Page 16 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

But my tone comes out sharp—far sharper than I intend—when I ask, “Is that a problem?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Troy

I hold up my hands, palms out. “Nope. Drink your coffee however you like. No judgment here. I played hockey with a guy in college who was convinced coffee helped him play his best. And to be fair, there’s evidence that caffeine helps with focus and physical performance, so he wasn’t way off base. But the guy hated coffee, and he mixed it half and half with flavored creamer just to choke it down.”

A small smile breaks out on her face, and she seems to relax. I’m not sure what just happened, but I obviously touched some kind of nerve.

Picking up my mug, I watch as she stirs three sugar packets and two tiny creamer cups into hers. Sure, it’s more than I take since I drink my coffee black, but it’s not nearly as insane as Nealy’s coffee. Oh-so-casually I ask, “Did someone give you grief about having cream and sugar in your coffee?”

She carefully—and thoroughly—stirs her coffee before lightly tapping the spoon on the rim and setting it on her napkin. When she meets my eyes, she lifts her mug of coffee, holding it in front of her, and she lifts one shoulder in what’s supposed to be a careless shrug, but I see the lines of tension in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. “An ex,” she says at last in an attempt at a light tone.

If I couldn’t see her, read her body language, I might even be fooled. But I’m not.

Still, I can tell she doesn’t want to discuss it. Or him. And that’s fine. This is a first date, after all. Sort of. Everyone knows that’s an off-limits subject for a first date.

“Ah,” I say, lifting my mug as well. “The same one you mentioned last night?” Her chin dips, and I nod too. “I’ll stick with my statement that it’s good he’s an ex.”

A surprised laugh escapes her, and she tilts her head to the side like it’s sinking in that she’s glad about that too. “You know? That’s a really good point. And I know you said it last night, but …” Trailing off, she bites her lip and shakes her head.

I nearly open my mouth to ask her to explain, because it seems an awful lot like she hadn’t had that thought before, though if someone makes you feel bad about how you take your coffee of all things, that alone is reason enough for them to be an ex in my opinion. Life’s too short to willingly spend it with assholes.

But again, this is a first date. No need to dive into the deep end just yet. There’ll be time enough for that later.

Will there?

The thought of having plenty of time with Anna catches me a little off guard. I’m only supposed to be in town for a vacation, after all. Sure, we’re only a few days in, but ten days isn’t a lot of time. Not for a relationship, at least. And besides, there’s no guarantee she’ll even want to see me again after this.

But why wouldn’t she? We had a nice time last night. Despite some initial awkwardness, this is going well. And it’s not like you have anywhere to be after this vacation ends. You could stay longer. If you want.

That last thought hits me like a defender slamming me into the boards, and I have to sip my coffee to cover my shock at the idea, trying to force my expression to stay as bland as possible. I could stay longer. I have no commitments at this point.

But there’s no need to get ahead of myself. Staying in the moment is the best call right now, both for this date and for the future. I don’t know what comes next, and I don’t need to right now. All I need is to enjoy brunch with Anna.

“I used to drink mine with cream and sugar,” I offer, needing to say something to distract me from the swirling fantasies in my brain of staying here and—what? Setting up some kind of hockey training program for teenagers?

Stay in the moment, Easton, I remind myself sternly.

A small smile claims her lips, and I can’t help staring as she takes a delicate sip of her caramel colored coffee. “Oh yeah? What made you make the change?”

Grateful that she’s willing to indulge in perhaps the most boring conversation topic in history, I grin. “We had a trainer in college who was trying to get all of us to give up refined sugar. He’d’ve had us off dairy too if he could’ve.” I shake my head at the memory of the regular emails that trainer would send the whole team every week with links to a bunch of blog posts espousing the evils of sugar, wheat, and dairy.

“You know,” Anna muses, “they say that giving up sugar and dairy results in an eighty percent reduction in joy.”

I laugh, a loud, surprised bark at her deadpan delivery. “Having done that, I can confirm that whoever says that is right.”

“The trainer convinced you, huh?”

I shrug. “I was nineteen, and he acted like it was the thing that would give me the edge to be a starter my sophomore year of college.”

“And did it?”

I shake my head. “No. Not even close. It just made me a miserable son of a bitch, and made me lose weight I couldn’t afford to lose. When I started struggling in the weight room, the strength coach lectured me about getting enough calories, though he was in favor of the black coffee. Said it’d put hair on my chest.”

Her eyes twinkle as she smiles. “My grandpa always told me coffee’d keep my eyes brown.”

I chuckle. “That’s cute. And your eyes are brown, so maybe there’s something to that.”

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