Page 50 of Rookie Attraction

I’d rather be here with Finn.

That’s crazy. I’m acting ridiculous. Whatever this feeling is, it needs to fuck right off, because it’s pointless, he’s off limits. Finn’s my teammate. My straight friend. And that’s all.

Taylor whispers something in my ear, and I nod automatically, not hearing a word. The photographers catch the moment anyway—him smiling at me, his arm around my waist. I hope my acting skills are up to par because my head is fucked.

Later, as we sit at our table for dinner and make the usual gala chit chat with other guests, I barely register what’s going on around me. The after-party is the same. I force myself to make conversation as I’m introduced to high profile donors, celebrities, and the charity president. I’m more than happy to support this event, but I’m also counting down the minutes until I can get out of here.

I’m tempted to text Finn, but I don’t.

When the after-party ends, I’m still zoned out. Our driver drops Taylor at his place first and I presume I tell him I had a nice time, and I think he hugs me before saying goodnight, but I wouldn’t bet on any of it. When I’m alone, I scroll through team socials on my phone, stopping on a photo from last night’s game. Finn’s assist, my goal. His disbelief, our celebration. I’ll never forget that game and Finn’s emotional reaction to his win. I’m pretty overwhelmed myself. A month ago, I thought my career was over. But now? Things are shifting for the better and I don’t want to do anything to ruin it.

I tap on Finn’s contact and my thumb hovers over the call button.

Don’t be stupid, leave him alone.

I shove the phone into my pocket and close my eyes for the rest of the ride.

I know I’m doing the right thing.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Finn the next morning

With my coffee in one hand, and my phone in the other, I’m busy scrolling through the news when a headline catches my eye.

Hockey great Selwin Kirkland attends charity event with his date, football player Taylor Grimaldi. Could this be NYC’s next power couple?

I glance at the photo below the caption. Sel looks fucking amazing in a sharp suit, and while his grin is aimed at the camera, Taylor is looking at Sel adoringly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume they were dating for real. They look like they fit with each other, and maybe the entertainment press is right. My stomach aches, so I put aside my coffee and reach for a glass of water instead. I stare at the image on my screen for too long, trying to tell myself it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter at all.

But for some reason, it does, and my heart thuds so hard it’s knocking against my ribs. I’m concerned about how this attention will affect Sel. That’s all.

Another wave of emotion presses harder, heavier, and it doesn’t let up. Yes, I’m a protective friend, but I’m not usually so possessive, and yet… fuck me, I’ve never had a reaction like this to a friend before, not even my bestie, Silas. Then again, maybe all this is a delayed reaction to leaving my old life behind and starting a new one. I’m overwhelmed, like I was after our win. That has to be it.

I rub a soothing hand over my chest, exhaling slowly, but the tightness won’t go away.

“What’s going on with me?” I say out loud.

The question lingers in the air, unanswered, as sunlight spills across the counter and lands on the photo of Sel. Flipping the phone over, I decide that whatever’s happening, I’m not ready to examine it.

Chapter Eleven

FINN

ON THE ROAD (NOVEMBER)

I’m not a fan of flying, but with a win under my belt, my spirits are high, even if I’m a bit distracted. I’ve got an aisle seat with Kuznetsov, and for the first hour of the flight, I talk his ear off nonstop. I’m nervous and it shows. Kuz is a good sport about it, though, and he lets me pepper him with questions about the teams we’re about to face. And hey, I feel it’s only fair to inundate him with my yapping if he’s going to be snoring and disturbing my sleep all week.

My buddies Sorensen and Makela sit behind me, with Tullmore and Druin across the aisle. Sorensen’s telling a story about a summer music festival and how, on the last day, the hottest one, he got stuck in a portable toilet for three hours, the stench so bad he was screaming his head off. I laugh along with the rest of the guys, but I’m only half paying attention to the details. The flight’s been smooth so far and I should be unwinding, joining in on the conversation around me, but my thoughts—and my eyes—keep drifting to where Sel sits, two rows ahead of me, headphones on, staring out the window.

Of course, at that exact moment, Sel turns around and catches my gaze.

Shit.

Offering a nod, I quickly turn my attention to the blank screen in front of me, feigning interest in a movie I haven’t selected yet. Even though I’ve thought about texting Sel at least fifty times a day, I haven’t, not since our win. The press latched onto Sel’s “date” with Taylor, just like Hugo said they would, and it’s gaining a lot of local media buzz.

Sel’s also the topic of another conversation—his on-ice chemistry with me. Apparently, we made quite an impression on the press and the fans, and the “d-man bromance” tag isn’t going away. While it’s meant to be a joke, it feels like a spotlight I can’t escape. Part of me likes it, the other part is scared. There’s a lot of pressure on us, and what if we can’t live up to the fans’ expectations?

Hours later, welcomed by sunshine and smoggy air, we touch down in LA. The weather makes me want to head for the beach, not the rink, and it’s a shame we’ll be spending most of our time indoors. The bus ride from the airport is spent mostly sitting in traffic on the highway. Eventually, we take the off ramp and hit the busy city streets lined with palm trees.