Page 133 of Full Contact

“Good. Felix bought the smoothies. He lost by not finishing anything, which he says is a strategy.”

He laughed, and I heard him settling in, a soft creak from the couch.

I’d had my evening with my friends, and it had been everything I’d wanted. Now I wanted Trier too.

“So you beat the orange route?” he asked.

Chapter nineteen

Trier

Mark was on my couch with his shoes off and his legs stretched across my lap when Kelsey’s report arrived. He’d come straight from work.

Peaches had the far cushion. I had one hand around his ankle, my thumb moving over the knob of bone through his sock.

My phone buzzed against my thigh. I checked the sender and sat up as far as Mark’s legs allowed.

“Our regional correspondent is reporting in.”

“Good,” Mark said. “Is she finally ready to admit St. Louis can’t defend the slot?”

“Let’s find out.” I cleared my throat and began reading in my best announcer voice. “‘The subject continues to post strong possession numbers. Puck protection is excellent.’”

“That’s generous.”

“She’s capable of generosity, particularly when we’re playoff contenders.” I kept going. “‘Since bringing Mark into the house, the subject has maintained uninterrupted coverage.’”

Mark took his feet out of my lap and sat up.

“This isn’t about hockey,” he said.

“Apparently not.” I scrolled. “‘Performance during the elevator construction was particularly impressive for a player whose principal assignment was holding two yardsticks.’”

“You held them very well.”

“I held them perfectly. Josh said so.”

“Deployment,” I read. Mark was starting to laugh. “‘Within an hour of returning from an outing with Josh, the subject offered to take Mark out of the house. At the time, Mark had just beaten Russ at slot hockey and been granted access to the family photographs. The subject assessed a man sitting comfortably with a cup of coffee as someone in urgent need of entertainment.’”

“I won the last game too,” Mark said. “She should note that.”

“The subject of a scouting report doesn’t get to amend the statistics,” I said.

He settled back against the cushion, still smiling, close enough that his shoulder pressed mine. Peaches opened one eye at the noise.

“‘Whenever the subject and Mark are in the same room, the subject stays on the ice with him. Even after taking Josh out alone, he came home and immediately offered another shift. This is a player who will not take—’”

I stopped.

Mark didn’t say anything. He waited. On the far cushion, Peaches stretched one back leg and tucked it under again.

“Can I read the rest?” he asked.

I handed him the phone.

He scrolled back to the top and read from the beginning. He laughed twice. Then he reached the end and stopped laughing. He held the phone out toward me with his thumb on the last line.

I read the screen.