Page 17 of In My Hockey Era
What starts as her venting about the book turns into a debate about hockey.Then a debate about which movies are overrated.Then a conversation about growing up a fan of the sport.
Her voice is nice… soft and more feminine than I remembered.I can’t say it matches the rest of her, which is prickly as hell, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.
“How do you know so much about hockey?”I ask.
“My dad was a coach, and my three older brothers played, I basically grew up watching film instead of princess movies.”
That’s kind of cool, actually.
“So, do you always text people at midnight to yell at them about books?”
“Only when they deserve it.”
“Lucky me.”I chuckle.
“You really are.”
I grin, shifting to lie on my back.Her voice is sharp, but there’s a hint of amusement under it.She’s having fun with this, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
“Wait, midnight?”she asks, confused.“Where are you?”
“Philly,” I say.“But we come back tomorrow.You know, for someone who claims to hate this book, you sure are invested.”
“I hatethisbook.Not all books.”
“Good to know.So, what do you usually read?
“True crime.Some mystery.And actual hockey books, not this… whatever this is.”
“Harsh.What about romance?”
“You think I read romance?”
“I think you’d like the right one.Maybe you just need the right person to recommend one.”
There’s a pause.A long one.I might’ve gone too far, but then she exhales a sharp breath.
“Wow.Do you flirt with all your haters, or am I special?”
“Only the ones who text me at midnight.”
She makes a sound—something between a scoff and a laugh.I’m grinning into the phone, picturing her rolling her eyes.
“What do you do anyway?Besides leading an anti-Bennett Wilder campaign?”
“I’m a paramedic.”
I sit up a little.
“Seriously?”
“What, don’t believe me?”
“No, I do.Just didn’t expect it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.I guess I figured someone who spends all day saving lives wouldn’t waste time arguing with a dumb hockey player.”
