Page 41 of The Import Slot
The fucker! He probably took advantage of my rookie error: leaving my phone unlocked while I went to the bathroom during a post-run coffee shop visit.
I open Ryan’s message thread and send him a screenshot, following it up with a message.
Jen:Why does my date think I’m a Jets fan?
He texts back straight away.
Ryan:You’re on a date?
Jen:Don’t change the subject!!
Ryan:Okay. Because you are? #GoJets.
Jen:You’re such a cock-block!
Ryan:I’m the cock-block? You’re the one texting me while you’re on a date.
Shit, he has a point. Sliding my phone back into my bag, I apologise to Zane.
“I’m actually a Senators fan. I’m not sure what happened there. I think it was one of my friends messing around. He thinks he’s hilarious, but he’s not. Do you follow hockey?” I ask.
“I don’t, really. I prefer the NFL. I follow hockey when the scores cycle on the bottom of the screen,” he laughs.
Just when I think things can’t get worse, the conversation goes downhill from there. I talk about the help I offer my uncle and how the same friend has taken on the role of helping with puck-handling drills.
“He’s so talented,” I say. “Or is it skilled? Are skills and talents the same thing?” I ask, but Zane shrugs. “And he’s so good with the kids. He’s so patient and considerate. He’s an asset to our team.”
Zane then orders a fresh beer with a chaser, so I do the same, and then I mention my friend doesn’t drink during the season.
“He’s just so disciplined!”
Then I decide to tell him about my 10km aspirations and how my friend is helping me. At this point, I’m feeling the booze and realise I’m just talking at him rather than to him, so I apologise, but he’s a good sport about it and says he’s also been in love with a friend before.
I spit my drink out, spraying him in the process. May the ground open up and swallow me now. This situation is terrible.
“I’m not in love with him,” I say, because I’m not. Of course, I’m not, am I? I’m just very attracted to him, and he’s fun to be around. He makes me laugh and makes me feel happy. And I can’t stop thinking about what I think I saw when he wore those grey sweats the other day. The thick outline. My mouth waters at the thought; I’m dying to taste him.
And that kiss. I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss either. How I’ve felt nothing like it before. It ignited my whole body.
“Who were you texting earlier?” he asks.
I stare at him blankly, realisation dawning.
“I should probably go,” I say, hurrying out of my seat.
I throw a few notes on the table and thank him for his time, keen to get out of here quickly.
I walk a few yards up the street and waste no time calling a taxi from the next bar I find, also shooting a message to Becca to tell her I’m a dating failure. Her reply shocks me. Instead of telling me how to do better next time, she tells me to check Ryan’s Instagram. So, while I wait, I load up his page. I’m honestly grateful I have notifications turned off because I would have died if I’d seen this earlier.
Ryan has uploaded two new photos whilst I’ve been on my date. One of him from the first game of the pre-season, showcasing his entire kit. It looks like a sponsorship shot because he does not wear CCM gloves, and his preferred stick is a Bauer P92, not the CCM P28 he’s captioned. He looks incredible, and I’m scared to look directly at this photo in case I turn into a puddle of water.
The second picture is one of us. Us. Me and him. Ryan and Jenna. It’s the selfie he took during pre-season at the bar. We’re both beaming and it makes my stomach flip. If I close my eyes and think hard enough, I can still smell and feel him pressed against me. He’s put the caption ‘my new best friend,’ which I know is a piss-take of me calling him my new best friend to my parents, but I can’t help but smile. He’s got no personal photos on his profile. Well, nothing that’s not hockey related anyway. What does this mean?
A beep snaps me out of my ogling. The taxi waits at the kerb, so I get in, telling the driver I’ve had a destination change.
The driver pulls into traffic and we head across the city. It’s started raining now and it feels like the slowest journey ever.
When we come to a stop, and I hop out, I feel regret. I haven’t thought this through, and I’m sort of drunk. Well, more tipsy by now.
