“I wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t.”
Naomi hears his breathing on the line—steady, low, unmistakably annoyed—and can picture him standing there, scowling into his phone like this whole thing is somehow her fault.
She leans back into her couch. Equal parts horrified, flustered, and—okay, fine—curious.
“Well,” she says slowly, drawing the word out. “I’ll be in Hartford for the gala in a few weeks. I could, you know...bless your stick then.”
“No,” he says quickly. “It has to be sooner.”
She blinks. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I live in Toronto. That’s like—an eight-hour drive or a full afternoon of connecting flights and soul decay. No, thank you.”
“I know you live in Toronto, Naomi,” he says, with the voice of a man clenching his jaw hard enough to crack the enamel. “We play the Marlies on Thursday. I’ll be in town.”
Her cheeks flush. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
Another silence. This one less awkward and more...charged, prickling under her skin.
“This is completely ridiculous,” she mutters.
“It’s not ridiculous,” he says, each word clipped. “I haven’t changed anything else in my routine. It’s definitely the stick. I can feel it.”
Naomi crosses one leg over the other, one socked foot dangling with nervous energy. “So what exactly are you asking me here? You want me to come to the arena, walk into the locker room, and what—fondle your stick?”
She can practicallyfeelthe tension spike through the line.
“Can you not,” he mutters, horrified.
“I’m just saying, if we’re gonna do this, you should at least buy me dinner first.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She’s grinning now. It’s involuntary.
“You are so annoying,” he says.
“You’re the one who called me,” she points out, voice syrupy sweet. “Begging for my magic touch. I’m just trying to deliver.”
Another exhale from his end. Frustrated. But also—resigned.
“So. Thursday?”
Naomi lets the silence hang for a moment, just to make him sweat. “You’re insane.”
“But?”
She sighs, dramatic. “But, sure. I’ll rub your stick.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“I’ll caress it gently. Whisper encouragement. Maybe slide my fingers around the back?—”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Text me the details,” she coos. “I want a full itinerary. A sexy playlist to set the mood.”
