I tried again.
Rhett:You're a good dancer for someone who probably learned from hockey drills.
Better. Had personality. Except it read like I was trying too hard to be charming.
Rhett:Coffee sometime?
Two words. A question mark that left room for him to say no if last night had been a mistake. It was also clear enough for him to know I wasn't running away.
My heart hammered against my ribs. You get to choose this time. You get to risk something. I hit send.
The message whooshed away, and immediately my stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles. What if he didn't want coffee? What if last night had been charity—big, loud Hog taking pity on the quiet local who'd looked at him like he hung the moon? What if I'd read the entire thing wrong?
And if I had read it right—if he actually wanted this—what then? Everyone in Thunder Bay would know within a week. My parents would have opinions. My carefully constructed life would crack open, and I wasn't sure what would spill out.
The phone rang ten seconds later. My heart jumped—then I saw my sister Sloane's name on the screen. She was brilliant at inconvenient timing.
"Hey," I answered, trying to sound normal.
"Happy New Year, little brother." Her voice was warm and slightly hoarse. She'd probably been up as late as I had, but it was probably at an elegant house party instead of hanging out with rowdy hockey players in a bar. "How was your night? Please tell me you did something more exciting than reorganizing your tool shed."
"I went out."
"Shocking. Let me guess—The Drop? Three beers, home by eleven-thirty?"
"I stayed until midnight."
"Look at you, living dangerously." I heard her smile through the phone. "Meet anyone new?"
She'd been asking variants of the same question for years, since my last relationship imploded spectacularly. She never pushed or made it weird, but the hope in her voice was always there.
"I kissed someone." The words tumbled out of my mouth.
Silence for a beat. Then: "You what?"
"I kissed someone. At midnight. In front of half the bar."
"Rhett Mason kissed someone in public?" Her voice pitched higher. "Who are you and what did you do with my hermit brother?"
"I'm not a hermit. I'm at the rink twice a week coaching kids."
"You once told me your ideal Friday night was refinishing furniture."
"Furniture doesn't talk back."
"Exactly my point." She paused. "Okay, details. Who was this mystery person who managed to drag you out of your shell?"
I stared out my bedroom window at the snow-covered street. A plow had been through already, leaving neat ridges of white along the curbs. "Thunder Bay's top enforcer," I said finally.
Another pause. Longer this time. "You kissed a hockey player?"
"Yeah."
"A Storm player?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my god. You kissed Hog Hawkins."
