Page 22 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Who’d want to get involved with that much uncertainty?

My only real goal is just to enjoy myself while I’m here. And if that so happens to include the company of a shy, pretty, glasses-wearing office manager, who could complain about that?

Not my friends, considering they’re the ones pushing me to invite her over.

Going into my bedroom, I pick up my phone from where I left it charging on the dresser, checking to see if I have any missed alerts, a fleeting sense of disappointment coming over me when I see I don’t have any missed texts from Anna.

Swiping away the random social media and news alerts, I open my messages, smiling when I read over our last exchange. And as much as I would’ve enjoyed her spontaneously deciding to text me again like she did this morning, I realize she’s not the type to do that. I think inviting me to brunch was a big deal for her. At least that’s the feeling I got from our initial awkwardness. I’m glad we were able to get past that, though. And I didn’t exactly end our earlier interaction in a way that asks for or invites a response.

We’re roasting hot dogs and marshmallows around the fire pit tonight. It’s just Nick and Tina (from last night), their kids, and me. Would you like to join us?

I hit send and pocket my phone, heading back out, my heart starting to pound with the anticipation of her reply. Will she respond right away? Or maybe she’s busy and she won’t see my text? How long should I wait before following up? Or should I follow up at all? If she’s busy and doesn’t see it, sending multiple texts would seem desperate or thirsty, and I don’t want to give those impressions, especially not to someone like Anna. That would turn her off faster than an overloaded circuit shorting out the power.

When I get back to the living room, both kids look up from their movie and see me. Both enthusiastically shout, “Troy!” though from Noah, it’s more like “Twoy!” and is especially garbled around the silicone spout of his sippy cup from his spot standing in the corner of the couch.

Tina lets out a heavy sigh, shooting me a look.

I hold up my hands. “Sorry,” I mouth before crossing over to the kids, ruffling Shelby’s hair, which has her patting my arm affectionately, and lifting Noah up above my head before plopping him back down on the couch on his butt.

He immediately pops back up, reaching for me. I grab one of his hands, but don’t pick him up again. “Sorry, little guy. I gotta get back out and watch the fire. I just needed to grab something real quick.”

“No!” Shelby protests. “Stay! Watch the movie with us!”

“Aww, maybe next time, Short Stuff. It’s my job to make sure we have the best fire for tonight, and I take that job very seriously. How else will you be able to make the perfect s’more?”

She gazes up at me with big, brown eyes. “Please, Uncle Troy?”

Oh god. That face. That little voice.

I grin at her and lower my voice. “That works on your dad a lot, huh?”

A tiny smile breaks out, and she nods.

Chuckling, I ruffle her hair again. “I promise we’ll watch a movie together this week, okay? But I can’t right now. Stay here and relax. You gotta have enough energy for roasting food on sticks in a bit.”

I give them each one last affectionate pat, then back away slowly, pausing next to Tina who’s holding her breath. When the kids return to being engrossed in whatever they’re watching and pay us no attention, she gives me a grateful look. After shooting her another thumbs up, I quietly head outside, not wanting to risk distracting the kids again.

Nick raises his eyebrows at me when I get back to the chairs ringing the fire pit. “And?”

“And I texted her as directed, Captain.”

He snorts, casually flipping me off. “What happened to me not being your captain anymore?”

Shrugging, I add another log to the fire before reclaiming my seat, enjoying the satisfying whoosh as the dry wood catches fire.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Well what?”

“Is she coming?”

I shrug. “I don’t know yet.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re killing me, Easton.”

Shrugging again, I grin at him. The truth is, I’m dying to check if she’s responded. With my phone in my pocket on vibrate, I wouldn’t necessarily have felt the alert while I was moving. But I’m reluctant to look, because I’ll be equally disappointed if there’s no response as I will if she says no.

It’s silly that I’m so emotionally invested already, but here we are.

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