Page 37 of Risking the Pucking Defense

Calm the fuck down, Hailee.

Beatrice: That’s perfect. Shall I pick you up?

Her question throws me for a loop. It’s no secret that I don’t drive. Everyone has caught me getting in and out of Ubers too often to hide that fact. But this is Bea. Does she know more than everyone else? It sure wouldn’t be hard for her to do a bit of digging. But…for some reason, I don’t think she has. She got to know Rett without being swayed by the media and the bullshit stories—and more than a few true ones—that circle the internet. Maybe she’s doing the same with me.

Hailee: Sounds great. See you then.

I read and reread that message after tapping send, and I hate how formal it sounds. She’s reaching out—again—to connect with me, and I can’t reply like a normal person talking to a friend.

Hailee: Looking forward to it.

I groan, slamming my cell down on my kitchen counter.

“You’re pathetic,” I mutter as I march toward the fridge to see if I have any food.

“Hey,” Bea says, lifting her sunglasses as I walk closer to her where she’s resting against the side of her car.

“Hi, you look incredible,” I say, taking in her floral maxi dress and growing bump.

She rubs her hand over it. “I’m really pregnant these days, huh?”

“You’re glowing.”

Her smile grows. “I feel good. A few weeks ago, I never thought I’d say that, but I really do.”

“That’s great,” I say, feeling awkward as hell as I climb into her car. “Where are we going for food?” I ask, figuring she’ll have a plan.

“You good with tacos?”

“Is that a serious question?” I deadpan.

“Well, you never know. There’s got to be someone out there who doesn’t like them.”

“They’re not sitting in this car.”

“Fantastic. I’ve got the perfect place.”

Bea chats away about her pregnancy, work, and what Rett has been up to—all of which, thankfully, doesn’t require any intervention from me. I lose myself in her tales, and when she turns the conversation onto me and work, I find myself talking easily about our plans for the upcoming weeks. Bea only attended her first hockey game during the playoffs last year, so she eats up everything I tell her about how it all works.

Before I know it, we’re pulling up to a Mexican restaurant I’ve never been to before. “This place is cute.”

“Right. It was the first place Rett brought me.”

“I still find it hard to get my head around the fact he’s capable of dating and being romantic.”

“There’s a lot more to him than he lets you see. But then, I guess that’s true of most of us.”

My breath catches, but when I glance over, she’s smiling, and her shoulders are relaxed.

Get a grip, Hailee. She isn’t here to interrogate you.

“Yes, I guess,” I mutter as I push the door open and step out into the LA heat.

After chatting to the host as if they’ve known each other all their lives, we’re shown to a booth at the back of the restaurant, and Bea orders a pitcher of virgin margaritas.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did you want a real one?” she asks in a panic when the server walks away.

“No, it’s fine.” It’s probably better that I keep a clear head. “So, you said you needed help with something? What?” I ask when she chuckles.