Page 37 of Face Off
“For what?”
“Offering to help.”
“I just wanted to steal a fry—I’m still starving after practice this morning. Are you having fun tonight?”
“Yeah.” A small smile dances across her face. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and I spot three piercings I nevernoticed before. I see sparkly, dangling earrings that make me think she likes to spoil herself and buy nice things. “Piper invited me, and I’m glad I came.”
“Even with the interruption?” I ask.
Emerson bites her bottom lip again, and it really shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. “Even with present company.”
“They’re all really good people. I’ve known Piper the longest, and it’s been cool to see her work her way up to the broadcasting team. I hope she’s the lead sideline reporter one day.”
“I’ll be shocked if she isn’t. Every time I get home, she asks two dozen questions about practice and my thoughts on how the game went.”
I haven’t spent any time with Emerson outside of the rink. She didn’t show up to the team dinner last week and she doesn’t hang around after practice long enough for us to shoot the shit with her. On the flights to our away games, she sits up front with the girls, away from the chaos the boys get into and leaving me no time to get a good read on her.
Her soft laugh and the way she doesn’t run away tell me she might be enjoying this conversation, and that gives me the encouragement to keep talking.
“What’s your drink of choice?” I blurt.
“Is that your question of the day?”
“Yeah. Then you can ask me yours. I know you’ve got one ready to go. I can practically see the wheels spinning in your head.”
“If I’m at home, I prefer red wine.” Emerson turns to the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention, but he doesn’t see her. “If I’m out, I like to have a martini, but this bar doesn’t strike me as somewhere that has good olives.”
“Don’t underestimate this place. I came here once after a loss, and I was craving something sweet. Johnny—who’s a real person and the only cook in the building—handed me a platefulof giant chocolate chip cookies twenty minutes later—freshly baked. I’m still not sure where he got all the ingredients, and it’s probably better for everyone if I never find out.”
“That’s the Maverick Miller effect.”
“I haven’t heard about the Maverick Miller effect. Please, enlighten me.”
“Your charm. It makes people do things for you because of who you are.”
“Nah.” I run my free hand through my hair and shrug. “That’s not who I am here. I’m just Maverick, the guy who can’t throw a dart to save his life and puts quarters in the jukebox so it plays shitty songs on repeat. I eat frozen mozzarella sticks and pretend like I don’t know why “Funkytown” is playing eight times in a row.”
“It could be worse. You could play “Achy Breaky Heart” instead.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time. You sure you don’t want me to run out and get you some olives? I will. There’s a grocery store that stays open until midnight a few blocks up the road.”
“Are you always this accommodating?” Emerson asks.
“Not really. Must be a you thing. A captain/teammate dynamic. I take care of my people, remember?”
“And tracking down olives is part of that caretaking?”
“It is. Top of the list, I’m pretty sure.”
“It’s fine. Really.” Her eyes drop to the beers I should’ve brought back to the table ten minutes ago. “You’re a beer guy?”
“If I’m with my friends, yeah. If I’m at a club, I’ll drink something stronger. Loud noises and all of that.”
“Interesting.”
“Was that your question?”
“No,” she says. “I was throwing your question back to you. That’s how this game works.”
