Page 91 of The One Night Dash
“Thinking you’d better find a different coffee place if you expect him ever to notice another woman when that poor bastard thought he had a shot.” I lean over and whisper, “He knows better now.”
“Oh yeah?” she says with a little shiver.
“You and I, we were meant for each other, just took us both some time to get on the same page.”
By the timeI hit the training facility, my head’s clearer, body ready to burn. The gym smells like rubber mats and sweat, the clang of weights and hum of treadmills filling the air.
“Look who finally crawled outta Pembrooke’s bed,” Killer calls from across the room, smirking as he racks his barbell.
Faulker grins, wiping his face with a towel. “Man’s glowing. Don’t even deny it.”
I roll my eyes and step onto a treadmill. “You assholes ever get tired of talking about my personal life?”
“No,” they say in unison, like a damn choir.
They give me shit through circuits, but it’s not mean. Every jab is laced with approval. Every smirk says the same thing: they’re all in on Team Noelle.
Between sets, Killer elbows me. “Paul’s been bragging again. Says that hat trick was inspired by him.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Inspired by him, huh? It was more about making sure Coach D remembered I was a team player and not a loose cannon. However, he can certainly claim it. Why not? He was my hero.”
“Good man.” Koa nods. “Real good man.”
“Moretti, you good?” I ask.
He lifts a chin as he walks toward the exit. “Time to lace up.”
I look at the guys. “What’s up with him?”
All of them answer, “Claudia.”
I’ve been out of the loop for like a week, and we now have a Claudia and Moretti situation?
By scrimmage time,the rink hums with energy. Laces tight, sweat dripping, I push through drills until my lungs burn and my legs scream. This is the part I live for—the blur of the puck, the cut of blades, the smack of stick on ice.
We’re cooling down after a hard set when Moretti skates into the huddle, grinning like he’s deranged.
“Got an announcement,” he says, puffing out his chest.
“Jesus, here we go,” Killer mutters under his breath.
“I’m gonna ask Claudia to marry me.”
They all go silent.
Me? I choke out. “The hell you just say? You’re not even dating.”
“Don’t act like you know everything. Just because I haven’t acted like a love-struck puppy doesn’t mean that we’re not”—he pauses and swallows hard—“madly in love.”
“Not yucking your yum, man. Claudia’s hot as fuck and smart, too. But you do know that means the dick Costello let go of, dude who hates you is her baby daddy?” Killer asks the question we all didn’t even think to ask, but he’s not wrong.
“Daddy would mean he even gave a shit about Savannah before he got engaged to the owner of LA’s daughter.”
I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m piecing things together from a conversation we had a couple of months ago when we played LA at home. Claudia’s baby daddy, an ex-Bear’s goalie, showed up at Icehouse after we crushed them, and all hell broke loose outside when the girls stopped in for Nalani to reclaim her man, Koa.
Claudia had brought Savannah to the game, and they were waiting in Sofie’s SUV. We made our exit with them before the police arrived and we all got in trouble. This was also the day I met Paul Bronski, but I digress. The point? Deacon knew Claudia before that night. Had actually warned her about Dingy. A warning she didn’t heed, because she was a graduate student and heading back West. It wasn’t serious. She did reach out when she found out she was pregnant but told him that she didn’t expect anything. He opted out. Kid’s close to a year-old now, and he starts pulling shit when she’s got a good job and life here.
“You’ll be a great stepdad to Savannah, not like mine was.” I pat him on the shoulder.
