Page 32 of Three Pucking Words
As we’re skating off the ice, I shoot Honor a wink as she snaps our photos. I’d convinced Karina to let me into their office early this morning with a haphazardly wrapped loaf of banana bread—withextrachocolate chips and minimal walnuts—to set on Honor’s desk. Karina gave me a knowing look that was a mix of amusement and something else as I placed the bread in front of the desktop and left a quick note in chicken scratch I hope Honor can read.
All Karina said was,“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
To which I simply smiled the same way I did only seconds ago to the very girl who I haven’t been able to talk to since delivering my present.
I saw her throughout the past two hours with her camera pointed at one of us getting candid pictures during the game. It’s usually not hard for me to tune out my surroundings, but I was always hyperaware of her lens in my direction whenever her attention was on me. I’m not sure why, or what it means, or why I like it so much.
But I do. Like it, I mean. Maybe a little too much.
“Did you get my good side, Pixel Picasso?” I ask her, stopping in the corridor leading to the locker rooms and letting the guys walk around us.
Her eyebrows dart up after she gets the last shot of one of our rookies. “Pixel Picasso?” she repeats skeptically.
I lift a shoulder. “You won’t let me call you by your last name, so you need a nickname. Everyone here has one.”
Honor stands, letting her camera drape across her from the strap that’s positioned between her breasts.Don’t look,I tell myself, keeping my eyes on her face.
“So you’re just Hoffman around here?”
“Hoffman, Number Eighteen, dumbass,” I muse, grinning at her. “Take your pick. I’d also accept Sexy Demi God.”
Coach’s daughter snorts in amusement. “Demi God, huh? Not a full blown one?” she questions with curious eyes. There’s a hint of playfulness in them. “I’m surprised.”
My grin spreads. “Wouldn’t want to offend the Gods,” I explain, making her eyes roll. “I don’t want Zues lighting my ass up with a bolt or Poseidon trying to drown me the next time I go to the beach.”
“Not a strong swimmer?” she guesses.
“I mean if I’m up against a God…”
She mulls it over. “Good point.”
After a moment of fidgeting with her camera, she peeks up at me through her lashes. “You made me banana bread.”
I was wondering if she’d bring it up. “You told me I’d need to make you a good loaf in order to be your friend.”
Her cheek twitches with a threat of a smile that she fights off. “Is that what you want? To be friends?”
Based on how my body buzzes around her, I probably want to be more. But baby steps. “Yes” is what I tell her with an easy smile. “So, did I level up from acquaintance? I know we’ve only seen each other for a whopping ten minutes at the aquarium, and an hour at The Hungry Greek, but I’d like to think we’re more than a passersby.”
I’m not quite sure what I said that extinguishes the playful light in her eyes, but the smile she fought turns into a downtrodden frown that neutralizes after a microsecond.
“Honor?” I say, my own frown tilting my mouth. The high I’m riding from our victory starts to fade as she focuses on her camera rather than on me.
Clearing her throat, she lifts a shoulder. “I’m not sure. Guess it’ll depend on how good that bread is.”
There isn’t any amusement in her tone or teasing in her gaze when she picks her head up. I may not know her well, but I do know the smile she offers me is fake. “Sounds fair” is the safest answer I can come up with.
She nods silently.
I messed up, and I’m not sure how. I could ask her. Ishouldask her. But I don’t. Because it’s getting late and Gemma is waiting for me. And also because I don’t think Honor wants me to press. Because she says, “I have to get back. Puck is waiting in one of the back rooms.”
Although it’s none of my business, I question one of the few things I know about service animals. “Shouldn’t he be with you at all times?”
She huffs out a dry laugh. “Yes,Dad. But I’m on medicine and haven’t had an episode in over half a year. I know what signs to look out for now, so I made him stay back. He’s not locked in a room, so he can still come to me if he senses something is wrong.”
Normally, the only reaction I get from being called Dad is because of Gemma—my heart clenches and warmth spreads through my body. But this is different. Hearing that word come from Honor makes other parts of me warm. And that’s probably fucked up.
Clearing my throat, I tug at my jersey. I think I’m sweating more now than I did during the game thinking about her saying it again in other settings. More intimate ones.
