Page 6 of Pucked On Camera

"Come on, Cap, you in for drinks tonight?" one of the guys calls out.

"Can't tonight," Riley's voice floats back. "Got plans."

A chorus of groans and ribbing follows, but I can't help the twist of curiosity that knots in my stomach. Plans? I shake the thought away, focusing on getting out of this box without falling on my face.

"Your loss, man!" someone shouts back, as I walk through the door and back down the hall to the locker room.

Practice goes by in a blur of filling shampoo bottles and restocking more towels. Damn these guys use an ungodly amount of those things.

I'm pushing the dirty laundry hamper to the laundry room when Riley strides over, his skates clucking against the floor. My heart does an annoying little skip, traitorous thing.

"Hey, Amelia," he starts, leaning against the wall nonchalantly. "I was wondering if you'd want to grab some drinks later?"

"Drinks?" My voice wobbles slightly, betraying my cool exterior.

"Yeah, just the two of us. Me and you." His smile is easy, inviting.

I hesitate, memories of last night's encounter playing tag with my common sense. Is this cute, star hockey player actually into me, or is this just another game to him?

"Sure," I find myself saying, not really thinking things through before that one little word slips out. "Why not?"

"Great," Riley grins, pushing off the wall. "Can you leave from here, say seven? You’ll be done by then, right?"

"Seven works." I nod, trying to match his casual demeanor.

As he walks away, I let out the breath and carry on with pushing the large basket away from the locker room. What am I doing? Yet, a little thrill pulses through me. Riley Watson asked me out for drinks. Just me, Amelia Brooks, the girl who's always been one step behind the spotlight.

Mercy.Tonight’s going to be interesting. That’s for sure.

The rest of the day drags on and my nerves for what’s to come make the minutes tick slow. Until the last towel is folded and put on the shelf for the night.

As soon as I walk through the double metal doors into the parking garage, there he is, just like the night before when I declined his ride home.

He’s a gentleman and opens my door and takes my hand to help me sit. That touch. A warm sensation suddenly runs through me… before I yank my hand away. Too much. Too soon.

Pace yourself, girl.

The neon sign buzzes as we step into the dive bar, a stark contrast to the ice rink for sure. This place is tucked away on the edge of town, the kind of joint where you can come to drink your life away, and no one would be the wiser.

"Riley, this place is..." I trail off, searching for the right word.

"Cozy?" he suggests with a smirk, holding the door open for me.

"Sure," I agree, "if cozy means forgotten by time."

He chuckles, and the sound eases some of the tension knotting my shoulders. We slide into a booth that's seen better days.

"Thanks for coming out with me," he says while we wait for our server.

"Thanks for the invite." I fiddle with the edge of the menu, feeling out of place among the gruff regulars and the scent of stale beer.

"Umm," I begin, trying to sound casual, "why here? It feels like you're trying to hide me."

"Hide you?" Riley leans back, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I just thought you'd appreciate a place where the paparazzi won't bother us."

"Paparazzi?" I can't help but laugh. "Right, because I'm such a high-profile target."

"Exactly," he plays along, reaching across the table to gently tuck the stray lock of hair I missed behind my ear. "Gotta keep our star safe."

---