Page 12 of Across the Boards

“Right.” Tommy’s expression is knowing. “And does this strategy involve my wife’s best friend?”

“No comment.”

“That’s what I thought.” He taps my shin guard with his stick. “Just promise me you’ll keep it together during practice. I’m not explaining to Sarah why you got concussed the day of your big dinner.”

“It’s not a big dinner,” I say automatically. “Just catching up with old friends.”

“Sure, and I’m just a casual hockey enthusiast.” Tommy rolls his eyes. “Look, I’ve known you since we were rookies together. You’ve got that same look you have before an important game.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’m terrified but trying to act cool’ look.” He grins. “It’s not a good look on you, by the way.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Just being honest.” Tommy glances over his shoulder at Coach, who’s looking increasingly impatient. “Sarah thinks you might be good for Elliot. Just... take it slow, okay? She’s been through enough.”

“I know.” I adjust my helmet, suddenly serious. “I’m not playing around here, Tommy.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Good. Now try not to get killed during practice. We’ve got a game tomorrow.”

As he skates away, I take a deep breath and force myself to concentrate. Sixty more minutes of practice, then home to shower and change for dinner. I can do this.

I manage a decent showing for the rest of practice, though Coach still gives me side-eye when we’re wrapping up. I’m grabbing my water bottle when Jensen, our goalie, skates up beside me.

“So,” he says casually, “Tommy says you’ve got a thing for Martinez’s ex.”

I nearly choke on my water. “What?”

Jensen shrugs. “Small locker room. Word travels.”

“There’s no ‘thing,’” I insist, feeling heat rise up my neck that has nothing to do with practice. “We’re neighbors. Having dinner with mutual friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Jensen’s expression is skeptical. “That’s why you’ve been skating around like a lovesick rookie all practice.”

“I have not?—”

“Dude.” He cuts me off with a look. “You literally skated into the boards during the second drill because you were staring into space.”

I had done that, actually. My shoulder still aches from the impact.

“Fine,” I concede. “Maybe I’m a little distracted.”

“A little?” Jensen laughs. “Coach asked if you left your brain at home.”

“I think the exact phrase was something significantly less polite,” I laugh, remembering Coach’s colorful language.

Jensen claps me on the shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. And good for you. Martinez was an ass. She deserves someone better.”

I’m surprised by his support. Jensen usually stays out of personal drama, focused solely on stopping pucks and perfecting his weird pre-game rituals.

“Thanks, man,” I say, truly meaning it.

He nods once, then skates away, leaving me to wonder exactly how obvious my interest in Elliot must be if even stoic Jensen has noticed.

By the time I hit the showers, my nerves have settled into a dull hum of anticipation. This isn’t just dinner. This is my shot to show Elliot I’m not just another hockey player. Not just another Jason.

* * *

---