Page 36 of Pucking Fate

“Yes. Hey. It’s Spencer, right?” I manage to say, trying not to sound like a complete idiot.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“Of course I remember you. My brother hasn’t been gone from the Warhawks but a few weeks,” I say, trying to recover from the surprise of his attention.

He laughs softly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know, but I think you and I only met once, briefly, at a family cookout, before he ran me off.”

“That sounds like my brother.” Nodding my head over to where he’s helping Elle clean up the leftover cake, I tell him, “He’s not quite as overprotective as he used to be.”

“I don’t blame him. He’s probably spent his whole life beating back guys from you with his hockey stick.”

With a laugh, I tell him, “Not really. But he’s been a good big brother.”

There’s a brief silence as we stand there, awkwardly smiling at each other. It’s strange talking to a guy like this, to have a hot, professional athlete looking at me with interest, flirting with me. Well, someone other than Christian Riley. I do remember meeting Spencer before, but only that he was nice before Preston gave him a look that had him scurrying away.

Finley, ever the curious one, comes over and interrupts the silence by tugging on the side of my Warhawks jersey with Preston’s number and name on it, matching Finley’s smaller one. “Mommy, what’s this goalie’s name?”

“This is Spencer Williams. He plays for the Warhawks and knows Uncle Preston,” I say, smiling down at Finley before turning back to Spencer.

“Backup goalie for the time being,” he amends.

“Spencer, this is my son, Finley,” I say, knowing it’ll likely send him skating away faster than an evil look from my brother.

But Spencer doesn’t even flinch. He just smiles and holds out his hand to Finley, “Nice to meet you, birthday boy.”

“Thanks for coming to my party. Can I have one of your jerseys?” he asks, making me wince and Spencer cough out a laugh.

“Finley! You can’t just ask every hockey player you meet for a jersey!”

“Why not?” my son looks up and asks me.

“Because it puts the players on the spot,” I tell him. Then to Spencer, “I’m so sorry. He’s a huge hockey fan like his uncle, obviously. And he gets carried away.”

“It’s no problem. I would love to get you one of my jerseys. Want me to sign it too?”

“Hell yes!” my son exclaims.

“Finley!”

“Oops. I meant, heck.”

“Right,” I mutter with a sigh.

“How about I get your mom’s number and set up a time to get you that jersey? Size youth medium okay to give him some growing room?” Spencer asks me.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

“Yes!” Finley cheers before he skates off, no doubt to go tell his friends the good news.

The next thing I know, the hockey player is asking for my phone, putting his number in it, and handing it back to me. His own device buzzes an instant later, like he sent himself a message from it.

“I’ll give you a call soon. Maybe we can have dinner too?”

“Dinner?” I repeat in surprise.

“Yeah, like a date? I asked Christian and he said you two aren’t together now. Are you seeing anyone?”

“Ah, no, I guess I’m not seeing anyone,” I reply, disappointed that Christian told Spencer we’re not a couple, even if we’re not. I seek him out on the ice, finding him talking to some of the Warhawk players.

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