Page 39 of Her Goal
Whatever tension stretched taut between us slackens and we all laugh the way guys do, clink our drinks, and then discuss hockey.
They seem unfazed as a woman who introduces herself as Aunt Nelly bustles around in her apron and hands out pigs in a blanket, claiming they’reChaud Chien. I’m not French, but I’m pretty sure that meanshot dog. A trio of Leah’s female cousins, who look to still be in high school, move as a mob and pass every sixty seconds before erupting into giggles. Tweens Maxy,Sammy, and Timmy challenge Jack and me to a match and stand nearby, plotting their plays.
My thoughts drift to the conversation about Hunter. Even though he broke Leah’s heart, which hurts mine to think about, she’s better off without him. We all are. The guy is a liar and a thief. Last I knew, he was in jail, but he probably charmed his way out of the clink.
From nearby, I overhear a woman saying, “So you’re giving a hockey player figure skating lessons.”
Leah’s unmistakable smoky, sultry voice reaches my ears. “Unfortunately.”
Ouch.
“I hear he’s hot,” her companion says.
A smirk buds on my lips. I can’t argue with that.
“Depends on how you define hot,” Leah replies.
Double ouch.
“Tall, well built, big hands, refined features, striking eyes,” the woman coos.
“Sounds like you’re describing half the team.”
Leah’s on guard.Why?The lively party atmosphere, where everyone is yukking it up or kicking up their heels, makes me feel at ease. I don’t sense tension or family drama at all, but what has her on edge?
She snorts. “More like three-quarters. All of which are taken.” Leah lists off the couples, which narrows down the possibilities of who she’s talking to since she’d also have to be single. Then again, she has at least five hundred cousins in attendance—at least it seems that way.
I’d turn around but am curious to hear more of their conversation sinceI’mthe hockey player getting figure skating lessons.
Leah’s companion says, “I thought you were desperate for a hockey player.”
“I’m not desperate. Just available. Looking. I wouldn’t object, mostly for practical purposes. I’m tall, so it helps that they’re generally considerably taller. Also, since hockey is a big part of my life, it just makes sense.”
“I would do almost anything for your height,” the other woman says.
“Trust me, it’s overrated.”
Is Leah insecure about her stature?
“How about a guy from another team?” the other woman asks.
“That would mean leaving Cobbiton.”
Why does she like it here so much?
The woman sounds excited when she says, “What about not a hockey player, but a fan?”
“I like what I like.”
But she doesn’t like me. That much is obvious. I’m not entirely convinced it’s because of Hunter. She was quick to come to his defense the other day. What did I ever do to her? Maybe she’s made me the scapegoat, placing her pain from what Hunter did onto me? But she’s smart, insightful, and mature. I doubt she’d do something like that.
Her companion sighs. “Hockey players are nice to look at. All big and brawny out there with sticks and stuff, fighting. It’s pretty manly.”
Leah says, “They’re barbarians.”
Dipping out of the conversation with the guys, I turn slowly around, making my presence known.
Leah wears dark jeans with boots that hit just below her knees and a butternut squash-colored sweater. Her hair is straight tonight with a slight wave around the contours of her face.
