Scoring Chance (Carolina Comets)

“Did you get my texts last night?”

I look up to find Greer standing over me while I’m holding a hundred and twenty-five pounds over my head. “I did.”

“And?” he presses, eyebrow raised.

At nearly midnight, my phone started blowing up with photos from Greer. They were all of women he thought I could get to be my date for the fundraiser. They were hot, I’ll give him that, but blind dates—especially from Greer—aren’t really my thing. If I’m going to be stuck at this damn function all night, I want to be stuck with someone I’m actually going to enjoy spending time with. Besides, I’m not in a huge rush. I still have time to find a date.

“And no,” I tell him, shoving the weights back up and setting the bar on the rack. I sit up, sucking in a much-needed breath of air. I reach for the towel that’s on the bench next to me and wipe my face down. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m like ninety percent sure I saw you making out with one of them at Slapshots last month, and I’m not really into dating my teammate’s seconds.”

“Your loss.” Greer shrugs. “She’s a great kisser.”

“Duly noted.”

“And I know she’d take care of your…issue for you.”

I know exactly what he’s referring to: my virginity.

“I’m good,” I tell him, trying not to get irritated. “And I thought we talked about how I don’t want or need your help.”

He shrugs, then taps my shoulder, wanting my spot. I get up and move to the front of the bench to spot him as he picks the bar up and lifts it off the rack. He shoves the bar up easily, going slow and doing measured reps.

“I have a few other options lined up if you need ’em.” He presses the weight away from his chest again. “And if all else fails, you can always take your mom. I know the new rookie is doing that.”

I inwardly groan at the idea of going to any sort of public event with my mother. Sure, my dad was hardest on me growing up when it came to hockey, but my mother was tough on me in other areas. Her favorite thing to do was chastise me for the smallest of mistakes any time we left the house. My shoes were too scuffed or my shirt wasn’t tucked in correctly or my hair was out of place. It wouldn’t matter if I spent an hour getting ready for dinner out at the local Dairy Queen—it was never enough.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to take her to the fundraiser.

“I’d rather ask Wright’s mother-in-law.”

“Hey! Leave her out of this, Miller! Swear to God, I will chop your dick off if I catch you flirting with her again!” Wright shouts from a few rows down as he pedals hard on the stationary bike.

I laugh, truly enjoying fucking with him. Don’t get me wrong, his mother-in-law is gorgeous, and I love flirting with her because it makes her feel good, but it’s all in good fun. Truth is, I just like spending time around her because she’s the kind of mother I wish I had—warm, thoughtful, and kind.

“There’s always Ryan’s grandma,” Lowell offers up. “You know Grams will take you up on that offer. I’m pretty sure she’s still swooning over your moves at Wright’s wedding.”

Rhodes is grumbling and throwing warning glances my way before Lowell even gets his whole sentence out.

Okay, so maybe I don’t have the best track record when it comes to flirting with the older women in my teammates’ lives. What can I say? It’s fun to mess with them. They make it entirely too easy.

“I’ll keep her in mind,” I say just to fuck with Rhodes, who smashes the off button on his treadmill, then marches out of the room in a grumpy huff.

Greer laughs as he sets the bar back on the rack and sits up. “You’re just asking to get your ass handed to you out on the ice. You know that, right?”

I shrug. “Eh. I can take him.”

“You can take Beast? Even I wouldn’t fuck with him.”

I lean down and not-so-quietly say, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s just a big ol’ softy underneath all that hard exterior.”

“I heard you, you little shit!” Rhodes yells from the adjoining room. “I’ll fucking show you softy,” he mutters, and I’d bet my left nut he’s scowling like crazy right now.

I laugh, then move over to the stationary bike next to Wright.

“You having trouble finding a date for the fundraiser? Mr. Casanova himself? Dry spell?”

Ha. If he only knew.

“Something like that,” I say just to get him off my back.

Wright chuckles. “I’d offer one of Harper’s friends, but, well, she’s a complete introvert, and her only friend is Ryan. I don’t think Rhodes would take too kindly to that.”

“Come near her and die,” Rhodes threatens, walking by and making sure to hit me with his bag.

I laugh as he makes his way out of the training room, flipping everyone off behind his back, likely running right back home to his wife and locking her away in his big dark castle so no one else can come near her.

I’d think it was sweet if I wasn’t so damn jealous of him.

“Well, you better get out of whatever rut you’re in because I’m pretty sure Coach will have our asses if anyone shows up dateless. Then we’d have to worry about Smith, too, because this is his passion project he’s heading this year.”

“I know, I know,” I grumble. “I’ve got it taken care of.”

Except I don’t have it taken care of, not even a little bit.

I am so screwed.

Something is wrong.

It’s the first thought that runs through my head when I pull into the parking lot of Scout’s Sweets. The line is snaked through the tables, so long it almost touches said lot, which is overflowing. All eight tables are decorated with bundles of balloons and completely full of customers. There’s music playing over a few speakers that are set up where there’s typically a little library for browsing.

There are a few patrons who appear annoyed, but for the most part, people are smiling, which I suppose is a good thing. Still, this line isn’t normal. There has to be a reason it’s backed up so much.

I grab my ballcap and tug it low over my head, then make my way toward the front of the truck. A few people throw me curious glances, but nobody says anything, and I’m glad because I am clearly skipping the line.

When I get about twenty feet away, I see what the problem is: Scout is alone, and she’s struggling to keep up with the line.

Her hair, which is usually a bit of a mess anyway, is even more chaotic. Her apron is covered in what I assume is flour. There’s a streak of it on her cheek. Her eyes are wide yet tired somehow, but even though she’s having trouble, she’s wearing a smile and greeting customers like a champ.

I’m not surprised when her gaze finds me standing off to the side.

Fuck. She looks worse than I thought, like she’s barely hanging on by a thread, and I hate it so much. Her eyes begin to glisten, and it seems like she’s only a few moments away from breaking down completely.

She shakes her head and mouths, Go.

I don’t.

In fact, I walk closer. I don’t stop until I’m waltzing into the truck like I own the place. I grab the other apron hanging on the hook and slide it over my head. Then, I spin my cap around and look at her.

“Put me to work.”

“Miller, I don’t have time for this today. I have—”

“Put. Me. To. Work,” I repeat.

Her eyes widen at the sternness in my voice, but to my surprise, she doesn’t argue. Instead, she reaches out and grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanking me closer to her. She pulls me in front of the register and points at it.

“You take orders, I’ll fill them. If they order a simple coffee, make it. Leave the complex ones to me. Make sure to hand them a straw if they order an iced coffee.”

“I got this,” I promise, even though I have no clue at all how to work any of the machines. “Go.” I wave her off, then shoot a big smile at the customer standing in front of me. “Welcome to Scout’s Sweets, the best damn donuts in the city. What can I get for you today?”

I swear I see her shoulders sag in relief in my periphery, but I refuse to look at her.

“Hey, can I get a half dozen Live Out Proud donuts?”

Oh crap, that’s right—she’s debuting her new donut. No wonder this place is packed.

“Sure thing,” I say, searching for the donut on the tablet and trying to figure out how to ring up a half dozen. “Just one second…” I mutter.

“Take your time, man,” the guy says. “None of us mind waiting. We’re all here to celebrate Scout for being so damn amazing. We can wait a few minutes, right, everyone?” he says loudly, addressing the crowd.

Multiple people throw their arms up and whoop loudly, cheering Scout on.

I love it for her, and I’m a little mad at myself for not seeing how amazing she is before.

“She’s thankful you all showed up today. Should have seen her gushing about these donuts yesterday,” I tell him, finally finding the button on the screen. I swing the machine over his way like I’ve seen Scout do so many times before. “They’re for her dads, which I think is pretty cool.”

He smiles up at me, pays, then steps off to the side to wait.

“Next!” I call out.

And that’s how the next several hours go. The line is crazy and seems never-ending, but when three o’clock rolls around, it finally dwindles until we only have a handful of customers left, and I’ve never been happier. I’ve had to sit through many autograph lines in my career, but never anything like this. I don’t know how Scout’s doing it because she hasn’t taken a break once since I got here, and there’s no telling the last time she actually had one.

“Hey,” I say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and stepping up behind her.

She freezes for a moment before she realizes it’s me, then relaxes into my touch. I think it’s a good thing I’m standing so close to her because I swear she’s about to collapse into my arms. I’d catch her too.

“Take a break,” I tell her softly.

“Huh?” She seems dazed, like she’s working on pure instinct right now. I honestly don’t think she even knows what she’s doing anymore.

“A break—you need one. Take it. I can handle the rest of these customers.”

Her brows are crushed together when she finally spins around. I try my hardest to ignore how close we’re currently standing, but it’s hard because she’s right there. We’ve never been this close before…and I don’t hate it.

If she notices this too, she doesn’t say anything.

“Let me take care of this,” I insist. “Go relax.”

She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it as she considers my offer. She’s tired. She knows she’s tired, but she’s scared to leave her baby in my hands.

It feels like forever before she finally nods and agrees to go. She unties her apron from around her waist and slips it over her head. She makes herself a fresh coffee, then disappears around the back side of the truck.

I take care of the last few people in line, then get to work on cleaning the truck the best I can. It’s a mess, but I’m sure once Scout sees how much she’s made today in tips alone, it’ll all be worth it.

I laugh when I slide a bottle of nutmeg onto the shelf, noting the other three bulk-size containers there. When I’m finished, I go looking for Scout.

I find her completely deflated, sitting hunched over in a fold-out lawn chair. I’ve never been back here before, but it’s clear she uses this area for her breaks.

She looks exhausted, like she could sleep for the next twelve hours and still not be rested. I approach slowly, dropping down into the chair beside her.

She perks up when she hears it squeak and starts to stand, but I grab her wrist to stop her.

“No. Rest.”

“But the truck…”

“Is fine. I put the Be Right Back sign up. We have fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, but did you—”

“Lock down the register? Yes. It’s all good.” I don’t tell her I know how to lock it down because I accidentally did it earlier and spent five minutes figuring out how to get back into it. She should change her passcode to something other than donuts.

“Oh.” She drops back into her chair. “Okay.”

We sit in silence for several minutes, both of us just trying to relax for the first time in hours.

“That was…”

“Absolute chaos?” she finishes with a sardonic laugh.

“Yeah. I don’t know how you do that regularly.”

“It’s normally not so bad. I usually have help, but…”

“Carla?” I guess. She nods. “Fucking Carla.”

“When I texted her last night, she swore she would be in today for the launch, but guess who didn’t show when I was here to prep at five?”

“Fucking Carla?”

“Yep. So, I fired her, because you were right—I’m worth more than the bullshit she was slinging my way.”

I grin. “Say that again.”

“I’m worth more than—”

“You are, but not that part. The other one.”

She peeks over at me, head tilted. Then she realizes what I’m asking, and she laughs. Only this time, it’s not sarcastic or mean. It’s genuine.

“You were right, Miller.”

“Ah,” I say, stretching my legs out and folding my hands over my stomach. “I love it when you say sweet things to me.”

She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way her lips tip up into a grin.

“I’m sorry she bailed on you. Was Stevie not available?”

“No. She had a thing at Macie’s school. She helps out there a few times a week. I couldn’t ask her to ditch that for my little donut truck.”

I don’t like the way she says little donut truck, like this doesn’t matter or something, but she’s tired and worn out, so I don’t say anything.

“I guess I’m going to have to hire someone else.” She groans, sitting forward and dropping her head into her hands. “Ugh. I’ve done so well not thinking about it all day, and now I am and—”

“Did you know a blue whale’s dick is massive? We’re talking eight to ten feet easily.”

Her mouth hangs open as she stares at me in complete shock. After several seconds, she shakes her head. “I… I… What the hell, Miller?”

I laugh. “Got you to stop thinking about Fucking Carla, didn’t it?”

Slowly, her look of shock transforms into a soft smile, and I realize then that I like her smile. A lot.

She settles back into her chair, looking a lot less stressed.

“Thank you,” she says quietly after a few silent moments. “For today. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing,” I tell her with a shrug. “Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

She rolls her head my way, that same smile still playing on her lips. “Yeah, I guess so…friend.”

“Holy shit!” I holler, jumping out of my chair. “You just called me your friend!”

“Ugh.” She grumbles again, rising to her feet. “Don’t make me take it back already.”

“You can’t. No takesies-backsies.”

“Oh, I can definitely take it back.” She points at me as she passes. “And I will, so behave.”

I hold my hands up, trailing behind her as we head back, our fifteen minutes up. “Yes, ma’am.”

We clamber back into the truck, and her eyes widen in surprise when she takes in the state of things.

“Miller…” She says my name softly, like a prayer. “You cleaned up?”

“Best as I could. I wasn’t sure where to put some things, so I left those out.”

“This is a million times better than it was.”

I shrug, not telling her I’m kind of a neat freak thanks to all my years having to pretend to have the perfect family. When you have a family like mine, you get good at cleaning up messes and making things look put together real fast.

“You really didn’t have to do all this, but I appreciate it so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

I’m not sure why, but her words strike me right in the chest and settle. They burrow into the cavity and latch onto something deep inside of me.

“It was nothing.”

She pins me with a stare that says she knows I’m lying. I’m a fucking pro hockey player whose season is careening closer every day; it’s not like I don’t have things to do. I’m supposed to be training. I’m supposed to be finishing up paperwork. I have homework, like watching tapes and getting ready for a grueling six-plus months ahead of me.

But she lets me have the words anyway and begins cleaning up the rest of the supplies, dropping them into the sink with a promise to clean them later. We work side by side, picking up the truck and packing away some leftovers she’s sure she won’t be able to sell today.

“Well fucking well,” a voice calls from out front. It’s followed by a low whistle and a laugh. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Shit.

I peek up from the donuts I’m currently boxing up to find Greer grinning at me smugly.

“Hey,” I say like an idiot.

He laughs. “Hey? Hey? That’s all I get? Especially when you’re here with donut girl?”

“Her name’s Scout.”

“Oh, good. You remembered,” the woman in question says, sliding up next to me. “Not sure we’ve officially been introduced.” I’ve been on the receiving end of her icy stares enough times to know that’s what she’s sending Greer’s way right now. She looks polite and sweet, but the look she’s giving him is anything but.

“Greer.”

“Do you work with Miller or something?”

He lifts a brow, his jaw tightening when she doesn’t recognize him. His ego is big enough that it annoys him, but it entertains me.

“Or something,” he mutters, then looks at me. “You get the group text?”

I know which one he’s referring to without asking. It was a chain put together by Smith when he retired that includes him, me, Wright, Rhodes, Lowell, and Greer. We have a strict no-work-talk policy in place. It’s just a place for us to shoot the shit and keep in touch.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, surprised to find a ton of unanswered texts. I’ve been ignoring it all day, and now I wish I hadn’t.

Smith: I’m saying this as your friend, but I swear, if any of you show up without dates, I’ll make you skate circles for shits and giggles.

Wright: As your friend…fuck off. You’re not even our real coach, old man.

Smith: Am too!

Wright: Whatever you say, Apple.

Rhodes: You do realize most of the guys in this chat are married, right?

Lowell: I’m not married.

Wright: No, but you’re stupidly in love with your baby momma.

Lowell: Damn right I am.

Rhodes: Aw, he’s finally found his feelings. How sweet.

Wright: Like you’re one to talk, Beast.

Rhodes: *middle-finger emoji*

Smith: What? No comments from the rookie?

Lowell: He’s not a rookie anymore. We’re not allowed to call him that. We gotta get a better nickname for him.

Rhodes: How about little shithead?

Wright: Or numbnuts?

Lowell: Come on, guys…

Wright: You ruin all the fun, Captain.

Rhodes: Yeah, who else are we supposed to make fun of? Greer?

Greer: Go for it. I have no feelings.

Greer: And don’t worry, I have a date lined up. Can’t speak for Miller, though.

Smith: Dammit. Someone get the kid on board.

Greer: Whatever you say, Gramps.

Smith: *middle-finger emoji*

With a groan, I shove the phone back into my pocket.

Scout wasn’t the only one who used today as a distraction from her issues. The guys have been on my ass all week about getting a date for the fundraiser. I’m down to just two weeks to find someone, and my options still aren’t looking good. To be fair, I haven’t been spending any time looking either.

“So, have you found a date yet?” Greer asks. “Or do you need help considering your…” He flicks his eyes to Scout. “Issue.”

Fuck. I haven’t, and he knows I haven’t, which is going to make this ten times more embarrassing to say in front of Scout.

“I—”

“You didn’t tell him, Miller?” Scout says, bumping my shoulder playfully and giving a flirty smirk, a far cry from how she normally is with me. Then she looks at Greer. “I’m his date.”