Page 68 of Man Advantage

Cole looked over her head at him, smiling as though being dragged upstairs by a six-year-old was exactly where he wanted to be.

Ford followed them upstairs.

TWENTY-ONE

Cole’s phone rang as he pulled his practice jersey over his head, and the sight of his agent’s name tightened every muscle across Cole’s back. Most of the team had already started stripping out of their gear, but Ford and Halsey were still outside doing extra work.

Cole dropped the jersey into his stall and answered. “Tell me you’re not calling to trade me again.”

His agent laughed. “Not today. Chicago checked in.”

Cole sat on the bench in front of his stall. Sweat cooled across his back while the room continued moving around him.

“They liked what they saw,” his agent continued. “You’re on their short list if they need another right shot. Nothing changes right now. Keep playing the way you’re playing.”

Cole pressed the phone closer. “That’s it?”

“That’s plenty. You made them remember you.” His agent moved on to two local media calls Cole still needed to return, but Cole barely heard the names.

Pride hit first, quick and clean. Caution followed before Cole could enjoy it for long. He thanked his agent, ended the call, and headed back down the tunnel to tell Ford.

Ford sat at the end of the bench beside the open door, his forearms braced across the boards. One shooter had stayed to help, and at the far end, Halsey reset for another attempt, dropped too early, and swore when the puck went over his shoulder.

Ford leaned farther over the boards. “You guessed.”

Halsey turned his mask toward him. “I read the release.”

Ford pointed toward the shooter’s blade. “You committed before the puck left his stick. Stay on your feet and track it through.”

Halsey shoved back to his feet and looked toward the bench. “Again.”

Ford grinned and waved the shooter into the next repetition.

Cole stayed near the tunnel and watched Halsey hold his edges through the next release. The shot changed direction in front. Halsey tracked it into his chest without dropping, then looked immediately toward Ford.

Ford slapped the boards once. “That’s the one.”

One of the trainers passed Cole, carrying a crate of bottles. “Might have ourselves a postseason goalie after all.”

Ford’s smile faltered before he turned back to Halsey.

The trainer kept walking. Halsey called for another shot, and Ford sent the shooter through the drill again.

Cole waited until the drill ended. Halsey went off with the shooter, and Cole stepped through the bench door and sat beside Ford.

Ford glanced toward the tunnel, then bumped his shoulder into Cole’s. “What’s going on?”

Cole couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and Ford’s attention sharpened when he saw it. “My agent called. Chicago checked in with him. They liked what they saw and want me ready if they need another right shot.”

Ford straightened against the boards. “Where does that put you?”

Cole scrubbed a hand over his face. “They said I’m on a short list. Whatever that means.”

Ford didn’t hesitate. “It means they liked you.”

“He said that too.” Saying it to Ford made the pride rise again, harder to contain this time.

Ford’s grin came fast and open. He checked the tunnel, caught Cole at the back of the neck, and pulled him into a quick kiss.