Page 28 of Three Pucking Words
“I’m not well versed on the sport,” I explain, hoping he won’t judge me too hard or be offended. “I mean, I know the bare basics, but that’s about it. I could probably Google everything, but God only knows if Wikipedia is right about half of it and—”
“I’ll help you,” he answers, cutting me off with an even bigger smile than before. There’s something in it that makes his eyes glimmer, and my stomach flips and flutters.
I stop rambling to stare at him. Why am I surprised that he agreed? Wasn’t the whole point of me asking to assume he’d say yes? “Oh. Well…cool. Yeah, great.” I’m nodding like a moron now, unsure of how to react.
His lips waver upward, neutralizing into a friendly smile. But his blue eyes have a shimmer of mischief in them that makes him look oddly boyish for his six-foot-four stature. “What exactly is it that you need from me? Game breakdown? Different plays? Players numbers?”
Nibbling my bottom lip, I heft out a short sigh. I really should have tried to do my own research before asking him, but he’sin the thick of it. Who better to get the inside scoop from than somebody who lives and breathes the game? “Is all of the above an option? I’d like to start with the players. Who they are, their jersey numbers, and what position they play. If I’m going to be taking everybody’s pictures, I need to know they are so I’m not taking photos of the wrong people.”
He nods once. “Makes sense. When do you want to start?”
Again, I’m a little taken aback that he’s being so easy-going about this. He’s got a life outside of me. I’m sure that’s only intensified since the last time he’d drunkenly confided in a stranger who he thought was attractive.
“I’m supposed to start the job tomorrow. Although, it’s just doing paperwork and basic training, so—”
He claps his massive hands together once and gestures toward the door. “Great, let’s go. I’m starving.”
He starts walking away, expecting me to follow.
Which I do, after a solid ten seconds.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“Out to eat,” he answers, with a silent “duh” tacked onto the end. “I skipped lunch and only had a protein shake. They don’t keep me full long, and your dad has been unforgiving in practice. I need to replenish some calories.”
He wants to go out to eat?Together? “What about your daughter?” I ask, hoping for an out.
I don’t get one. “She’s with her grandparents tonight. I’ll see her after the game.”
Bodhi opens the side door and holds it for me. I’m still hesitant, but I walk through and stop directly outside the building.
He turns to me, pulling out his phone. “Want me to send you the address to where I’m thinking? You can follow me there.”
Wetting my lips, I look down at Puck. “Uh, I don’t have a car.”Or a license.It’s as embarrassing to admit now as it was when itfirst revoked for medical reasons. Even though it’s not totally my fault, it feels like I’m admitting to drinking and driving or having some sort of arrest history. “But I can call an Uber or—”
“You’re kidding right?” he asks, two deep lines appearing between his brows. “We’re going to the same place. I’ll drive. Come on.”
Once again, he starts walking. Puck stands beside me but doesn’t start walking toward Bodhi because I’m rooted to the ground. “I don’t know. Maybe we should start tomorrow? It’s kind of late…”
Bodhi calls out, “It’s only eight o’clock. You better get used to long nights if you’re working for the team, Erikson.”
He just pulled out the last name like I’m one of his bros—just another player. It leaves a belly full of cement weighing me to the pavement.
“My name is Honor,” I inform him, finally walking over and stopping mere inches away and pinning him with an unimpressed look. “I’m not one of the guys on the team.”
Those beautiful blue eyes make a quick scan of my body from the top of my messy bun down to the pair of sandals I’m wearing. It’s quick, but I still feel the prickle of heat his gaze leaves in its path that has my toes curling inward.
“Trust me, Honor,” he replies, his voice a notch lower than before. It’s gravelly, but smooth. “I know you’re not.”
*
The restaurant hedrives us to is even smaller than Mila’s Bistro, but the inside is cute, cozy, and private. Based on the warm hug he gets from the short older man who barely comes up to his chest, followed by the peck on the cheek from the older woman who’s even shorter, it’s obvious he’s a frequent here.
“You brought a girlfriend!” the older woman says cheerfully, turning to me with a wide smile. She has an accent I can’t quite place. It isn’t Italian, like Mila’s parents have a hint of when they talk passionately about something. Mediterranean? It would be fitting for their beautiful olive skin that I wish I had instead of my fair tone that makes it easy to burn and hard to naturally tan.
Bodhi laughs lightly. “She’s a friend, Nina,” he corrects, gesturing me forward. “This is Honor. Honor, this is Nina, and her husband Elias. They own this place. They’re normally closed by now, but I asked if we could sneak in for something to eat before they left.”
My eyes widen. “You made them stay open?” I ask, feeling bad for the couple who have to be at least in their mid-sixties. “We could have gone somewhere else.”
