Page 81 of His Jersey

Carlos did some pre-gaming when it came to the house, but ultimately, it’s up to Ella which one we choose, so she’ll be touring them in the coming days while I prepare to take to the ice with a new team, in a new arena, with a new goal: make my woman proud.

I explain the housing situation and how we’ll be at a hotel short term. “Depending on how long the closing takes and if you want renovations, we can also stay in a short-term rental.”

“I know you’re speaking English, but I’m not entirely sure we’re fluent in the same language.”

I chuckle. “For now, we have to decide on arrangements. I want to be respectful, so I understand if we don’t stay in the same hotel room.”

Her jaw lowers a little. “I’m going to admit, I feel a bit torn. Cheap. Like I’m living a lie.”

I balk. “The kiss a few hours ago felt very honest and the ring on yourfinger?—”

A blush rises to Ella’s cheeks again and I love that I have that effect on her.

She says, “This is modern day, but I was raised old-fashioned. We must have separate rooms until we’re married.” I think she uses air quotes around the last word, but I can’t be sure because I’m focused on these unfamiliar roads.

“So a hotel suite and a wedding ASAP.”

She laughs like I’m joking.

We pull into the parking lot behind O’Neely’s Fish Bowl, a restaurant and pub that I’ve been to a couple of times when playing games against the Knights. It’s a local hockey haunt and home of super fans only. Bark Wahlburger trots along behind me as if part of the team—the Ella and me team.

A classic rock song plays from the jukebox as we enter. It’s a family-friendly joint by day, and after hours, it can get rowdy and turn into hockey fan bedlam, depending on the score.

There’s a long, polished bar, occupied to capacity. High-top tables, booths, and bigger ones for large parties along with big-screen televisions fill the dining room. Hockey memorabilia fills every crevice in between. Stan O’Neely, the owner, is proud of his collection and I think Leah contributes. Last I checked, she works here.

Ella, dressed in jeans and a sweater that clings to her curves, heeds theSeat Yourselfsign and points to an available spot by the billiards table. There are also darts, which are dodgy given the “fish bowls” of beer served. But it’s still early, so fish bowls filled with popcorn wait at each table until after hours.

My jaw ticks when I notice several googly-eyed men staring at Ella, watching her every move. I step protectively close, daring anyone to get a bad idea. Then again, I don’t want to give the Knights a bad impression. I’m not a bully, but I will bust faces if anyone messes with my girl.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” says a loud female voice.

I whip my head around.

Leah rushes toward us, wearing a smile. She and Ella hug, and I get a fist bump. She tries to do the other hand motions that are part of Carlos and my secret handshake but then gives up.

“You have to sit in my section.” She leads us to another table, gives us menus, and promises to be right back.

Bark Wahlburger settles under the table, perfectly behaved, knowing he’ll get some good snacks.

As Ella studies the menu, she looks at ease like she could rock back in her chair and stay awhile. “Mmm. The Stuffed Pub Potato Skin Pucks sound good. So do the nachos. The mozzarella sticks with a crunchy corn crust, yum,” she singsongs.

I chuckle. “Have whatever you want. One of each.”

Leah returns with water for us, and in a low voice, she says, “The boss is here today, so I’m going to give you the official spiel.”

With a spin of my hand, I gesture for her to carry on.

Louder, she says, “Welcome to O’Neely’s Fish Bowl. If it’s your first time here, we specialize in all things corn and potatoes. We have corn on the cob served five different ways, corn fritters, and cornbread along with french fries, also served five different ways with our special sauce. And our fan favorite loaded potato skin pub pucks, yes, topped with corn and five other items.”

“Nice shirt,” Ella says.

Leah’s work uniform consists of black jeans and a white T-shirt with a cartoon guy in hockey gear inside a fish bowl—slang for a helmet. Across the back isO’Neelylike on a hockey jersey. She says, “I’ll get you one.”

“Maybe a job, too, if they’re hiring.”

Leah’s gaze darts toward me.

If she senses that my fiancée will not wear another man’s name across her back—even if it’s just merch from a restaurant—or working here, she’s correct. Not that I’m lord over Ella, but unless being a waitress is a dream she had and didn’t mention when we were discussing her operating a bed-and-breakfast, she doesn’t have to come home covered in special sauce.

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