry. My brain's scrambling for meaning. If she came…
Before I can even think, someone behind me claps me on the back—maybe Weston again, maybe Asher—and says, “Go knock ’em dead, Frenchie.”
Ashlyn’s voice booms out, “He’s gota heart of gold, hands of steel, and an accent you’ll want to put on toast…Maple Falls, don’t hold back—here comes your oh-la-la!”
