Page 10 of Puck Me at Midnight

“You look beautiful, Emma,” he says, his voice low, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with small talk, but even that feels loaded. He tells me about practice, about Duke’s ridiculous prank on Simon that nearly resulted in a water fight in the locker room. I laugh genuinely, and then he glances at me sideways, his smile softening. “I like hearing you laugh. You should laugh all the time.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I fiddle with the hem of my dress instead. “I guess I’ll need Duke to pull more pranks, then.”

His laugh is low and warm, and when we stop at a red light, he reaches over and places his hand on mine, just for a moment. “I’ll find other ways to make you laugh.”

By the time we arrive at the restaurant, the tension between us feels like a live wire. He helps me out of the car, his hand resting on the small of my back as we walk inside. It’s such a small thing, but the heat of his touch seems to seep through the thin fabric of my dress, making it hard to think straight.

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place that practically begs for whispered conversations and stolen glances.

Once we’re seated, the conversation starts easily: hockey, travel, the places he’s seen on the road. But soon, it shifts, and I’m learning things about him I never expected.

“I was terrible at hockey as a kid,” he admits, swirling his whiskey. “Kept tripping over my own feet. My coach told me I’d be better off trying figure skating, so I took lessons. The joke was on him, though. It made me a much better hockey player.”

I laugh, picturing a young Spike on the ice, awkward and gangly. “Please tell me there’s a photo somewhere of you in sequins.”

He smirks. “If there was, it’s been destroyed.”

The more we talk, the more layers he reveals, and I’m starting to see just how much depth there is beneath the rough exterior. He tells me about growing up in a small town, about his parents and the sacrifices they made so he could pursue his dream. He talks about Tyler, and for the first time, I see the pain he’s been carrying since his best friend and his wife, Kara, died.

“Tyler was my brother in every way that mattered. We met the first day of kindergarten and were best friends from that day on,” he says, his voice quieter now. “We were there for each other through everything. I just never thought he would be gone, losing him and Kara… it’s like this hole that never really goes away. But the boys, they’re my anchor. They keep me going.”

I reach across the table, my hand finding his. It just feels right. “They’re lucky to have you.”

He looks down at our hands for a moment, then back up at me. “I’m the lucky one.”

For a moment, the air between us is thick with something unspoken. Then he clears his throat and gives me that crooked smile again. “Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Like what?” I ask, suddenly shy.

“Anything. A secret talent. A weird habit. Your most embarrassing moment.”

I laugh, taking a sip of my wine to buy time. “Okay, here’s one. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride.”

His eyebrows lift. “The whole thing?”

“Word for word.”

“That’s impressive.” He leans in slightly, his tone teasing. “But now you’ve set the bar high. What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s classified.”

“Come on,” he coaxes.

I sigh dramatically, but I’m smiling. “Fine. I once walked into a glass door while trying to impress a guy I liked. I knocked myself out cold.”

Spike bursts out laughing, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that I can’t even be upset at being laughed at. “Is there video?”

I laugh and shake my head.

The rest of the night flows effortlessly. The food is incredible, the conversation even better, and the vibes between us… they’re electric. Every accidental brush of his hand against mine, every look that lasts just a little too long—it all adds up to something I can’t ignore.

When we step outside into the crisp night air, the city lights twinkling around us. I’m not ready for the evening to end. Spiketurns to me, his hands in his pockets, and for a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other.

“Emma,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I’ve tried.”

My breath catches. “Spike…”

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