Page 25 of Dating Goals
“Or prepare,” Ivy corrects, her voice firm. “And don’t you dare use that time to come up with excuses. I know all your tricks.”
I sigh dramatically. “Six weeks of anticipatory dread. Wonderful.”
“Six weeks to practice not scowling at men who try to talk to you,” Ivy counters with a smirk.
“I don’t scowl,” I protest. “Okay, maybe a little.”
James returns from the kitchen. “Look at it this way. If it’s horrible, you’ll have a funny story to tell the regulars at S’Holzfass.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically. “Old Herr Ziegler will love hearing about my dating disasters while he nurses his afternoon lager.”
Ivy shifts on the sofa, adjusting her position to accommodate her belly. “Just promise you’ll actually show up. No last-minute pub emergencies.”
“When have I ever…” I begin, then stop myself when I see her knowing look. “Fine. As long as the pub isn’t literally on fire, I’ll be there.”
“That’s all we ask,” James says with a satisfied nod.
7
GRIFFIN
The adrenaline from tonight’s win against HC Basel has mostly faded, replaced by a weird cocktail of confusion and annoyance.
I’m cruising down the road back to Grächen, one hand on the wheel, the other massaging my shoulder that’s still throbbing a bit from where that maniac grabbed me. I’d have thought it would be great to come across a Titans fan here in Switzerland. But that guy? Somebody should have denied him a passport.
“You’ll pay for this!” The man’s words echo in my head. His face had been red with rage, spittle flying as he screamed about his life savings and the Titans stock. None of it made sense. Sure, stocks have ups and downs, but his reaction seemed extreme.
I flex my jaw, still feeling the sting where his fist grazed me before Peter and Tyler yanked him back. Christoph had positioned himself between us, speaking like a horse whisperer to calm the situation.
“Should’ve gone with the side exit,” I mutter to myself, taking the turn toward home maybe slightly faster than necessary. The secret, non-crazy person exit.
“Your owner’s a crook!” The man’s words echo in my head. “I can’t get my money out! What are you people doing with our investments?”
“Hey, man, I just play hockey,” I’d told him, hands raised. “I don’t know anything about the stock stuff.”
But his eyes had been wild. Desperate. “You’re lying! Three months I’ve been trying to get my investment back! They keep saying the Titans stock is frozen!”
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. Probably Tyler checking if I’m okay. He’d offered to go get a drink with me, but I’d waved him off. I just need some quiet to process what happened.
The thing is, that fan’s accusations nag at me. I invested in Titans stock too, straight from my paycheck like Hendrix suggested. Malcolm Chase had made it sound like such a sure thing, a way to be part of the team’s success. But that guy tonight…there was real fear beneath his anger.
The headlights catch the reflective markers along the curves. Usually, this drive helps clear my head after a game, but tonight, my mind keeps replaying how my teammates had to drag that guy off me.
“Where’s my money, McGregor?” He’d grabbed my coat, knuckles white. “Chase promised…”
The win against HC Basel should have me floating on cloud nine. That glove save in the third period was highlight-reel material. Instead, my gut churns with unease.
A car coming the other way flashes their high beams, snapping me back to the present. I ease off the gas, realizing I’ve been speeding. The last thing I need is to wrap my rental around a guardrail because some unhinged fan got in my head.
Still, something feels off about the whole thing. Malcolm Chase’s name keeps popping up lately, and not in a good way. First the CBA negotiations, now this? The fan’s accusationsswim through my thoughts: “They’re stealing from us…your team owner…It’s all a lie.”
I’m about two minutes from home when I make a snap decision. I can’t face an empty cabin with nothing but that crazed fan’s words bouncing around in my head. Without really thinking it through, I signal and veer away from the turn that would take me up to my place.
“Screw it,” I mutter, heading toward the village center instead. Maybe some human interaction will drown out the noise in my skull.
I find a spot to park at the edge of Grächen’s pedestrian zone, turning off the engine and sitting in silence for a moment. My shoulder throbs dully as I reach for my phone. Sure enough, there’s a text from Tyler making sure I got home okay. It’s nice of him to check up on me. Us expats need to look out for each other. I send a quick reply that I’m good, then shut off my phone.
The streets of Grächen are quiet this time of night, but I can see the warm glow from the pub windows up ahead. A few locals nod at me as I walk past. I’ve been here long enough that I’m no longer a complete novelty, though I still catch the occasional double-take.
