Page 27 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

I stand just inside the door with my pint-sized greeter as Tina opens the door to the back porch and shouts, “Troy! Your, uh”—she glances back at me, her gaze more assessing than it’s been so far, then her eyes dart between her children—“friend is here.”

His “friend.” The scare quotes around the word are practically audible. Part of me wants to protest, but I’m not even sure what to say. We’re not friends? I mean, I guess that’s kinda true—we barely know each other, after all—but it doesn’t feel accurate, either. And it makes it sound like maybe we’re more than friends, which also isn’t true. He’s held my hand and kissed me on the cheek. Maybe it’s on some sort of trajectory to become more than friends, but it’s definitely not there yet, either.

In the end, I don’t say anything, instead taking in the large, open floor plan with the giant couches and armchairs facing the big screen TV, the breakfast bar sectioning off a large kitchen with double ovens and a SubZero fridge that probably costs as much as my annual salary, if not more, and a dining area in the corner with a simple but pretty pendant light hanging over a table that looks like it’s made of driftwood. Part of me wants to get a closer look, but it’s also covered in board books and sippy cups, and I don’t want to disturb anything.

Instead, I stay frozen in place on the entrance mat, watching Tina looking out the back door, a wide grin on her face. Voices carry through the open door, but I can’t make out what they’re saying, followed by the thumping sound of footsteps rapidly climbing stairs.

Then Troy’s in the doorway, his presence filling the space, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Uncle Troy!” cries the little girl at my side, scampering over to him and reaching up.

“Twoy!” crows the little boy on Tina’s hip, also reaching for him—Noah, I remind myself. She called him Noah.

Troy shakes one of Noah’s hands, scoops up the little girl, tosses her in the air, and deposits her on the couch. Giggling, she pops right up and starts to climb on top of the back of the couch.

“Shelby,” Tina warns. “We don’t climb on the furniture like that.”

Making an exaggerated pout, Shelby desists, crossing her arms and resting them on the back of the couch.

And Troy’s right in front of me, a big grin on his face, his eyes scanning me up and down. He’s wearing multicolored striped board shorts, a plain white T-shirt that molds to the muscles of his shoulders and chest, and leather flip-flops. A smile blooms on my face as well when he stops in front of me.

“Hey,” he says softly, his focus entirely on me.

I can’t help it, though. My eyes dart around, taking in the kids and Tina, and now one of the men from last night, Tina’s husband, appears in the doorway. I can’t remember his name, though I feel like I should know it. Like most people probably know it without him even introducing himself, because he’s a famous hockey player like Troy. Except I don’t know anything about hockey at all.

Before my thoughts spiral out of control again, I refocus on Troy, his blue eyes capturing mine and finally holding my attention. “Hey,” I return, just as softly. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“I’m glad you could make it.” He hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want a tour of the house? Or we can go straight down to the fire? Or we could go down by the water first?”

“Oh, uh …” I look around again, not sure which option to choose. Is there a right choice? A wrong choice? He invited me over for the fire. Will he be upset if I want a tour or to see the water first? But he offered those choices, so it seems weird he might be annoyed by me choosing one of those instead. Unless it’s some kind of weird test?

“Come see my room!” shouts Shelby, saving me from my impending anxiety spiral.

I smile at her. “I’d love to see your room.”

She hops off the couch and runs over to me, grabbing my hand and enthusiastically towing me toward the stairs.

Troy chuckles and follows along. “My room is upstairs too,” he murmurs close to my ear, making goosebumps rise on the back of my neck and a shiver skate down my spine.

I cast a glance at him over my shoulder. “I’d like to see your room too.” My cheeks flame at the bold suggestiveness of my tone, but I don’t backpedal, instead letting Shelby drag me to the room she’s sharing with her little brother.

It’s a decent sized room, with two twin beds flanking a window, a small bedside table with a lamp on it between them. The room is decorated in pastel florals, making it bright and cheerful, if a bit old-fashioned for two kids. But the surplus of stuffed animals and toys overflowing from the basket next to the table and the stack of picture books on the table make it obvious that two children are occupying this room.

Shelby clambers onto the bed on the right, bouncing a few times. “This is my bed! And that’s Noah’s!” She points to the other bed.

“Pretty sure your mom doesn’t want you jumping on the bed,” Troy comments from his spot behind me in the doorway, and Shelby immediately flops down onto her bottom.

I glance over my shoulder at Troy, impressed at his ability to command this child. He grins at me. “Ready to see my room?”

I smile back. “Of course.”

He threads his fingers through mine and leads me down the hall, pointing at the doors we pass. “That’s Nick and Tina’s room, over there is their nanny Lisa’s room—she’s off duty tonight, though, so you probably won’t meet her—this is the bathroom, and this”—he turns the doorknob and opens the third door—“is mine.”

The bed has its head against the wall on the left, the blankets all tasteful neutrals with white sheets, a vase of fake greenery stands on the dresser in the opposite corner, but it’s the view out the window that commands my attention.

The blinds and curtains are open, and I step inside, transfixed. Evergreens ring the lake along the undulating shoreline. Even though I’ve been here for four years, I haven’t spent any time on the waterways. Not the lake here, or where it flows through the dam that gives Arcadian Falls its name, the river winding away toward the Pacific Ocean.

The door closes softly, and I turn to find Troy, his hands in his pockets, gazing intently at me.

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