Page 17 of The Goalie

Even my own reasoning sounded pathetic.

I fiddled with my bangs as I made my own plate of eggs. Dan slapped the bottom of the ketchup to get the red condiment to fall to the top. In a second, he squirted it over his eggs. He handed it to me, offering it to me. I shook my head, my nose wrinkled. I wasn’t a huge fan of ketchup and didn’t understand how anyone could lather it all over their eggs.

“Who cares if you are?”

I handed Dan a fork and he began stabbing at his eggs.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Even if you are boring—which you’re not—who cares if you are?” He took a bite of the eggs and winced slightly.

I rolled my eyes at him being dramatic. At least I knew that the trait ran in the Holmes family. So what if they were a bit burned? He wasn’t going to die because of it.

“I mean,” he continued once he swallowed another bite, “isn’t the point of being in a relationship being yourself? So if all you like to do is watch TV or read books, why is that wrong?”

“That’s not all I like to do,” I said. I started piling eggs on my fork, but I had no intention of eating it. “I mean, if you asked me whether I preferred staying in or going out, I’d probably say staying in, but that doesn’t mean I’m opposed to going out at all.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He took his index finger and scraped some ketchup onto it before popping it into his mouth. “I’m the same way as you.”

I furrowed my brow, dropping my fork. “You are?”

Dan was silent a moment, finishing every last piece of food on his plate. “Are you surprised to hear that?” he asked when he finished. He walked around the bar and set the plate in the sink.

“Well, yeah.” I nodded once, keeping my eyes on my plate. “You’re a professional hockey player. Isn’t it a job requirement to go to nightclubs and date around?”

“You’re thinking of baseball players,” he said. “Actually, I will go out every now and then, but if you ask what I prefer, I’d rather hang out at home than go out. It’s too much effort.”

“Yes, exactly!” The words burst out of my mouth so quickly, I couldn’t keep them back if I tried.

My face heated up and I pretended to pick at something on his shirt that was definitely not there. I just couldn’t look at him. It was weird actually agreeing with him about something. It meant we were on the same side about something when we typically were on the opposite.

“Well, I can assure you hockey players aren’t usually like that,” he said. His voice was firm, eyes penetrating. It was as though he wanted to make me believe it, but he wasn’t overdoing it. Which led me to believe he was telling me the truth. “I’mnot like that.”

I didn’t know why that made me feel good. I didn’t know why I cared so much about that, but I did. I cleared my throat and grabbed my plate. I suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. I scraped the eggs into the trash before sticking the plate in the sink.

“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t even sure why I responded to him at all. It wasn’t as though he required some sort of answer.

“I like staying in, usually by myself,” he continued.

I could hear him maneuver around the bar. He was right behind me, barely pressing against me, like a breeze tickling my layers.

I nodded my head. My hair fell over my shoulder. I was tempted to brush it back, but I knew if I did that, I would inadvertently touch him, and I didn’t want to do that. He was gasoline, I was a spark, and even a brush against his skin would set my body on fire.

“Usually?” I couldn’t help but fixate on the word. It kept me from fixating on anything else. From him behind me. From his breath on the back of my neck.

“There are times when I make exceptions,” he said. “It doesn’t happen often; I promise you that. I didn’t expect you to be such a homebody. Lucy told me as much, but I didn’t realize it was like this.”

I whirled around, anger heating my blood. I was sure I was red, but not because I was embarrassed.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to just hang out and do nothing,” I said through gritted teeth. “There’s a reason Netflix and chill is now part of our vernacular.”

“I’m not criticizing you,” he said, then added, “this time. I’m agreeing with you.” He had me trapped against the sink, each arm locking me in. His face was close to mine. We could be kissing if I moved just a little bit closer to him.

I didn’t want to kiss him.

My eyes dropped to his lips.

But maybe I did.

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