Page 15 of Dating Goals
“Then I’ll definitely buy you dinner.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “But you’ll have to admit you were wrong about hockey.”
“Not happening.”
“Oh I think it’s happening. We have a home game this Friday. I’ll leave your ticket at will-call.”
“I work Friday.” Thank goodness for that convenient truth.
“Saturday then.”
“I work every night.”
“How is it you work every night? I think I need to have a word with your boss.”
I stare him down, hands on my hips. “I am the boss.”
“Well then it’s settled.”
I turn to leave, fighting a smile. “Some of us have to work for a living instead of playing games on ice.”
“So you’re coming Friday?”
“Definitely not.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe.”
I don’t look back as I head toward the trail. “Just eat your cookies, Wayne Gretzky.”
5
GRIFFIN
Staring at the wooden beams crossing my cabin’s ceiling, I replay that backhand shot from tonight over and over in my mind. The puck sailed right past my blocker side, a shot I should’ve had. The red light behind the net still burns in my memory like a taunting reminder. Sleep? Not happening.
“Get it together,” I mutter into my pillow, punching it into a more comfortable shape. But comfort isn’t coming tonight.
Three-four. That’s how it ended. If I’d just caught that backhand in the third period, we might’ve pushed it to overtime. The whole sequence unfolds behind my closed eyes. I should’ve shifted left.
The sheets tangle around my legs as I toss and turn. My teammates played their hearts out tonight, and I let them down. That final score might as well be tattooed on my eyelids.
I grab my phone, pulling up the game highlights. Maybe if I watch it enough times, I’ll figure out exactly where I went wrong. The video plays in the dark room, casting blue light across my face as I scrutinize every movement.
There it is. Minute fifty-eight. I was positioned too far right, anticipating a different play. Rookie mistake.
The worst part? I saw it coming. That slight shoulder drop, the way he shifted his weight. All the telltale signs were there. Yet somehow my brain decided to take a coffee break at that exact moment.
The clock on my phone reads 12:15 AM. I need to get my mind off the game so I’ll be rested for tomorrow. I flip my pillow to the cool side for the hundredth time, but all I can think about is how I let my team down.
Too restless to sleep, I get out of bed, my feet hitting the cold wooden floor. The kitchen’s just a few steps away in this cozy cabin, but right now it feels like a mile. My throat’s dry as sandpaper.
The tap water here tastes different than back home. Cleaner, fresher, straight from the mountain springs. I down one glass, then another. What I really want is a beer, but that’s not gonna help my head or my game tomorrow.
My stomach growls, reminding me I barely touched dinner after the game. There has to be something open in the village, right?
I pull on my thermal shirt and jeans, adding my heaviest sweater, and grab my coat from the hook. The temperature’s been dropping fast this past week. Soon this whole valley will be buried in snow. The thought makes me smile despite my mood.
My boots are still muddy from earlier, but they’ll do. Keys, wallet, phone. Check. I lock up and start down the path toward town, hands stuffed in my pockets. The night air hits my face like a slap of cold water as I step outside. Stars blanket the sky above the village, way more than you’d ever see in Toronto. The village below looks like a Christmas card, all twinkling lights against the dark mountain backdrop. There’s gotta be something open down there. A coffee shop, a late-night café…anything to get me out of my own head. And if not, at least the walk might tire me out enough to finally sleep.
Halfway down the hill, I realize I should’ve taken the car. The temperature must’ve dropped another ten degrees since sunset. My toes are already going numb inside my boots. Real genius plan here. Who needs a nice warm vehicle when you can stumble around in the pitch black like an idiot?
