Summary:

Roz’s Montreal girl. The girl who’d one had him show up to practice covered in cat scratches. The same girl, if Cliff has to guess, that Roz has been texting since his fucking rookie season. He decides to go for a hail mary.

“Bet your girl’s happy about the shorter commute, huh?” Roz’s eyes snap to his, wide with shock. Cliff raises his hand in a placating gesture. “Relax, brother.”

“Yes,” he says, “she is.”

(Cliff & Ilya)³