Page 2 of Three Pucking Words
“That can’t really be your name,” he muses, still holding onto me.
I quirk a brow. “Why would I lie about that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
We’re both silent.
I clear my throat when his thumb swipes along the back of my hand, reminding me we’restilltouching. Peeling mine back, I drop it into my lap and try ignoring the sparks tingling under the surface of my skin.
A group of guys start laughing loudly from the other side of the bar, scaring me. They’re yelling at the television as recaps of tonight’s hockey match play on the screen.
I don’t realize I’m making a face until Bodhi asks, “Not a fan?”
I peel my gaze away from the TV, wondering if Max is somewhere with his friends doing the same thing. Despite who my father is, he was rooting for Chicago’s team to win tonight.
“I’m not a sports person,” I admit, lifting a shoulder casually. “I wouldn’t say I hate it, but…”
He sets his glass down, humming. “But you hate it?” he guesses.
I don’t feel like word vomiting my childhood trauma that involves absentee parents—one of them being the NHL’s best coach who tends to get nothing but praise in the media for how he runs his team. Maybe if he’d put even half as much effort into raising me, I’d feel differently about the sport he loves so much. I would watch his game as intently as Max, and brag to people about the blood we share.
But he didn’t earn that right.
“You seem…sporty,” I note, taking in his broad shoulders. I’ve never considered myself a shoulder person until now.
His eyes flicker with something that I can’t figure out as he takes another drink. “You could say that I dabble.”
Who ‘dabbles’ in sports? “Let me guess. You’re a big football guy?”
He chuckles. “No.”
I study the top half of his body. He’s got the kind of build that a lot of athletes have. “Do you play soccer?” I guess, shaking my head at my own assumption. “Nah. You don’t look like David Beckham. You’re too bulky.”
His eyebrow raises. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Being bulky or not looking like David Beckham?” I question.
His lips kick up. “Either. Both.”
I sigh, propping a hand on my palm and not touching on the bulky thing. “Beckham used to be my celebrity crush. Mostly because me and my best friend had a thing for the Spice Girls.”
Bodhi clearly doesn’t know anything about pop culture, so I don’t elaborate on who Posh Spice is or the correlation that made me slightly obsessed with her soccer star husband.
“I thought you weren’t a sports person.”
“A girl can appreciate a good butt when she sees one withoutactuallyhaving to watch the sport, can’t she?” I counter pointedly.
Bodhi barks out a laugh. “You got me there.”
I smile, and it feels…foreign. To smile. To feel carefree for once. After the meeting I had with my boss today, I was looking forward to meeting with my neighbor and having a rare glass of wine while venting about how I’m never going to advance at the studio that Max insisted I give a chance because he knew the owner who specialized in landscape and still photography. Not my niche or my passion. But I accepted the job because there was promise to grow.
“It’s better than you sitting at home alone all day waiting for me to come home,” he says, not bothering to look at me as he pours himself a drink and sits back down at his laptop at the kitchen table.
I had a plan after graduating college with my degree in photography and minor in business. I was going to start my own studio focused on portraits and people. I want to capture emotion and life, not fields and fruit bowls.
Max and I bonded over wanting to become business owners, but when it came down to focusing on which venture we wanted to spend more time on, he decided that his could afford us a better life. He isn’t wrong. His brought us to Chicago where we rent a nice house in a cute cul-de-sac next to great neighbors. A home I spend far too much time alone in, thinking about the studio that has yet to happen and a job that I dread going to every single day.
“We need to wait until the game launches before we even consider a second business,” Max says dismissively. “I don’t have time to help you with your hobby right now.”
