Page 29 of Romancing the Grump
An awkward silence falls over the table as the guys look at each other, exchanging worried looks.
“Y’all. I’m kidding,” I quickly say. “That was sarcasm.”
A few of them chuckle, and Nathan breathes out an audible breath, almost like he’d been holding it.
“It’s good that you’re kidding,” Alec says, his tone light. “You really don’t want to date a hockey player.”
“No? Why is that?”
“Because our schedule is crap.” Nathan is the one who answers, and in contrast to the rest of the mostly lighthearted conversation, his tone is deadly serious. “We’re traveling all the time, basically living on the road. No girlfriend deserves that. No wife, either.”
There’s an undercurrent of tension in Nathan’s words that makes me think this might be personal for him. Maybe he had a relationship that ended badly?
“People do it all the time, man,” Van says. “Not that I’m throwing my name in the relationship ring. But look at Felix and Logan. And now Eli.”
“Don’t worry,” Tucker says. “We’d never recommend you for that.”
Van responds by throwing a napkin at Tucker’s head.
Nathan takes a long drink of his water, then sets the glass down on the table with a heavy thud. “For every example you give me, I’ll give you two that didn’t work out. Guys who cheated, slept around, wives who did the same thing while their husbands were gone. Even for the Appies, who I’ll admit behave a lot better than a lot of players out there, kids are still left alone. I know people try, but the odds aren’t good. It’s not worth the risk.”
“Annnd thank you for so expertly demonstrating whyyou’re the grumpiest guy on the team,” Alec says, diffusing at leastsomeof the tension Nathan brought to the conversation.
Everyone chuckles, including Nathan, and we move on, but I’m having a harder time letting this go. Something clearly hurt Nathan to give him such strong opinions, and I can’t decide if I want to hug him and offer comfort or scold him for being so doom-and-gloom.
“So, what, you just don’t date, then?” I ask him, leaning close enough that the rest of the guys, who are locked in an argument over pizza toppings, can’t hear us. “That feels so sad.”
Nathan shrugs. “I date. Just not seriously. I play hockey. I can’t do both.”
His words feel so final. So matter-of-fact. Like this is his reality and nothing is going to change it.
I lean back in my chair, surprised by how much this disappoints me. I mean, yes, I admitted to Lucy that I have a crush, but it’sonlya crush. This shouldn’t be a big deal.
But also, is Nathan truly serious? Will he just not date at all until he retires? I don’t know when that typically happens for hockey players, but I’m guessing it’s not until they’re in their thirties or forties. Surely he doesn’t want to be alone until then.
Though, there’s a lot of ground betweenaloneandin a relationship.Maybe he’s just really good at keeping things casual…and casual is enough for him?
The thought makes me frown. I don’t like the idea of Nathan datinganyone,but I definitely don’t like the idea of him hooking up with random women.
Across the restaurant, the table of women laugh loudly. When I glance over, they’re still staring at our table, and my gut tightens.
“Hey, Summer?” Tucker asks. “Want to hear something funny?”
I sit up in my chair and smile, happy for the distraction. “Always.”
Tucker grins. “Ask Dumbo what his real name is.”
I think back to the player roster I studied and memorized last week. Dumbo’s last name is Cavendish, but I’m pretty sure his player bio doesn’t list his name as anything butDumbo.
“Okay,” I say, taking the bait. “Dumbo, what’s your real name?”
Dumbo stands up, folds his arm across his waist, and bows forward like he’s addressing the British monarch. “Prescott Lawrence Cavendish, the third, at your service.”
Alec, Van, and Tucker all lift their hands in unison, like they’re tipping their hats in formal greeting.
“His dad holds an actual title in Britain,” Nathan says, his voice low and close to my ear. His breath sends a shiver across my skin, and for a moment, I forget about my disappointment regarding his no-dating policy. “He’s a baron,” Nathan continues. “Or maybe a lord?”
“Why doesn’t he have an accent?” I whisper back.
