Page 30 of Her Goal
Mr. Smith harrumphs. “I thought it was just because she likes the way I make coffee. If you need coffee money?—”
Mrs. Smith shakes her head dolefully. “My poor, single daughter lives in a slum. You don’t belong there,mijita. We have to get you back to Cobbiton. Closer to home.” Her gaze slides to me, but not as if she only just noticed that I’m here, more like she’s making sure the wild animal has a slab of meat before entering the cage. “There he is.”
I brace myself.
Color that’s not from skating rises to Leah’s cheeks. “Are we really doing this?”
Her sister nods. “I’m afraid so.”
“Hunter!” Mrs. Smith exclaims.
“Actually—” I start to correct.
“Hudson,” Leah says to me or her mother, I’m not sure. If it’s to me, I get the sense she’s forbidding me from speaking. If she’s addressing her mother, it’s an understandable correction since we’re twins.
Valentina arches an eyebrow. “Oh, the rogue brother.”
“The rake,” Leah says.
“Rogues, rakes. What’s the difference?” her sister says as if there isn’t one.
Leah lifts a finger. “Actually?—”
Mrs. Smith laughs blithely. “Twin brothers. Same thing as far as I’m concerned. I could never tell you two apart.”
“That’s because you mostly saw Hunter. They’re quite distinct.” Leah cuts a glance at me.
Leaning on my stick, I lift my eyebrows, surprised she noticed.
Valentina tilts her head to the side. “On second glance, you’re right. Hunter was so scrawny. This one is definitely better looking. Not that I’ve seen Hunter in years.”
None of us have.
“Mmm. Those dark eyes,” Mrs. Smith says dreamily.
“And the chiseled jawline with a nice brush of stubble.” Valentina’s hand drifts to her chin, gaze so far away, she may as well be in another country. For all I know, my brother may be.
As if transfixed, they circle me slowly, looking me up and down. I half expect Mrs. Smith to ask to examine my teeth. That’s a story Leah can tell.
Valentina nods. “Tall.”
“Strong.” Mrs. Smith squeezes my biceps.
“Thick brown hair.”
“Dark eyelashes.”
They smile and nod in approval.
My ego enjoys this boost. However, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. He’s still hockey’s pretty boy, but this isn’t a dog show where you assess his pedigree.” Leah shoots me a dirty look.
We all turn to her.
Her cheeks match my Knights’ practice jersey. “What? It’s not just my opinion. Talk to his one-point-two-million social media followers. It’s safe to assume that not all of them are solely hockey fans.”
“Hudson fans,” Mrs. Smith says.
