Page 81 of Her Goal
I wave my hand dismissively, not wanting to recount what happened in high school. “Also, can you really believe what a guy who insists you call him Carlos says?”
“Is that not his real name?” Delaney asks.
“It is, technically, Charles Carlos Smith, but we’ve always called him Chuck and he just wants to impress Marisol.”
“That reminds me, Valentina said you guys are getting married this month,” Margo says as if awaiting me to give her the okay to proceed with event planning.
“Don’t listen to anything anyone in my family tells you.” They’re well off the ranch at this point.
“Except that Carlos said that you and Robo were flirting,” Ella says.
Jaw set, I tell them that’s not true. “Plus, Hudson’s setting me up on dates with guys from his former teams.”
The girls fall quiet.
My stomach twists.
Then his words filter back to me …In that case, you’ll realize that I’m the one you want.
Then my stomach drops.
“So pause the wedding plans?” Delaney asks.
“I was already planning a black cat and golden hour theme.” Margo sounds despondent.
I don’t even listen for her to explain as I chomp down on my pretzel stick because I’m afraid to admit whathowI’m feeling means.
A few days later,as I get ready for my first date with Crew from Miami, I’m not sure why I agreed to this. I don’t want Hudson playing matchmaker, nor do I want to date any of these guys.
Yet, I’ve made it public knowledge that I’m on the prowl for a hockey player.
However, I was outside the locker room … waiting for him. Certainly not for Jack or Liam or any of the other guys, because most of them are in relationships. I could tell myself I was only there to chat with the girls, but I could’ve been upstairs helping Margo set up for the party.
The flutters in my stomach build and then disappear when I meet Crew outside, waiting for me on the sidewalk.
Yes, on Graves Street.
Is he insane? I mean, anyone would be crazy to mess with a hockey player, but I’ve seen wackier things in my neighborhood.
“Um, hi.”
“I’m Crew. Bro, are you Leah?”
My smile falters. “Um, yes. That’s me, Leah.”
He extends his hand, but not to shake. We slap palms and then he proceeds to try to do a choreographed combination of fist bumps, what looks like wiggly octopus fingers, elbow taps, and finger snaps.
He says, “Come on, bro. Dap me up.”
Considering we’re in a sketchy neighborhood with a local porch pirate gang, I don’t want anyone to think we’re trying to edge in on their territory, so I drop my hands to my sides.
“Um, we should get going.” I look around, but there’s no vehicle in sight. “If Larry is loose again, I’m calling his wife.It’s one thing to steal my car, but a neighborhood guest? Unacceptable.”
“Who’s Larry, bro?”
“The local car thief. He’s taken my Toyota three times.”
“Bro, that’s sketchy. Didn’t you go to the police?”
