Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 4
He placed a small basket on the table before asking, “Do you know what our bread does on its day off?”
Ryan and I looked at each other and then shrugged.
“It loafs around.” Jasper delivered the punchline with a perfectly deadpan expression on his face.
“That’s awful,” I said as Ryan chuckled under his breath.
“Eager to put your knife skills to the test?” Jasper continued, a cheeky grin playing on his lips. “I tried to cut my steak with a butter knife once. Let’s just say it was a grave ‘mis-steak.’”
“Wow,” I winced, shaking my head in mock horror, unable to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “I think that was worse.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Jasper said as he accepted the backhanded praise, bowing deeply as if receiving a standing ovation. “I’ll be here all night, gentlemen.”
As Jasper sauntered off to fetch our drinks, I found my gaze drawn back to Ryan. His light laughter still hung in the air, and a growing sense of ease made the rest of the night seem significantly less daunting.
Ryan took a blind stab at a possible conversation topic. His index finger traced the rim of his scotch glass as he spoke. “Did you know that there’s a fern that thrives without soil?”
“No—I guess I didn’t.” I wasn’t sure whether he wanted to indulge in a round of botanical trivia or he was telling me about a plant that he owned.
“Staghorn ferns—they’re air plants. I have one on the wall in my living room. It takes all the nutrients it needs from air and water.”
“Air plant, huh? I guess that’s even less care than my stubborn little cacti require. They aren’t quite as exotic, but they are pretty hardy.”
“A fellow green thumb,” Ryan stated. A wide grin played across his face. “There’s a certain satisfaction, don’t you think, in nurturing a living thing and watching it grow?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Even if it’s a headstrong little cactus that doesn’t seem to appreciate my efforts.”
“Reminds me of someone I know,” Ryan playfully teased with a mischievous glint in his eye. My cheeks flushed in response, but I managed to chuckle along with him.
“Alright, alright,” I conceded, enjoying the light-hearted banter. “You’ve intrigued me with your air plant collection. Next time, I’d love to see them.”
“Consider it a date,” Ryan responded, clinking his glass against mine.
A comfortable rhythm took over our conversation. The initial nerves were all but gone, replaced by a genuine connection and the sharing of mutual interests.
Time seemed to fly by. Jasper soon returned bearing plates holding succulent steaks cooked to perfection.”
Bon appétit, gentlemen,” he announced as he placed our meals before us. The tantalizing aroma of perfectly seared meat mingled with garlic butter and swirled around my head.
“Wow, this looks fantastic,” Ryan exclaimed, slicing effortlessly through his steak topped with a golden crust of blue cheese. “You should try a bite. And let me have a taste of yours.”
We exchanged bites, the explosive flavors of the bourbon glaze on my steak contrasting with the robust richness of the blue cheese on his. The flavors performed a tantalizing dance on my palate, leaving me wanting more.
“Damn, that’s good,” Ryan acknowledged after tasting my dish, his fingers brushing against mine as he returned my fork. The touch sent a flurry of butterflies into flight in my gut. I blushed, unsure whether it was the charged moment of our contact or the culinary delight.”
You’ve got a knack for understatement,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ve indeed made two fantastic choices.”
I continually wanted to look at Ryan as we tucked into our dinner. The soft glow from the candles danced over his handsome features. It was a difficult battle to stop myself from staring.
With only a few bites of his steak left, Ryan extended his hand across the table and wrapped my fingers in the palm of his hand. “I just wanted to say—I’m glad we’re doing this. This has been a great night.”
“I can’t remember the last time I felt this—um—this comfortable, this real with someone,” I confessed. My heart pounded as I turned my hand over and wove our fingers together.
“Then let’s make sure it’s not the last time,” Ryan suggested. Suddenly, the fears and uncertainties that colored the early part of my evening seemed trivial. They dissolved into the warmth of Ryan’s touch and the possibility of something genuinely extraordinary developing between us.
“Care for something sweet to end the meal?” I probed gently.
“Actually, Ethan, I took care of that already.”
“Oh?” My voice pitched upward, and my eyebrows created a puzzled furrow on my forehead. I was ready to ask another question when Jasper, our charismatic server, appeared at our table, holding a plate covered by a silver dome.
“Behold, gentlemen, your grand finale!” He revealed the concealed dessert with a theatrical flourish, an artistic chocolate cake marvel bearing the words “Happy First Date” written in lighter milk chocolate across the top.
My heart skipped a beat as I chuckled. “You didn’t...” my voice trailed off as I looked across the table at Ryan.
“He tipped me off about the special nature of your evening, and so I dared to add a personal touch,” Jasper explained. “May this be your initial first date, yet not your ultimate or only—at least with each other.”
We both laughed out loud at Jasper’s eccentric comment. With a wink and a nod, he retreated from the table to leave us to our extraordinary dessert.
“This is—I don’t know what to say,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”
Ryan shrugged to take it all in stride with a charming grin. “I figured—If we’re doing this, we might as well pull out all the stops, eh?”
“Indeed,” I agreed. My attraction to Ryan continued to grow inside. I hoped we had many more dates ahead of us as well as quiet time, sexy time, and every other kind of time.
As we savored the dessert, our shared laughter added to the gentle hubbub of sounds in the restaurant. Time itself seemed to stand still—at least for a few minutes.
Ryan started to take his last bite, but then he reached across the table and offered it to me. “Seriously, Ethan, I have nowhere else to put this.”
I was the athlete and knew I could burn off one forkful of cake in two minutes of practice on the ice. I leaned forward and savored the last bite Ryan offered me.
Neither of us was ready for the evening to end. Ryan suggested, “Let’s explore Capitol Square. It’s crisp and cold out, but it will be worth it with you.”
I agreed. I didn’t know whether I’d even feel the cold weather with Ryan at my side.
As we stepped out into the winter air, all the wind had died down, and the snow was finished falling. I looked up at the lighted capitol dome as the snow crunched underfoot. I’d wandered around the square many times with Nate on summer nights, but exploring with a date in winter was a new experience.
The new fallen snow sparkled under the streetlights. It looked as if someone had tossed glitter onto a white canvas. “It’s gorgeous,” Ryan said as his breath misted in the frigid air.
“It truly is,” I echoed.
We turned a corner and encountered a small crowd encircling a street performer. The enticing aroma of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor and the playful laughter of the audience drew us in close. Ryan’s fingers tightened around mine, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“This could be fun,” he nudged as he guided me closer.
Clad in a vintage suit, top hat, and a tacky red bow tie, the performer held the crowd’s attention with his exaggerated antics. I laughed at the comical spectacle.
“Isn’t this something?” Ryan asked.
Suddenly, the performer looked directly at Ryan and me, and he beckoned us forward, raising cheers from the audience.
“Let’s join in,” I found myself saying, surprising even me with my spontaneity.
“You sure, Ethan?”
“Why not?” It was already a night to remember, so I knew adding one more souvenir experience would be great.
As we approached the performer, he handed us props—an umbrella for me and a baguette for Ryan.
As the man launched into a mimed rainstorm, Ryan wielded his baguette like a sword, fighting off invisible rain, while I held the umbrella above our heads.
We threw ourselves into the act with energy and enthusiasm. Laughter roared from the spectators. My connection with Ryan grew even more profound.
“Bravo, bravo!” the performer hailed our performance, and the audience echoed his sentiments.
Ryan waved the baguette like a flag and bowed deeply to acknowledge the applause. “Thank you, everyone!”
As we declined an encore with polite smiles, we resumed our evening stroll around the Square. Illuminated by street lamps and stars, the snow continued to glow like an enchanted white blanket.
We finally decided that it was time to go. My feet were nearly numb from the cold, and it was getting late. As we approached our cars, I felt a twinge of melancholy, knowing that we’d never have another formal first date. The evening was ending, but I took comfort in also knowing that something new and thrilling was beginning.
“Goodnight, Ethan,” Ryan whispered. He reached out to touch the sides of my face, ruddy from the cold, and draw me into a gentle kiss. The electric sensation made my heart pound hard like a bass drum.
When he pulled back from the kiss, the streetlights sparkled in his eyes, and I felt a warm sensation that drove the chill away. We said our final goodbyes, and when I climbed into my car, I turned to see him standing there, a handsome figure set against the backdrop of a snowy, sparkling canvas.
As I drove away, my lips curved into a knowing smile. A new chapter of my life was beginning, wrapped in the magic of the winter’s night and the promise of many more shared moments with Ryan.
SIX
RYAN
“Breathe, Ryan,” I commanded myself. My stylus danced nervously over the obsessive detail of my notes on my tablet. My highlighting was a chaotic patchwork of colors and number sequences, each tracing a potential path of questions, answers, and further exploration.
While I did an admirable job of appearing calm, anxiety often fluttered like a trapped bird inside me. The day’s interviews were more than mere journalism—they would be an exploration of what my personal life might become if everything worked with Ethan.
I knew there was a reasonable chance I wouldn’t use the results of the interviews in any publication. I was already considering abandoning the feature on the Mitts. Dating Ethan would create a clear conflict of interest.
Still—I couldn’t set it aside just yet. That would invite questions that might lead to prematurely revealing my relationship with Ethan. I had to stick with the initial plan. First was an in-depth conversation with Nate Reyes, Ethan’s best friend.
I had a chance to speak with Nate a few days earlier in the locker room, but I relished the new opportunity to talk without the distractions of other players—and Ethan over his shoulder.
I’d reserved a conference room at the Mitts’ home arena on a day off. It was exceedingly quiet—the only sound was the hum of the building’s heating system. The room’s atmosphere shifted when Nate entered with an infectious grin painted across his face.
“Ready to hit it?” he asked, his voice rebounding off the sterile walls.
“More than ever,” I said, pulling a bit of swaggering confidence from deep inside. “Let’s start with how you think the team’s performed this season. Are you still as confident as a few days ago?”
Nate sat across from me. He adopted a relaxed posture as he leaned back in the chair. “Absolutely. This season has been a rollercoaster, but we’re hitting our stride. We’re working all the kinks out, and our opponents are starting to fear us.”
I nodded, making notes on my tablet. “And how about Ethan? How do you think he’s been performing lately?”
Nate’s grin widened. “Ethan’s killing it out there. He’s always been a great player, but he’s on fire this year. I don’t think a single player in the league can stop him right now.”
I felt my cheeks heat up at Nate’s words. Despite my attempt to remain entirely professional, my feelings for Ethan were hard to ignore. “Has something changed in his personal life that would explain the change in intensity?”
Nate raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable momentarily before his grin returned. “Ah, I see where this is going. You want the inside scoop on Ethan and his mysterious relationship. He’s a little distracted when we hang out, but it doesn’t impact anything on the ice.”
I bit my lip. Ethan’s friends already suspected something. I decided to take a sharp turn in my questions and avoid additional talk about him.
Unfortunately, Nate didn’t play my game. His dark eyes sparkled as he reminisced about an exhilarating game where he had scored the winning goal, more by good fortune than skill—in the days before he became a defense specialist.
“Apropos luck,” Nate said, sinking deeper into his chair, arms folded like a shield, “You should have seen Ethan’s face during our last road trip.” He paused, chuckling under his breath. “We were at this diner that had this insane burger challenge, where if you ate the whole thing, they’d put your picture on the wall.”
A slight nod from me was all the encouragement he needed to continue.
“Ethan, the madman, took the challenge head-on. Halfway through, I thought he’d give up. His face was all puffed up and red, but he didn’t. He battled on with the same determination you see in crucial games. And he did it! With only seconds to spare.”
I joined Nate in laughter. It warmed my heart to think about my hockey knight waging war with a colossal burger. As Nate recounted more of their antics, the knot of worry in my gut began to unravel.
“Thanks for sharing that, Nate,” I said, touched by the unexpected anecdotes.
“Oh, any time—I’ve got so many more where those stories are stored.”
“I’m curious, Nate,” I said. “We’ve talked a bit of hockey, and we’ve talked about Ethan. How about a change of pace? What’s your idea of a perfect day off?”
His eyes lit up as he mulled over the question. “Definitely a day at the beach, surrounded by friends and a cooler chock-full of drinks,” he said. “There’s something liberating about forgetting the pressures of the game, even if it’s only for a day or even several hours.”
“Sounds idyllic,” I agreed, capturing his thoughts on my tablet. “One last question—if you could have any superpower, what would it be?”
“Teleportation!” Nate said without hesitation. “Imagine no more early morning practices and no more transcontinental flights. Plus, I could pop back home to see my family whenever I felt like it.”
His enthusiasm was infectious. It was easy to get caught up in his playful optimism.
When we wrapped up, Nathan shook my hand. “See you on the ice, Ryan, and watch out if Ethan tries any more of those crazy jumps.”
Marek, the recent Czechia import, was next. He was even more physically imposing than Ethan, but his enchanting smile was infectious. A sizable set of the Madison Mitt fanbase was already eagerly devoted to following his achievements on the ice.
“Hello Marek, how are you?” I asked, reaching out for a customary handshake.
“Ah, Ryan!” Marek’s accent thickened his words, adding an extra layer of charm. “I am good, thank you.”
“And are you finding America a friendly place to live and play?”
“I must admit, when I first moved here from Czechia, my thoughts were a mix of wonder and intimidation.”
“Is that so?” I asked, intrigued by his honesty. “What surprised you the most?”
“Everything is bigger,” Marek gestured, his hands sweeping in wide arcs. “The roads, the cars, the portions of food, and even your squirrels! My country is only about three hundred of your American miles from end to end. That’s barely more than it takes to get to the big city of Minneapolis.”
I chuckled softly. “I suppose it is all a matter of perspective.”
“And then I’m still getting used to football. The American game confuses me—of course, back home, football is what you call soccer.”
Marek laughed, and his laughter was infectious. I joined in and found his revelations about life in America both heartwarming and engaging.
“Is there anything else that caught you off guard? The ball is in your court,” I said.
“Ball? Court? Are we talking basketball now?”
I wrapped myself on the forehead with the heel of my hand. “Sorry, Marek. It’s just a saying. It means that it’s your turn to speak.”
“Ah, yes!” he said, his grin widening. “Well, the first time I went to shop for food, I found a huge row just for cereal. We have different kinds, but it was a rainbow of colors and all that sugar. Americans eat candy for breakfast.”
As Marek shared his experiences, humor, and fascination with American culture, I enjoyed reflecting on my home. Getting to witness Marek’s journey through his eyes was a privilege. I wouldn’t forget it soon.
Suddenly, without a hint of warning, he shifted in his chair. He rolled his broad shoulders forward. His eyes took on a playful glow. “Enough about me,” he declared. “Tell me something interesting about you, Ryan. Paint me a picture of what life is like for an American sports journalist.”
I laughed, and it came out a high, clipped sound that, even to my ears, betrayed a bit of unease. My mind raced through the terrain of topics I thought safe to mention while quickly discarding other uncharted territories—Ethan, in particular.
“Interesting?” I mused. “Well, I’m not completely sure what’s interesting about me, but my job is far from monotonous, I assure you. I spend time chasing leads and unraveling honest stories from the tangle of rumors and half-truths. Of course, I’m always hunting for that perfect scoop.”
