Exiting my car, I give her a rebuking look from head to toe. “Are you crazy coming out here without a coat? It’s twenty-seven degrees.”
Sophie smirks, throwing her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the house. “It’s a thirty-foot walk.”
“People have caught pneumonia in less,” I chastise as I move toward her, removing my wool coat. It’s not appropriate for extended periods out in this weather, but absolutely sufficient to get me from car to arena and back again.
She makes a sound in her throat and holds out her hands to stop me, but I ignore her and drape my coat over her shoulders. “Don’t argue,” I warn in a low voice.
Sophie scoffs and mutters, “Bossy.”
“Let me get my luggage.” I move around the car and pop the trunk, gathering the one large suitcase and duffel bag I brought with me from Arizona. After leaving the arena, I ran over and grabbed my stuff, leaving a hefty tip for the maid service before checking out.
Once I have my bags in hand, Sophie slaps her palm against a button on the wall and the garage door lowers. I follow her through a regular swing door and into the backyard, startled by how pretty it is despite the browned grass of winter.
At the bottom of the porch step is a stone patio with a nice set of outdoor furniture—a couch, table, and two chairs—with several pots that I imagine hold plants and flowers in the warmer months. The base of her house is uplit behind the barren bushes. The lights provide not only safety but a pleasing ambient glow. A fountain sits off to the side and strung along the entire length of her fence are lights with Edison bulbs.
The minute she steps one foot into the yard, floodlights on the back of the garage flash on, and the entire yard is lit up. We walk toward the house and midway there, motion sensors catch us, triggering floodlights atop the house.
It’s overkill to someone like me, but to someone like Sophie, it’s probably not enough.
As we move up the porch steps, I apologize again for being late.
“No worries,” she assures me with a quick look over her shoulder. “You don’t have to be here at a certain time, and you should come and go as you please. I have a spare key for you so you can sneak in at whatever time you need. And I’ll give you the alarm code.”
The back door leads directly into the kitchen, which is filled with amazing aromas. Once inside the house, she locks and dead bolts the door before reaching for the alarm panel and reengaging the system.
She shrugs off my coat, handing it to me with a demure smile. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem.” I lay it across the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
“I went ahead and reheated your dinner when you texted you were on your way. I did it low and slow in the oven rather than murder the chicken in the microwave.”
The last thing I am is hungry. When we realized we’d be working late, we had food brought in. While it’s been a couple of hours since I’ve eaten, I’m definitely not hungry for a full meal.
But there is absolutely no way I’m going to decline after she went through all this trouble. I clap my hands together and rub them in anticipation. “I can’t wait. I’m starved.”
Sophie beams and then orders me to take a seat at the table. She offers me something to drink, and I accept a beer, sipping it while she dishes up chicken breasts topped with melted mozzarella and sautéed tomatoes, green beans, and a slice of sourdough bread. When she sets it before me, it smells and looks so damn good, my previously full stomach rumbles with a hunger that was nonexistent when I walked through the door.
I know without a doubt that if I become a permanent roommate of Sophie’s, I’ll probably have to schedule extra workouts to compensate for all this great food.
Of course, I could tell her not to cook for me, but oddly, I don’t want to do that. In addition to the food smelling amazing and looking like it came from a gourmet restaurant, there’s a level of comfort I’ve never felt before when coming home at the end of a workday. Something about her waiting for me and making sure I’m fed is so appealing, and I’m smart enough to know that this might indicate a deeper level of interest beyond just making sure she’s okay.
I dig in to my meal as Sophie pulls out the adjacent chair and sits.
Sophie rests her elbow on the table and props her chin in her palm. “So, how was your first day?”
Having just taken a bite of the chicken, I can’t quite answer, not just because my mouth is full but because I’m relishing the taste. I groan with appreciation and wipe my mouth with a napkin after I swallow. “Holy hell, that is delicious, Sophie.”
“Thanks.” She smiles brightly.
As I cut my next piece, I answer her question. “My first day was an absolute roller coaster. Parts of it were enjoyable, and parts of it were a clusterfuck. Excuse my language.”
Sophie waves off my cursing. “Tell me about the clusterfuck first.”
In between bites, I tell Sophie all about Drake McGinn, about our time playing with the Buffalo Wolves and our friendship, as well as the circumstances under which he left the team and the league last year. I tell her about my bright idea to bring him out of retirement because he would make a fabulous primary goalie for the Titans. He was the best talent they would be able to get this late in the season.
“And then he fucked it all up,” I grumble. “Basically went off on Brienne Norcross and stormed out of the conference room. He’s just way too bitter about what happened to even try to open himself up for another shot.”
Sophie nods in understanding. “I get it. He was betrayed not only by individuals, some of whom he probably considered friends, but he was essentially betrayed by the industry as a whole. No other teams stepped up to offer for him last year. No wonder he’s suspicious.”
“I know,” I reply with frustration. “But he’s an adult. Put that shit aside because you’ve got a great opportunity.”
“Is there any chance you could get him to change his mind?”
I shake my head. “He’s burned that bridge with Brienne. With Coach Keller as well, but he didn’t really want Drake, anyway.”
“Why not?”
I study Sophie, wondering whether she’s being polite in keeping me company while I eat or if she’s truly interested in my day. Either is acceptable, touching in its own way. What little I know about Sophie, it’s probably both.
“Keller is an odd duck,” I admit. “He talks out of both sides of his mouth. We spent a lot of time yesterday talking about coaching philosophies and values, making sure we were all aligned. He spoke a big game about understanding there might be limitations and giving the incoming players their best shots. But the minute I brought up Drake McGinn as a possibility, he wrote him off just because of the ex-wife’s allegations.”
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Sophie murmurs, shifting in her chair and settling back against it. She crosses one leg over the other, her feet still encased in her winter boots.
“That’s my theory.” I spear a green bean. “Brienne said nearly the same thing, but again, Drake was such a dick to her, I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way anymore.”
“It’s a shame. Sounds like he needed a second chance.”