Hammered (Blue Bay Crew #3)- Cathryn Fox Page 0,98
She lifts her cup, and over the rim, asks, “I don’t see how that makes you an idiot.”
My mouth drops open. Jess and I have been friends since childhood. She of all people knows how much I hate hockey. “Are you serious?”
She shrugs. “You’re a writer.”
Mr. Sexy Barista brings me my coffee and he shares a secret, let’s-hook-up-later smile with Jess. “And…?” I ask when he leaves.
“Writer’s write and make things up. I know you hate hockey, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“I can’t come up with a plot, or write about the game, if I don’t know anything about it.”
She shakes her head. “And I can’t believe your brother is a professional player and you never once paid attention to the game.”
“I was busy pursuing a professional skating career, remember?”
She reaches across the table and gives my hand a little squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry.”
My tailbone and neck take that moment to throb, a constant reminder of a career lost.
I didn’t just lose my dream of skating professionally the day my feet went out from underneath me, I lost my confidence, too. A concussion will do that to you.
Good thing I majored in English in college. Once I hung up my skates, I began to blog about the sport and sold a few articles. I joined a local writers group, and after talking to a group of romance writers, I tried my hand at one. Much to my surprise, it actually sold. I went from non-fiction to fiction, in every sense of the word. Happily ever after might exist between the pages, but it certainly doesn’t in real life. At least not for me.
I take a sip of my latté, and give an exaggerated huff as I set it down. Jess instantly goes into problem-solving mode when she sees that I’m really stressed about this. As a brand-new high school guidance counselor, she can’t help but want to fix me.
“Okay, it’s simple,” she begins. “You have to learn the game.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Turn on the TV and watch.”
“I can watch a bunch of guys chase a stupid puck around a rink all I want, I still won’t be able to understand the rules.”
“How dare you call my favorite sport stupid.”
“Jessss…” I plead. “What am I going to do?”
She crinkles her nose. Then her eyes go wide. “I’ve got it. Shadow your brother.”
I give a quick shake of my head. “No, he’s on the road, and he won’t want me hanging around.”
Jess goes quiet again, and that hollowed-out spot inside me aches as I think about Cason. I miss my brother so much and wish we were closer. Cason and I grew up in a family where there were no hugs or words of affirmation. I know Mom and Dad loved us, but as busy investment bankers, work consumed their lives. Sure, they put me in figure skating, and Cason in hockey when we were young, but they never shared in our passions, or really supported our pursuits.
I guess I can’t expect my brother to display love, when none was ever displayed to him.
“Why don’t you teach me?”
“It might be my favorite sport to watch, but I don’t really know all the rules. I think you’d be better off getting your brother or…” She straightens. “Wait. I got this,” she says, and I cringe when she tosses my three-word email response back at me. A warning shiver skips along my spine, and I get the sense that whatever she’s about suggest, is going to take me right down the rabbit hole.
“What about Cole Cannon?”
I groan, plant my elbows on the table, and cover my face with my hands. “Never,” I mumble through my fingers. “Not in a million freaking years.”
Jess removes my hands from my face. “Why not? He’s your brother’s best friend. I’m sure he’ll help you.”
“Cocky Cole Cannon, aka, The Playmaker. Do I need to say any more?” I reach for my latté and take a huge gulp, burning the roof of my mouth. Damn.
“I know you hate him, Nina, but—”
“Of course I hate him. You remember the nickname he used to use when we were kids—Pretty BallerNina. I was a figure skater, not a ballerina,” I could only assume he was mocking me about being pretty too, but I keep that to myself.
“At least he worked your name into the moniker, and hey, it could have been worse. He could have called you Neaner Neaner, like Cason did.”