Page 51 of Overtime
I swallow hard one, two times. A third. Eyes on my food. Food in my mouth. Make it busy with that. Not with saying what I want to say. Keep it in my brain. That way it’s only awkward there.
“Oh my word. This is so delicious. You’ll have to teach me how to make them!”
“But first,” I say with difficulty. “What’s TDH?”
Strawberry groans. “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.” She sets the food down and lets out a great sigh. “I will confess. But you must promise me?—”
“I’m not going to promise shit. Just say it and deal with the consequences.”
“Talldarkandhandsome.” She says this so fast the words jumble into one and all I hear is gibberish.
“The what?”
Gasping for air, she says it again, this time more slowly. “Tall. Dark. And handsome.”
My arepa is suspended in the air. I need to set it down for this.
I burst out laughing.
“This is what I didn’t want!” Strawberry screeches and throws her balled-up napkin at me. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” The question comes out squeaky between guffaws that refuse to stop.
“Like I’m one of your groupies and you caught me red-handed!”
“I know you’re not a puck bunny—that’s the term. Write it down.” I’m still chuckling as I add, “You don’t even know what icing is.”
“And you haven’t explained it.”
I put a dirty knife on the counter, then put the salt dispenser on one side and her cup of water on the opposite side. “This is the middle line and the two goals. If you’re a player here, on your goalie’s side,” I say, pointing at her empty cup, “and you shoot the puck all the way here.” I poke the spot behind the saltshaker. “That’s icing, in a nutshell.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Hold on. I need to write all this down.”
I keep eating as she rushes over to her bag at the door. She returns with the same yellow journal and the strawberry pen from day one, where she jotted down that I was TDH.
The tall part, check. I’m at least a foot taller than her. Dark? Double check. My brown skin is several shades darker. I also wouldn’t describe myself as a ray of sunshine. The handsome part? Well, I’m not in the business of lying. I guess I’m a TDH, huh?
“So, were you going to base your character on me?”
She does not meet my eyes. “Obviously not on the real you. That would be supremely creepy.”
A corner of my lips goes up. The guys will be disappointed when they find out.
“And what exactly do characters do in a hockey romance?”
“They play hockey all the time.” She looks up, blinking innocently in an exaggerated way.
“With their tongues?”
She gasps.
So I add, “Surely not with their sticks.”
“Aran!”
