Page 89 of Face Off
“Sorry. I got all the jokes out of me.” He peels off his hoodie and drops it on top of his shoes. He walks into the room and looks at the two queen beds. “Please tell me one of these is for sleeping and the other is for stuffing our faces. I want to murder those fries.”
“Duh.” I shuffle past him and sit on the mattress closest to the door, dropping the food in the middle of the bed. “That’s why I put a towel out.”
“Smart girl.” Maverick sits opposite me and rubs his hands together. “I didn’t know what kind of sauce you would be partial to, so I got one of everything.”
“Everything? What are we talking here? Ketchup? Spicy ketchup?”
“Come on, Red.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re talking pimento cheese. Roasted garlic. Smoked chipotle. Herbed ranch. Do you want me to keep going?”
My mouth waters. “I want you to shut up and show me all these choices.”
Maverick unloads two Styrofoam boxes from the bag. There’s a mountain of fries in the first one, and the second has a dozen individual cups he arranges in a neat line on the towel.
“You first,” he says.
“You paid for it. You should start.”
“I’ve been there before, and you should do the honors. Roasted garlic is my personal favorite, but you can’t go wrong with any of them.”
I pop the top off the cup he points to and dip two fries in the sauce. I shove them in my mouth and groan. My eyes roll to the back of my head and I reach for another handful before I’ve even swallowed.
“Delicious,” I say.
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you through the heathen bite you took.”
I throw a napkin at him but he catches it mid-air. “Forgive me for being starving.”
“Eat up then, Hartwell. I normally put back a large by myself, so it’s nice to share the carbs with someone else for once.”
I open the cup with pimento cheese and almost melt at the smell. “You don’t like spicy food?”
“Nope. Not my thing. I’ve tried dishes that other people recommend, but I end up sick.” Maverick shrugs and reaches into the bag. “I was a PB&J and chicken tenders kid. I’ve gotten better as an adult, and I make an effort to branch out when we’re traveling to try local restaurants.”
“You’re missing out on so much.”
“I know I am. Are you going to do room service for dinner? The fries can’t be all you eat.”
“Yeah. I was planning on eating a little later. The grilled chicken and veggies looked good.” I stand and walk to the desk, picking up the menu and handing it to him. “Do you want anything?”
His mouth pops open, and there’s a drop of sauce hanging near his chin. “Emerson Hartwell. Is this an invitation to join you for dinner? Is the world ending?”
“You brought fries. I can at least return the courtesy of a mediocre hotel meal.”
“I’d love to, but I’m going to need a few minutes. Gotta let the spuds settle first.”
“How about in an hour?” I sit back on the mattress and lean against the pillows. “Does that work with your digestive system?”
“So kind of you to ask. An hour is perfect.” He pops another fry in his mouth and looks at me. “Are you excited for your first NHL game in Boston?”
“Yeah. We get to play in the oldest arena in the league surrounded by the most passionate fans, and it feels like I’m finally finding my groove on the ice.” I cross my ankles and put my hands behind my head. “What about you?”
“I fucking love Boston. I always have my best games of the season here.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. I feed off the negative energy they throw my way. The fans can boo all they want. I’m still going to score.” He wipes his hands with a napkin and chucks it toward the trash can. “I hope you can score tomorrow too.”
There’s a moment of quiet between us. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Maverick getting comfortable on the pillows next to me. The bed shifts, and I let out a shallow breath.
