Page 78 of Goalie Interference

Sophie and I saw the new year in together, in my bed. For once, I wasn’t fretting over whether I’d still be playing at the end of the year. Worries about my hockey future were on hold while I was with her.

I existed in a bubble, and I refused to look outside it. Like an ostrich, if I didn’t see any possibilities of a trade, then they couldn’t happen, right? Realistically, there wasn’t a market for me at my age and with my record. There were too many young goalies coming up, any of whom might become top players if given a chance. They had possibility and a future, where I did not.

Otts was pushing for Lappy to play more games. He was determined to make the kid a starter. I worried about Lappy, seeing the tension eating away at him when we were at the arena or playing. He dropped weight, which was normal for us, but I worried he was losing too much—though since it was his first season, what was normal?

But as long as I had Sophie around, I could push my worries aside. I had free time when I wasn’t traveling with the team, and during those days I hung around Sophie’s workshop. Beast and Goober were now on cordial terms. Goober had set her boundaries, and Beast was respecting them. I could let him off his leash in the workshop, and he’d settle down near Goober but he didn’t try to lick her paws or get too close.

Sophie stared at the cat. “Goober never hung out here as often as she does now.”

“No?”

“I think she likes Beast, but she’s training him.”

“I thought they were flirting.”

Sophie considered. “Maybe both? She wants to be with him, but honestly, can you blame her for not wanting dog drool on her?”

Beast did leave his tongue out a lot. But he didn’t drool much, and he never licked me. Maybe he didn’t like me that much? “Are you saying saliva is his love language?”

She bit back a smile. “That or growling.”

“He growls at everyone.”

“Then saliva it is.”

“And what’s Goober’s love language?”

“Being with someone. A lot of times she’s never around.”

What was Sophie’s? I bit back the question. I liked her, but it had to stop atlike, and wondering how she’d show affection that went beyond what we had—casual friendship with benefits?—was asking for something I shouldn’t.

She held up the guitar she’d been working on this week. “That’s done.”

It looked good to me. When I first saw it, it was dusty, a little faded. There were no strings on it, and Sophie had done a lot of work before cleaning it and adding fresh strings. I could say it looked good, but from me that didn’t mean anything. “Are you happy with it?”

She held it comfortably in her arms, left hand tuning it, right hand plucking at the strings. “That sounds right. I think the client will be pleased.”

“So, what’s next?”

“The one I’m making for Diane.”

“How’s it going?”

A smile crossed her face. “It’s not perfect, not by any stretch, but I think it’s going to be pretty good.”

“Could I see it sometime?” The words slipped out. It wasn’t like I could offer any helpful feedback.

“Would you want to?” She sounded surprised.

I shrugged. “I don’t know anything about guitars, obviously, but yeah I’d like to see the one you’re making.”

She looked down, slowly caressing the guitar in front of her. “Okay.” Her voice was quiet, but it was a win.

She still seemed surprised when I showed up at the shop the next time she was working at Diane’s. I’d spent some time at the shelter, but didn’t dawdle before heading to String Theory. They both smiled when I came through the door, bell announcing my arrival. The two of them were at the same worktable, and on it was a guitar.

“Is this it?”

Sophie nodded and stepped back so I could look at it. I desperately wanted to say something intelligent, but I just didn’t know enough.

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