Page 42 of Sticking Out

“Got a run in, talked to the guys about our drills for hockey camp, and flipped through that book on your nightstand.”

My mouth drops open. “You did not.”

He grins. “I’m pretty sure some of the things I read in that book aren’t possible. No one is that twisty, Dani.”

I laugh at his use of the word twisty. “You have to suspend reality.” I glance into the side mirrors and back from my spot.

“I can only suspend it so much. I think those things should be tested before going into a book.”

I laugh out loud. “Oh, I get it. You want to try out some of the positions.”

“I mean, for research, right. Did you once say you wanted to write a book? If you do, you need the facts right.”

“I never once said I wanted to write a book.” Now I’m laughing so hard at the sheepish look on his face, tears are welling up in my eyes.

“Damn, I was pretty sure you said that.”

I reach into the doggy bowl, pick up a biscuit and toss it at him. It hits him in the forehead and he feigns hurt. Buster barks, and Conner picks up the treat and tosses it to him. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“I’ll write that into my book.”

His phone pings, and he’s chuckling as he pulls it from his pocket. He reads through a message and I concentrate on the road as I drive. He texts back before shoving his phone into his back pocket, not bothering to tell me who he was messaging with and it’s not really my business.

“Oh, I meant to tell you. My new bed, table and chairs and sofa are coming tonight.” I flick on my signal. “I wanted to repaint before everything arrived but time has somehow gotten away from me.”

He nods, and looks out the side window, like he has something on his mind. When he glances back at me, that melancholy look is gone, and he says, “We can pick out paint after the nursing home. I can work on it when I’m not at hockey camp.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“I really think new paint and furniture will really help spruce the place up.” What I’m trying to say is I think it will help Conner feel more comfortable in my place, sleeping in the main bedroom with me when we’re at my place. My stomach cramps, because what am I even thinking? We’re sleeping at his place now, and he’s already started baby proofing it. If and when I have a baby, I’ll be moving home and when he comes over, he won’t be sleeping in my bed.

Buster starts barking when we go over the speed bump. “I think he knows where he’s going.”

“He does. He loves it here and I love taking him.”

I park the bus, and clap my hands. “Ready, boy?”

He jumps from his seat and comes barreling toward me. It’s crazy how big and goofy he can be, but the minute I put the vest on him, he goes into gentle mode. He kind of reminds me of Conner on ice and in bed. Will our child grow up to be athletic like him, or more of a couch potato like me?

I fit him with his vest, and we exit the bus. Buster begins sniffing around, anxious to get inside to see his friends.

“Beware of Marta the receptionist,” I tease and Conner gives me a curious look. “She’s a man eater.”

Conner steps ahead and pulls open the door and we stop at the receptionist desk. Marta, the elderly lady who has been working here as long as I’ve been coming, squeals and comes hurrying around the corner, bending to pat Buster, who takes it all in stride.

“You’re such a good boy,” she says and pulls a treat from her pocket. She always has one ready on visit day. She waves toward the hall. “You can head on into the lounge.” Her head lifts and her cloudy eyes go wide when they land on Conner. “I didn’t realize you’d be bringing a friend.” She gives him a once over…twice. “I’ll have to register him. Do you want to step up to the counter and give me your name and number.”

“Number?” I blurt out with a laugh. “Really, Marta, can you be any more obvious?” I tease. From the rumor mill inside the nursing home, Marta dates a different man every weekend, as she should. Get it, girl.

Marta blushes and waves me away. “Oh you.”

“Marta, my love.” Conner begins, his voice playful as he puts his hand over his heart. “As much as I’d like to wine and dine you, you’re way out of my league.”

She laughs, her eyes bright and shiny, loving the attention from the famous hockey player. She waves us off. “Go. I know who you are, but feel free to stop by later and give me your number.”

He puts his arm around me. “I think my girl here would be jealous.”

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