10. Olivia

10

OLIVIA

After the game ends, Sofia dashes off to Jake’s place to finish up some food prep, so I opt to go and wait for Jake. I want to give my brother a big hug and tell him I’m proud of him. Tell him that I’m glad I’m here today so we can celebrate Thanksgiving together.

And possibly hitch a ride with him to his place seeing as I took the train here.

But that’s beside the point. Mostly.

It takes me forever to get to the ground level, which is mostly due to lining up for the public restrooms (while kicking myself for not peeing earlier in the VIP bathrooms), and then getting thoroughly lost six times. By the time I flash my ID at security and enter the players’ area, some of my brother’s teammates have already emerged from the locker room and are greeting their wives, girlfriends, and families. Jake doesn’t appear to be out yet, so I hang back, hugging the wall while trying not to feel like a creep.

“OLIVIA!”

I turn to see Jimmy Jones-Johnstone bounding towards me, arms outstretched. He lifts me off my feet in a huge hug, and smacks a kiss on both of my cheeks—I’d like to say it’s in that chic, French way, but this is more like being mauled by a pony-sized puppy.

When he finally sets me down, I wobble, slightly dazed by his sheer enthusiasm. “Hi, Jimmy. Good to see you again!”

“Same to you. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Likewise,” I tell my apparent best friend, who I have met precisely once, half a year ago.

“I’m making six types of potatoes for the dinner, by the way.”

Normally, I’d question such a whiplash of a subject change. But as it’s Triple J, I take the conversational detour—and the number of potato dishes he’s planning—in stride. “That’s nice. You must be feeding a lot of people.”

Jimmy nods eagerly. “I’m so excited for you to sample the mashed potatoes. They’re my specialty.”

“Oh.” I realize he has his wires crossed and smile apologetically. “Sorry to miss them. I’m having dinner with Jake and Sofia.”

“Yes, exactly.” He seems totally unperturbed. “I’ll see you there?”

I stare at Triple J for a moment, unsure he heard me correctly. Or maybe he has no family in town, and so Jake invited him to our little get-together? It’s possible, though uncharacteristically thoughtful of my brother. Must have been Sofia’s idea.

Deciding that this is the most reasonable explanation, I smile like I know exactly what he’s talking about. And while six potato dishes seems excessive for our gathering of four people, Jimmy seems like an all-together excessive person and I love that for him. “Great! Can’t wait to try the various potatoes!”

As he bounds off, someone behind me clears their throat.

I look over to see Aaron walking in my direction, eyes locked on me. He’s freshly showered, his dark hair damp and tousled, and he’s wearing a dark red Cyclones hoodie that’s made of the softest looking material that I have ever wanted to not touch. He looks a little distant, his expression more closed than usual. A far cry from the winking, cocky Aaron who skated onto the ice not two hours ago.

I can’t help but wonder what’s happened since the game ended and how he’s dealing with what appears to be a slight media frenzy. For a moment, I feel a spark of sympathy for him. No matter what I think of the guy, it can’t be easy to be raked over the coals for the entire world to see.

“Hello,” I say.

He regards me almost warily, adjusting the strap of his gym bag on one broad shoulder. “Hey, Liv.”

“Good game tonight,” I tell him kindly.

But only because he seems somewhat downtrodden. And it’s a holiday.

And he used my real name, for once in his life.

At my words, however, the light in his expression returns and a naughty glimmer in his eyes makes me immediately regret my limp excuse for an olive branch.

“You did seem to be enjoying it. Especially at the end.” He smirks.

I arch a brow. “Like I said, it was a good game.”

“I’d say you looked just about ready to join Aaron’s Army. I can hook you up with a number 22 jersey, if you like,” Aaron goes on silkily. His green gaze moves over me and I’m suddenly aware of every single sensation on my skin—my jeans feel too tight, and my shirt feels too scratchy, and my bra feels like something that should be burned, and not just in the name of feminism.

It’s all very unfortunate.

“I was merely cheering my brother on,” I lie.

“Your brother who wasn’t even on the ice at that moment?” Aaron’s eyes dance, and I glare at him.

“And my very good friend Jimmy,” I say staunchly. “I was cheering for him, too.”

“That’s no way to speak to the player who scored the winning goal specially for you.” He smirks all smugly at me and I have to clench my fist to prevent myself from unleashing my inner octopus.

“Better not say that too loudly, or Aaron’s Army might get jealous.”

“Well, seeing as you’re a proud member?—”

“Have you seen Jake?” I interrupt coolly, peering past him like my blood’s not currently sizzling in my veins.

Aaron looks like he might ignore my interruption and continue with his idiotic sentence, but he ( wisely) changes his tune. “He’s still in the locker room. You know Jake loves his long steam showers.”

I do. My big brother was always using up all the hot water back when we used to fight over one bathroom.

“Wow. A straight answer for once.” I clap my hands together in mock-glee. “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to resume my waiting in peace.”

“If you don’t want to wait, I could always give you a ride,” he says in a low voice that absolutely does not result in goosebumps on my arms.

“That will never happen.” By some miracle, my voice manages to sound somewhat normal. I’m about to lord over him the fact that he doesn’t even know where I’m getting a ride to (and also the fact that he wasn’t invited), but he continues, “Suit yourself. Guess I’ll see you at Teamsgiving. I hear you’re bringing pie.”

“Wait, what?” I frown, now entirely confused. “What’s Teamsgiving?”

“You know, the big holiday dinner that was dreamed up in the communal showers.”

I have no idea what on God’s green earth he’s talking about, but I do know the last thing I need to be doing right now is picturing Aaron all soaped up and sopping wet in the shower. So I latch onto the words holiday dinner and blurt, “You’re having dinner with us this evening?”

“I think you’re having dinner with us tomorrow is more correct terminology.” He steps backwards with a shrug. “But as you wish.”

For a moment, he studies my expression—which is undoubtedly both severely lost and mildly horrified. His full lips then slide into a knowing smirk I do not like one bit. Though it kind of makes the non-feminist-bra-burner in me melt, stupid girl that she is.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Aaron asks around a deep, throaty chuckle.

“Tell me what?”

“I’d usually say don’t shoot the messenger, but I think you might actually shoot me—or knee me in the balls—so I’ll let Jake be the bearer of this particular piece of news.”

“What news?”

He simply smiles a maddening grin. “See you tomorrow, Lil Griz.”

Then, he walks off, whistling cheerfully to himself. I stare at his retreating form (studiously not looking at his backside—take that , inner bra-burner) with an ominous feeling gathering in my stomach.