Page 5 of Waiting Game

“Thank you.” There’s a tremor to the words as, in a move that surprises me, she grabs a hold of my hand and drags me toward the boards.

At the gesture, I squeeze back then let go.

When, barely seconds later, my cell starts blowing up in my pocket, I huff. “Just give me a minute?”

She nods and doesn’t even bother looking at me as I snatch my phone when all my chats explode.

I billeted with the Bukowskis from fifteen to eighteen alongside three others: Gray, Matt, and, of course, Liam.

I have a group chat with them. Then, we billet bros have another conversation that includes the three Bukowski sons: Kow, Trent, and Noah.Then, there’s the family chat where the Bukowski folks and their daughter, Gracie, are included.On top of those, I have a thread with my siblings, multiple individual chats, as well as a team chat with the Blue Demons.

At that moment, every single conversation lights up with notifications and, Stanley Cup semifinals or not, I don’t give a fuck.

Totally unlike me, I activate the ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode, tuck it back into my pocket, and give her my full focus.

“Everything okay?”

I hum my assent and change the subject: “So, what was your uncle’s name?”

“Chuck, but we don’t have to talk about him.”

“Huh.”Chuck. That reminds me of something on her profile… “Okay, so full disclosure, like fifty seconds before you came onto the ice, I swiped right on your profile onHooked-Up.”

She brakes to a graceful halt. “Huh?”

“When your phone dinged as you came in, that was probably me. I don’t say any of this to make you feel weird or obligated or anything,” I rush to tell her. “Not that you’d need to feel… I’m saying that I saw your pictures. Your uniform had a ‘Chuck’s’ patch on it. Is that a coincidence?”

Why do I know that name anyway?

Though she’s busy blinking at me, it doesn’t stop her from starting up again and circling the rink like the pro she is.

It’s nice to be free and loose on the ice, and it’s even nicer when I’m at her side because she skates like a fairy and I want to stroke her wings.

“You saw my profile onHooked-Up?” she repeats.

“I did. And I’m infinitely curious. My sis would say I’m nosy but she’s a harsh critic.” I shrug at her soggy laugh, relieved to have lightened the mood some. “You’re going to see the notification later so I didn’t want to make this weird, you know? I hate miscommunication. It’s my least favorite trope.”

Her eyes widen. She brakes. Again. “You hate miscommunication? Least favorite trope?What?”

“I read a lot. Romance.” I smirk at her as she restarts skating, backward this time so that we’re face to face. Her stare is… bewildered. “Dudes don’t know what they’re missing out on. Chicks write banging hot sex.” Then, I remember that her uncle died. “Sorry, we shouldn’t be talking about this, but I like to maintain an open dialogue.”

She clears her throat. “Apparently.”

“I also thought I’d grown out of the habit of oversharing.”

That does earn me a wry smile. “Okay, so, to answer your original question, yes, Chuck’s bar was my uncle’s.” Her bottomlip gets sucked in and I see her nip it a touch. I’m suddenly jealous of her teeth. “It’s mine now.”

Still jealous.“Oh, he left it to you?”

“I’ve known it’d be mine for years. It’s a family bar.” She cuts me a look as her cheeks burn. “I know you’re into hockey, but what do you know about baseball?”

I wriggle my head. “Fair amount. If I didn’t get to be a hockey player, I’d have tried to make a career in baseball instead.”

“You had the talent for it?”

“It’s all in the hips.” At my wink, she rolls her eyes. “My family were big Montreal fans before they moved to DC. My older brother has a pretty snazzy trading card collection too.”

“You should have heard of Marty Charles, then.”

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