Page 36 of Power Play Pursuit

“Maybe a little.” I shrug. “I only know about the Stanley Cup—having sipped champagne from it in June helped—oh, and the Prince of Wales one.”

“That’s a start,” he says with a smirk. “Well, the others are awarded to players for recognition in specific areas of the game. Like sportsmanship, best defenseman, best goalie, that kind of thing.”

“So, you got Best Winger?”

He bursts out a laugh. “Gosh. That just made me even more hungry. No, we don’t have any winger-specific trophies. The Maurice Richard is for Top Scorer, and the Hart Memorial for Most Valuable to the Team.”

I glance at him over the mixing bowl. “Wow. That’s pretty impressive. You must be proud.”

“Thanks. I never thought I’d catch your attention by displaying my stats and trophies.”

I chuckle. “Frankly, neither did I, but I’m glad you’re getting recognition for your efforts. I see how hard you work.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Same goes for you and the Best Coffee in Brooklyn award.”

“I guess, yeah,” I say with a smile, adding the contents of my bowl into his. “That was a nice surprise. We take extra care selecting our beans, and the place we found in Venezuela to buy direct from is amazing.”

“What time are you working today?” he asks, then looks at the bowl with a confused frown. “Wait, what am I supposed to do with this now?”

“Just keep mixing. I’ll find a baking pan and some parchment paper.”

“Top drawer on the left for the paper. Bottom drawer on the right for the baking pan.”

“Got it,” I say, cutting thepaper and placing it on the pan. “Oh, and Marissa is opening, so I can go in later. After we eat, I’ll take a shower and head out. Unless you need me.”

“No, no. Please, go on with your day. I don’t want you to feel stuck here because of me. But I’ll walk you to work, if that’s okay? I could use some fresh air. After that, I have no idea,” he jokes. “I haven’t had this much free time in a while, and Doc said no exercising for at least a week, so . . .”

“Might not be such a brilliant idea to eat brownies for breakfast, then,” I tease, and he belts out a laugh, tapping his chest.

“Crab. I didn’t think of that.”

That makes me laugh. “Why do you always swear like that?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well, most guys are so foul-mouthed, especially hockey players, and you’re all, ‘oh crab’ and ‘son of a biscuit.’”

He joins in my laughter. “I don’t know. It’s more fun, you know? Plus, I hang out at the nursing home way too much.”

“Makes sense,” I say with a nod. I kind of like it, actually. It’s refreshing to see a guy mindful of his words, not to mention it fits his goofy personality. “All right, let’s spread this batter on the paper,”I say, grabbing a spatula. He pours the batter, and I spread it evenly. The smell of chocolate and sugar fills my nostrils, promising a delicious breakfast.

“Dang, I think I gained ten pounds just by looking at it.”

I shake my head, then lick the spatula. I keep the thought to myself, but I think James could eat an entire pan of brownies every day for a week, and those abs would still be there. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

18

"I’m a patient man."

James Adler

After some delicious brownies and a cup of well-deserved coffee, Elizabeth and I both take a shower—separately, obviously—and walk downstairs to Aaron and Marissa’s place to grab the rest of her stuff.

“Leaving us already?” Miles says to Elizabeth as we step into his apartment. “I get it, though. His place is pretty cool with all the scented candles.”

“And my collection of sparkly trophies,” I add with a grin. “She loved those.”

Elizabeth just shakes her head.

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