Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 3
As he pulled me up, a worm of guilt about my evening of distraction gnawed at my insides. I’d lost out on shared moments with my friends due to my thoughts about Ryan. I decided it was probably best to go before it happened again.
“Guys, I think it’s time to hit the sack.” I reached up, stretched my arms, and let out an exaggerated yawn. “I need to conserve my energy for the big game, right?”
Nate’s brow furrowed, and I saw suspicion in his eyes. “Are you holding out on us, Ethan? Have you got a guy waiting for you down at the bar? There’s another day to rest. Since when do you get in a hurry about that?”
“No guy at the bar. I’ll go straight home.” That much was true.
Marek paused the movie and joined the conversation. “Really, Puckless. You’ve been distant all evening. What’s eating you?”
“Nothing, I swear.” I scratched the stubble on my cheek and looked from one to the other. “I’m just—drained. Seriously. Maybe it is the fall.”
“They could have checked you for a concussion,” Nate said.
“No—didn’t need that. I’m fine.”
“Worried they’d find out there’s nothing inside that hard head?”
Marek snickered at Nate’s wit.
I saw the disappointment written on Nate’s face, but he conceded. “If you insist, yeah, go. Rest up, champ. We do need you scoring goals.”
“Thanks.” I stood and grabbed my jacket from the back of a chair. “See you guys at practice tomorrow.”
I walked to the door, my shoulders heavy with the stares of my best friends on the team. The chilly night air nipped at me as I stepped out into the dark.
I wondered whether I’d made the right move keeping my thoughts about Ryan secret. It didn’t matter. The die was cast. Soon, I’d find out whether we were a good match or just two awkward ships passing in the night. I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and looked up at the sky, wondering what the stars had in store for me.
FOUR
RYAN
“Ryan!” Ethan called, his voice trembling on the last note as he bore down on me at the bar. His silhouette, backlit by the neon beer signs, was that of an impressively fit athlete. The flex of his muscled shoulders sent a shiver down my spine.
“Man, it’s good to see you,” I greeted him, opening my arms wide for a brief hug. Ethan’s body was solid and warm. I hoped it would soon feel familiar, too.
Despite his attempt at a relaxed demeanor, I suspected an undercurrent of nerves hummed away. I pulled back from the hug, allowing my eyes to scan his face. His rugged brow furrowed with mild anxiety, but the crystal blue depths of his eyes were serene as they reflected the glow from ceiling lights in the bar.
“Why don’t we grab a seat?” I suggested, gesturing toward a vacant booth tucked in a corner. It was the perfect place for a getting-to-know-you conversation. As we nestled into the worn leather seats, I watched Ethan tap out a slightly nervous rhythm on the wood table.
“Impressive joint,” he acknowledged as he glanced around the crowded room.
“Yeah, it’s got a certain charm.” I found it hard to take my eyes off Ethan, but I looked around the bar for a moment, too. “They’ve got an enviable whiskey line-up over there.”
Ethan’s lips twitched into a half-smile, and I thought I saw the first unwinding of his nervousness as he slouched in his seat. I was happy to see him abandon his rigid pose.
I looked at a paper announcement tacked up on the wall and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Irish dancing, ever tried it? The sign there says it’s all the rage here.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, and laughter bubbled up from deep inside. In his thick, rich bass voice, he said, “I’d probably shatter a bone.” Finally, the playful spark I’d seen so many times on the ice shone in his eyes.
“Ah, don’t be so sure,” I shot back. “The headlines would be legendary. It would read Hockey Icon Trades Blades for Dancing Shoes.”
“I think it’s more likely to read Hockey Forward Hospitalized After Foolhardy Attempt at a Jig. His grin filled his face, and we both enjoyed a good chuckle.
Our conversation started like a gentle stream and soon began to flow like a river after a thaw. It scurried along on an undercurrent of laughter and lighthearted banter. Ethan called for a beer, and I opted for a whiskey neat, savoring the deep, smoky flavor as it coated my tongue and warmed my throat.
“Did I ever tell you about when I locked myself out of my apartment?” I asked. While I waited for his response, I tilted my glass to let the amber liquid catch the light.
“No, do tell,” Ethan leaned in. The intensity of his gaze advertised his natural curiosity.
Using hand movements to help illustrate the tale, I shared my memory. “Picture this—I step outside for two seconds to grab the mail. Actually—back up for a sec. It was winter, and I was in bare feet. So, I stepped outside and swung the door shut, only to realize too late that my keys were still inside.” I shook my head and grimaced.
“Ouch,” Ethan replied in empathy. “What happened next?”
“I ended up shinnying my way up the fire escape to sneak in through an unlocked window. It would have worked great if a neighbor didn’t call the cops on suspicion of me being a robber.”
Ethan’s hearty laughter boomed through the bar, and I watched his shoulders finally relax. He lifted his beer, his bicep curling in a way that sent my pulse into overdrive. I had to remind myself to keep the conversation going and focus on his words to avoid staring at the handsome sight across from me.
I leaned in partway across the table. I’d been intrigued by Ethan’s passion for the ice since I first laid eyes on him. “How did you land in hockey? You could have been almost any kind of athlete with your size, muscle, and coordination. I’m sure baseball and football coaches would both chase after you.”
“Funny enough, it was my mom,” he revealed. “She was a phenomenal figure skater—placed in junior nationals. Watching her skate gracefully like a swan on ice, I wanted to be just like her.”
“You—a figure skater?” I teased. “I can’t quite picture that, but—oh, that’s what you were trying to do the other day. I saw the toe loop. It does work a lot better with the proper skates.”
Ethan blushed. “Yeah—guess I wanted to shake things up a little in our dull practice sessions.”
“Anyway—back to your story.”
“So, yeah—by the time I was twelve and started to bulk up a bit, I couldn’t see myself as a figure skater either.” He chuckled and reached up to run a hand through his hair. “First time I stepped on the ice, I must’ve been about six. I had all the grace of a newborn calf. Mom still has the pictures of me sprawled on the ice stuck to her fridge.”
“That’s some grade-A blackmail material there.” I chuckled and reflexively reached out to touch his forearm.
He didn’t look down or try to move away from my touch. “True. I traded those figure skates for hockey ones when I was thirteen, and well, here I am.”
“She must be so proud,” I said. I casually squeezed his muscular forearm and pulled my hand back. He responded by placing both hands on the table to rest before him. I could practically see the tiny sparks bouncing between us.
“Thank you. Mom always tells me how proud she is. I miss her, but she’s taking care of Grandma out in California. She has a bad case of dementia.”
Ethan’s gaze met mine. “What about you? How did you land on writing?”
“Ah, now that’s a tale,” I said. I rolled my eyes back in dramatic fashion. “I was good at basketball in middle school, but my height wasn’t quite up to the mark. I got rejected from the team because of it.”
“Really?” Ethan asked. He frowned, and his brows knitted together out of concern for me.
“Yeah, but instead of wallowing in rejection, I channeled my frustration into an article about how heightism has no place in high school sports. The school paper published it, and I was hooked. Later, it won a regional award for high school journalism.”
“That’s impressive,” Ethan said. He inched the fingers of his right hand across the table until our knuckles brushed together. The contact made my breath catch in my throat. “So, the rejection led you to your true calling?” he asked.
“It seems so. Sometimes, life throws curveballs that lead us to a better path.” Our eyes locked together, and I couldn’t resist the magnetic pull. I reached out to take his hand.
“Couldn’t agree more,” he said as our fingers wove together, and Ethan’s thumb rubbed the back of my hand. For a moment, we were the only two people in the world, drawn together by an irresistible force.
A new tension built between us—a romantic one—and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I took an easy route and brought up the topic that brought us together in the first place—hockey.
“What do you think are your chances for a playoff spot this season? Nate’s pretty high on the possibility.”
Ethan’s eyes lit up with determination. “We stand a strong chance. We need to make sure we finish ahead of those bottom two spots in the standings. We’ve been practicing hard, and every game is better than the last. Our team dynamic’s solid. We can make it.”
“That’s the spirit,” I raised my glass in a toast, “To making the playoffs.”
“Cheers,” he clinked his bottle against my glass.
We spent another hour or so sharing lighthearted stories and memories of growing up. When our conversation hit a natural pause, I was happy to see that Ethan was in no hurry to call it a night. I wasn’t either, but I’d always operated on the principle that it’s better to leave them wanting more than hoping the evening will end soon.
“I’ve had a great time tonight, Ethan,” I said. “Would you like to do this again—only over dinner next time?” My words hung in the air between us, ripe with promise.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” His blue eyes searched mine for any sign of hesitation.
“Absolutely,” I responded. I conveyed nothing but certainty in my voice. “Let’s have a proper first date.”
His lips curved upward into a smile. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you later, and we’ll plan it all out. I don’t think we need to discuss our dating arrangements on professional time.”
Ethan agreed, and we left O’Malley’s side by side. As we said our goodbyes, there was a promise of something phenomenal between us waiting to blossom.
“Goodnight, Ryan,” Ethan’s voice was soft as he turned to leave, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
“Goodnight, Ethan,” I echoed, the words barely above a whisper, as I watched him stroll down the sidewalk. The night had been more than I could have asked for, and while I drove back to my apartment, my heart buzzed in anticipation of what was to come.
The old, sturdy oak door to my apartment building groaned as I swung it shut behind me. I lived on the ground floor, and it was only a short walk to the third door down a corridor.
After inserting my key into the lock and letting myself inside, I let out a triumphant, uncontainable giggle, the sound bouncing off the exposed brick walls. It carried all the excitement I’d been holding in throughout the evening.
The leftover energy from the night danced in my veins, teasing my senses like a subtle jazz riff. I dropped my keys on my cold, granite counter in the kitchen that still held the remnants of my hurried dinner. Eager to share my joy, I pulled out my phone and quickly punched in a number. I was calling the one person who could adequately share my enthusiasm about the evening.
“Arlo,” I managed, panting with glee as the call connected. “Prepare to have your socks knocked off. Tonight was nothing short of phenomenal.”
“Spill the tea!” Arlo, my lifetime friend, and confidant, implored from the other end. His voice crackled with genuine joy. It wasn’t difficult to see an image of his mischievous smile and spiky red hair in my mind.”
“First, our banter flowed smoother than the finest Irish whiskey. But the clincher?” I paused for dramatic effect. “I proposed a bona fide next date on the spot, and he accepted!”
“Oh, my stars, Ryan! That’s sensational news!” Arlo’s outburst of joy colored his words in vivid, happy hues. He was 150 miles away in Chicago, but I thought I could hear his shout drifting to my ears outside the phone.
“Isn’t it incredible? I sensed our connection through how he looked at me and fought for my attention in the locker room, but I had to know whether it would hold up in person.”
“And?” I heard impatience in Arlo’s voice.
“It was like watching a tulip burst into bloom.” That was the best I could do. Despite my writing skills, I struggled to encapsulate the magic of the evening in mere words.
Arlo’s laughter echoed through the receiver, light and teasing. “Looks like Cupid’s arrow has pierced you right through that beating heart. Just don’t let it bleed you dry, okay? You tend to pour yourself out when enamored with someone new.”
I let out a long, low sigh. “Your concern is duly noted, dearest, but something is compelling about Ethan. He ignites a spark in me, like the first crackle of a bonfire on a chilly autumn night, you know?”
“Believe me, I do,” Arlo admitted. His voice mellowed into a warm whisper. “I’m thrilled for you. So, what’s the game plan now? What’s your strategy to hold onto your ice warrior?”
The question plunged me into deep thought. “I want to proceed with measured steps. He has a challenging playoff season ahead, and the last thing I want to do is add more pressure.”
“Sounds like a smart plan.” Arlo’s approval was apparent. “Remember, the most enduring relationships are constructed on the bedrock of friendship. Take your time to develop that, too, and, most of all, savor the journey and not just the destination.”
“Thank you, Arlo. You’re the best.” I felt blessed by his steady presence in my life. “Your support is a lighthouse in the tumultuous sea of my existence.”
A wave of laughter from Arlo flooded the phone. “That’s what best friends are for, right? Now quit stargazing and tuck in for the night. Make sure you dream about your hockey beau—please, for me.”
“Night, Arlo—love you always.” I signed off with a lopsided smile filling my face.
As I nestled into the comforting embrace of my bed, thoughts of a potential future with Ethan fluttered around in my head like the first notes of a fresh melody. It was like an empty canvas, awaiting the brushstrokes of time spent together to fill in the picture. And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to hope that I was on the verge of creating something truly extraordinary with another man.
FIVE
ETHAN
A gust of frigid Wisconsin winter air hit us like a slap in the face as Ryan and I met in front of one of Madison’s best upscale steakhouses. I stomped my feet just outside the door to loosen the crusted snow on my boots.
“Jesus, it’s colder than a witch’s—uh—cauldron out here,” Ryan remarked. As he spoke, his words turned into a cloud of frozen breath that hung briefly in the sharp, icy air before vanishing into the dark sky.
Seeing him shivering, I offered, “Here, let me help adjust your scarf.” My clumsy fingers scrambled to secure the ends and wrap it tighter. I only succeeded in making more of a mess. Trying to appear suave instead of awkward, I tucked all of the loose parts into the collar of his peacoat.
“I appreciate it,” he gamely replied. His green eyes sparkled under the pale glow of the streetlights. Ryan was stunningly handsome, wrapped in his navy peacoat with the collar turned up against the cold. Being close to him gave me a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach.
“All ready?” I asked.
“Never been more ready.”
I pushed open the heavy oak door and revealed the warm atmosphere of an inviting restaurant. The room was a comforting haven after the biting cold. The heat from a flickering fireplace wrapped around us like a cozy blanket. The intoxicating scent of seared steak and aromatic spices wafted through the air, causing a rumble of hunger in my gut.
“Ethan—I can’t thank you enough for this.” His voice was soft, and I spotted a shy smile.
“Of course,” I responded before a nervous tightness gripped my throat. I managed to squeak out, “You deserve it.”
Ryan didn’t say more, but he closed the gap between us and pulled me into a squeezing hug. His body relaxed against mine, seeping into the empty spaces between my arms. It was a perfect puzzle piece fit. We lingered in the moment, filled with a profound sense of comfort neither of us was eager to disturb.
An ostentatious clearing of a throat sounded from behind us and disturbed our quiet moment of shared affection. I found myself face-to-face with an older man in a pressed white shirt and black bow tie. His polished chrome name tag identified him as our host.
“Welcome—may I assume it’s a table for two?”
“Yes—uh—two.” I stumbled slightly over my words, and a light blush bloomed on my cheeks.
He escorted us to a corner table. Warm candlelight played over the smooth, polished oak surface of the table and tossed flickering shadows against the sumptuous, burgundy-colored wallpaper.
A cheerful voice broke the silence. “Good evening, gentlemen.” It was our server, a young man with sparkling blue eyes that peeked out from beneath a chaotic tumble of brunette curls. He introduced himself as Jasper. “Can I tempt you with something from our drinks menu to start the evening?”
“Scotch, neat, please,” Ryan declared, his voice steady and sure.
“I’ll have a beer, whatever’s on tap.”
“Excellent choices, gentlemen,” Jasper acknowledged. He leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “By the way, our steaks tonight are so tender you could easily cut them with a spoon but don’t worry, we won’t deny you the use of a proper knife!”
