Page 11 of Forecheck
I sighed and put it away again.
“For real, Jean,” Mitch said. “You can’t be this spun out over a girl you hardly know. Tell me what’s going on.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my skin itching under Mitch’s unwavering gaze. The words I’d been holding onto sinceI met Berkley bubbled in my chest, bursting free before I could stop them.
“Have you ever met someone and felt like they could be the one?” I blurted.
Cole turned toward me, eyes blinking slowly like an owl.
But I was watching Mitch, seeing several emotions flit across his face—shock, confusion, concern, even envy—before finally settling on understanding.
“I have not,” Mitch said slowly. “But I believe it’s a possibility.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, both for having the crazy thought off my chest and for the fact that they weren’t chirping the shit out of me right now.
Although, Cole had yet to open his mouth, and I couldn’t be entirely sure I’d like what he had to say when he did. But at least Mitch was entertaining me.
At last, Cole spoke. “What exactly happened that’s got you like”—Cole gestured to my person—“this?”
Because it was easier than explaining, I opened my phone and pulled up our text convo so Cole and Mitch could read it.
“Okay, first of all, she came to you. That has to mean something,” Cole said.
“It was only to say congratulations,” I mumbled. “I get a thousand DMs like that a day.”
“But none of those are fromthisgirl,” Mitch pointed out.
Before I could say anything else, the bus jerked to a stop, our bodies rocking forward with the momentum. Mitch stood, towering over us.
“This ain’t over, Jean. We’re hashing this all out over dinner. We’ll fix it, I promise.”
Cole grinned. “I love when he goes Uncle Mitch on us.”
Dinner with a group of nearly thirty grown men was always a rowdy affair, but never more so than after a win. Bottles ofchampagne were passed around the tables, giant platters of surf and turf were ordered, and the private room at the back of the restaurant was full of laughter and shouted insults as the Warriors unwound.
I sat sandwiched between Mitch and Cole at a circular table. Chase Olsson, Mitch’s tall, ginger-haired defensive partner, sat across from me, and Rat and Grey rounded out the group.
Since we’d sat down, I’d been waiting for Mitch to lay into me about Berkley. As everyone began stuffing their faces with seafood, he dropped the hammer.
“So, Jean—”
“Here we go,” I mumbled.
“—you mean to tell me you haven’t sent Berkley another message sincelast week?”
“Wait wait wait,” Rat said. “Who sent the first message?”
“She did.”
Rat and Grey shared a look, then turned matching grins on me. For two guys who weren’t actually twins—in fact, weren’t even related—their mannerisms were alike enough that it freaked me out more often than not. I supposed that’s what happened when you played hockey with a guy your entire life.
And I meanentire life.They grew up and went to school together in the same suburb of Chicago, went to college at Boston University together, then both got called up for the playoffs last season.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they died on the same day and chose to be buried in the same casket.
And no, they weren’t secretly lovers. They were just really fucking good friends—the best of them.
“You let her come to you?” Grey said, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”
