Page 12 of Hockey Heart

He turned and walked away from me, so I ended up just trotting behind him, awkwardly trying to keep up with his impossibly long strides in my five-inch heels.

As we headed toward the end of the corridor, there was a man waiting for us. Hayden nodded at him as we approached, him striding, me trotting.

“So, Fletch, am I supposed to drive or…”

“No, there’s a limo waiting for you outside,” the man said. To which Hayden visibly rolled his eyes, before he turned his giant head back to me.

“After you, Sandra.”

“Sarah,” I corrected him.

“Sure.”

I looked up at him, and when he didn’t bother to look back, I just followed his outstretched arm out the back of the building.

The ride was a short one, but the silence made it feel like forever. Hayden stared glumly out the limo window while I smoothed out my dress and tried not to blush the wholeway. This was my chance to go out on a date with the great Hayden Raynor. I couldn’t waste it.

“Do you know the place we’re going to?” I asked.

“Nope.” He said, still staring out of the window, his chin resting along one big meaty fist, looking bored.

I felt a sharp pang of disappointment and embarrassment. I’d let myself get carried away. Ofcourse,I wasn’t what he had hoped for, or would ever be interested in. I had to try, though. Once we broke the ice, surely we could havesomefun. Maybe I just needed to get on his level.

“Hey, I saw you take down that Sampson guy in the last game. You were brilliant!”

“You were there?” He grunted back.

“No. I mean, I saw it on TV.”

“Oh.” was his one-word response to this.

Damnit, why wasn’t I there? Because tickets were going for over three hundred bucks was why!

“Think the team have got a chance next year?”

“A chance for…what?”

“Y’know, the Championship!”

He grunted and shrugged.

This was not going how I had hoped, but I wasn’t ready to give up and spied the ice bucket next to us.

“Ooh, champagne! Shall we be naughty and have a glass?”

“You go for it,” he waved his hand at me.

With nothing else for it, I poured myself a glug into a long-stemmed glass and we sat quietly for the rest of the drive while I sipped slowly on the fizzing glass of bubbles. In truth, it tasted as sweet and bad as gas station sparkling wine, and I would know.

Things got worse at the restaurant. Hayden didn’t pull my seat out for me, didn’t ask me what I liked on the menu,or even if I’d like a drink. When the waiter first approached us and asked if we’d like to order drinks or starters, he just said, “Beer and chicken wings.”

“Oh, we don’t do chicken wings here. Perhaps I could recommend the duck confit?”

“You don’t do wings?” He asked incredulously.

“Um, okay. Let me ask the chef and we’ll see what we can do.”

Hayden turned back to the menu while the waiter looked nervously at him.

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