Page 21 of The Import Slot
“We’re scheduled for morning runs this week. I’ll see how things go.” I’m worried about scaring her away if I ask her out.
“Anyway, what do you want to do with your free time?”
I want to work with the junior team, help at learn-to-skate sessions, and get as much time at the rink as possible. A large number of the guys are doing master’s degrees, Johnny included, and with practice and gym time, it adds up to quite a busy week. We reserve downtime for the summer, not the hockey season.
I give Johnny an overview of my ideas and then let slip that I’ve donated my salary when I mention sponsorship for the junior team. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, I want to keep it low-key, but I know Johnny won’t mention it.
“Have you spoken to your brother?” he asks, changing the subject again.
“One call, but mostly texts. I’ve spoken to my dad; he reminded me to keep my head in the game.”
Johnny nods: he knows what he’s like. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. He was always the harsh dad, but at least he cared. Not like mine.”
Liam and I first met Johnny at hockey practice over in Chilliwack, near Abbotsford, or Abby, as we call it. Both our dads had taken us on more than one occasion, and there was a massive difference in how they both acted.
“I miss your mom,” Johnny admits. It wasn’t long before my mom picked Johnny up and dropped him home too, before it turned into Johnny coming back to ours for dinner. Then as we got older, we’d hang around outside at weekends too, even though we went to different schools. My mom was like his second mom.
I don’t reply. Sometimes, all I want to do is talk about her, and other times, I want to keep my thoughts to myself.
We sit quietly for a beat and let the moment pass before I dive back into business.
“Right then, Cap. Talk to me about these guys,” I say, and Johnny presses play on the TV remote before grabbing his notepad.
Chapter 7
Jenna
Thebaroftherink is busy after games, and the pre-season opener is no exception. Becca and I are hanging about, waiting for Danny, so we can congratulate him on scoring the game-winning goal. It’s only a friendly, but every goal is exciting.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to glimpse Ryan.
“How’ve your morning runs been?” Becca asks. We’ve not had a lot of time to talk recently with work and stuff going on.
“I think I really like him, Bec.” She didn’t ask me that, but I volunteer the information. “The more time I spend with him, the more I like him.” It sounds ridiculous now that I’ve said it out loud.
“Good. I’m glad. Oh, here they are,” Becca says, nodding to the doors that lead to the dressing rooms. In suits the guys file out, looking slightly damp from showers. I don’t see Ryan yet, but I’m on alert now. Every time the door squeaks, my head whips up to check who’s come through.
Danny joins us by the bar, his shirt looking like he forgot to turn the iron on. He signals to the bartender for a beer.
“Do you want anything?” he asks Becca and me. I shake my head, nodding to the drink I already have. Becca, of course, coerces Danny into getting a round of shots. My stomach is in knots. I can’t even think about doing shots right now.
I hear the door squeak and know it’s him before I see him. The chatter gets louder too, and people crowd around the door.
“He’s popular,” Becca says, giving Danny a look.
“Have you met him yet?” Danny asks Becca. “He’s a really nice guy, actually. I thought he’d be proper stuck-up because he’s a millionaire and that.”
Becca and I look dumbfounded at Danny.
“What? I Googled him. All his contract information is online,” Danny shrugs.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. I honestly forget that he’s made a name for himself. Danny is right; he’s so normal. He’s wearing a charcoal-grey suit, no tie, top button undone and even though I’d wager that it’s a designer suit, it doesn’t look showy. His beard looks longer than it has been, but it suits him. I want to touch it, which is completely ridiculous.
My cheeks flush when he spots me, catching me watching him. He gives me a wink, making my knees wobble, and head swim, as my heart hammers in my chest. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“He’s coming over,” Becca whispers.
He’s making his way across the room, trying to push through the crowd, but every person who can stop him does. Damn him for being so nice. He signs autographs and takes selfies, often being the one holding the phone because he’s so tall. Christ, he’s not just good-looking; he’s a nice person too, just like Vicky. I glance at Becca to distract myself.
