Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(28)

“Didn’t like it there?” I ask.

“I did, but I made a big deal about leaving and never coming back. You know, dramatic teen stuff. Now that I’m a touch older, I see how stupid it was, but this girl has pride, and I’ll be damned if I have to go back there and eat my words.”

I chuckle. “I can feel you on that. I was the same way with hockey. Bound and determined to make something of myself, I wouldn’t stop until I did, even if that meant practically killing myself in the process.”

“Well, you made it,” she says while drawing a circle on the counter with her finger. “But the real question is, are you happy that you made it? Because even though this internship has opened many doors for me, I’m anything but happy. I just keep telling myself there are days we’ll be unhappy to obtain the happiness we want. So . . . have you obtained that happiness?”

Am I happy?

I think maybe from the outside looking in, it could seem that I am. I have the car, the house in the woods, the penthouse apartment, the glory, the fame, the championships. Yet . . . I find myself acting like a dick more and more.

Happiness eludes me.

Never feeling settled.

Not feeling adequate enough for anyone . . .

Fuck.

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” I say, not wanting to dive deep into my feelings, especially with Ollie.

“Ah, right, that would make you vulnerable, and you don’t do vulnerable.”

“Right,” I say as I close the dishwasher. I grip the counter and stare at her. “Do you feel like we have our story straight?”

She doesn’t answer right away but tries to study me. I can see her wanting to ask more, to bring up the vulnerability thing and dive deep into why I’m so guarded, but I refuse. There’s no need to get into that with her. Our relationship is surface level. Business. We don’t need to delve into deep-rooted emotions.

“I think so,” she finally says. “Met at a bar, you hit on me because you’re a horny bastard and couldn’t control yourself—”

“Didn’t think we added the horny thing in there.”

“And when I finally gave you the time of day because I felt bad that you were drooling while looking at me—”

“Also, not something that happened.”

“That’s when you made a move and told me you admired my beauty and strength and wit and that it reminded you of Hermione.”

“That’s not something I would say.”

She presses her hand to her chest. “And I thought . . . wow, this guy. He’s clearly trying far too hard to make an impression. Maybe I should give him a chance. So I let you buy me a drink. You ordered Shirley Temples—”

“Oh fuck off,” I say while laughing.

But she continues. “It was a bit of a turn-off, watching a man slowly sip a Shirley Temple with utter delight in his eyes, but I decided to give you a chance since you seemed like you needed friends . . . or rather attention.”

“It’s amazing how much this story has grown.”

“Just spitting out facts.”

“Yeah, if you want to spit out facts, why don’t we just stick to the actual truth that you attacked me with your lips out of desperation?”

She stares up at the ceiling, giving it some thought. “I think my story is better.” She hops off the stool and heads toward the entryway. “Well, thanks for the pizza and the key.” She holds up the key I gave her so she could work out here. “It’s appreciated.”

“Just wipe down when you’re done. I don’t need your sweat all over my equipment.”

“I don’t sweat,” she says while she slips her shoes on.

“Everyone sweats.”

“Not me.” She slides her backpack on and heads toward the door. “Keep me updated on what you need from me, and if I could have your schedule, that would be ideal. I’d prefer to come here when you’re not around.”

“You’re such a good girlfriend.”

“I know.” She throws up a peace sign. “See you later.” And then she takes off, just like that, without another word.

My life had order and structure a few days ago. Same place to live, same friends, same job. Now? It’s been somewhat upended.

Where the hell did Ollie Owens, the pint-sized ballbuster, even come from?





Pre-workout drink in one hand and a protein bar in the other, I head down the hallway toward the locker room, knowing I’ll have to face the boys today.

They were dead silent last night.

Not even a text to warn me they’ll have questions today, which is even more nerve-wracking because now I have no idea what to expect.

I would have preferred the guys not find out about Ollie like that last night. I wasn’t prepared, and now I feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den as a giant piece of raw meat ready to be torn apart.

Bracing myself, I open the door to the locker room and then pause at the entrance as I spot Hornsby, Pacey, Holmes, and Posey all sitting in chairs around my locker.

Super.

Head hanging, I walk toward my locker, knowing what’s coming.

“There he is,” Pacey says. “The guy we’ve been waiting for.”

“He looks fresh. Doesn’t he look fresh, boys?” Hornsby asks.