Him (Him #1)(51)

A small whoop of victory rises up from the scoring team. “Smoked you, Killfeather!” Davies yells. “You’re a sieve, sucka!”

Oh, f*ck. Here we go. I watch Killfeather push his mask up. Then he takes his water bottle off the top of the net and pours some into his mouth. I’m half expecting him to spit it into Davies’ face, because my boy’s face is red. I brace for disaster.

Killfeather tosses the bottle onto the net. Then he locks eyes with me.

Please don’t blow like a land mine, I silently beg him.

My goalie actually gives me a small smile before he speaks. “Yeah, Davies. You owned me. Only took you two dozen tries, you big bad thing.” He yanks his mask down over his face and picks up his stick.

Wes is grinning when he skates over to retrieve the puck. “Good attitude today, kid,” he tells Killfeather.

The teenager looks a little smug when he tosses the puck into Wes’s hand.

I’m so engrossed in this little drama I don’t notice heads are swiveling to look at someone who’s appeared behind the penalty box. “Jamie! Over here!”

I turn around to find Holly standing there, waving her arms. “Holly,” I say stupidly. “What are you doing here?”

She rolls her eyes, her hands on the hips of a tiny pair of jean shorts. “That’s a heck of a greeting, Canning. You can do a little better than that.”

“Holy crap,” Killfeather blurts out. “Coach Canning’s girlfriend has a great rack.”

“Shut it,” I mutter, glaring at him.

More than a dozen teenage boys are now eye-f*cking Holly in her teeny shorts and skimpy top. My neck is hot all of a sudden. And that’s before I glance at Wes.

He skates up, a twisted little smile on his lips. “You’re having a visitor, Canning?”

“Um.” I’ve lost the ability to speak, because I’m busy sifting through all the uncomfortable conversations coming my way. “Holly, this is my friend Wes.”

“I remember you from the hotel,” she says with a wink.

Wes keeps his own smile waxed on, and you’d have to know him as well as I do to see the sneer beneath it. Yikes. “Looks like you should quit early, Coach. Take your girl out for drinks. Catch up a little.”

“That would be awesome,” Holly says. “I stopped at the dormitory first, and Coach Pat said I could probably shake Jamie free.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say slowly. “Let’s head out.”

“You kids have fun,” Wes drawls. Then he turns his back on me and blows his whistle. “Let’s go, ladies! Enough standing around.”

That’s how I find myself removing my skates and exiting the rink an hour early with Holly.

“God, you look good!” She stops on the steps of the building to hit me with another blinding smile, then stands up on her tiptoes and… kisses me. Her mouth is smaller and softer than I expect it to be. Confusion must be written all over my face, because she says, “Sorry to surprise you, but I thought it would be fun.”

“It’s… Wow,” I stammer. “How did you get here?”

“Well, when I threatened to take up trapeze, my uncle lent me his car. Thought I’d get away for the night.”

I do the math. It’s got to be a five-hour drive from Cape Cod. “Wow,” I say again. Apparently “wow” is now three quarters of my vocabulary.

“Jamie,” she says, staring up at me. “Stop freaking out.”

“What?”

She tilts her head to the side, and those familiar blue eyes study me. “You’re panicking. Why?”

“Um…” I can’t tell her. But I can’t not tell her. Because Holly is almost certainly planning to stay with me tonight. In fact, last summer I told her she could visit and I’d make it work, but she hadn’t been able to swing it then.

Fuck.

“Honey.” She reaches up to cup the side of my neck. “Is there someone else?”

My heart spasms, because there is someone else. Sort of. Wes and I aren’t a couple, exactly. We’ve never had one word of conversation about it. But there’s no way I’m sleeping with someone else right now—that just wouldn’t be right.

“There is,” I admit.

Her eyes widen. She’d asked the question, but she still seems pretty shocked by my answer. “Who is she?”

I shake my head. “You don’t know her. I’m sorry,” I say quickly.

She takes her hand off me and steps backward. “Okay.” She bites her lip. “I should have called.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

And I am. Holly has only been good to me. But after graduation, we’d had a little talk. She’d said, “I want to see you when you’re in Detroit,” and I’d said, “That’s probably not going to work.”

She’d said, “We’ll see.” And now here she is, her face turning red.

“Look,” I tell her. “Let’s go have ice cream. Or tequila, if you prefer. I want to catch up with you.”

“We’re still friends,” she says softly.

“Always.”

Her eyes wander away from me and over toward the lake. She takes a slow breath and lets it out again. “Okay, Jamie Canning. Show me Lake Placid. You always talk about how much you love it here.” Her gaze returns to mine. “Show me why.”