“I still think there’s an imbalance.” He lets out a breath and moves his chair closer to me, as if he’s been debating something and finally decided. I’m overwhelmed by the nearness of him and how earnestly he looks at me. “I could teach you hockey.”
Out of all the things that could have come out of his mouth, I wasn’t expecting that.
“You…what?” My confusion turns to understanding when I see the guilty expression on his face. He definitely read the page where I decided to have my main character play hockey.
“I only saw your drawing of the rink and a few questions underneath. Which are entirely valid, by the way.”
“I don’t even remember what I wrote,” I say before addressing his offer. “I can Google everything or look them up here now I have my list of terms back. I’m used to it.”
“You could,” Noah agrees. “But that sounds like a lot of work when I can just explain it to you and answer any questions over coffee.”
I’m wondering if this is some elaborate scheme to ask me out, but he hastens to add, “Or here at the library. I wasn’t asking you on a date.”
“Of course not.” I sigh, but I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed that he felt the need to clarify it, or because I –very briefly – wanted him to be.
“That’s not…I don’t date,” he explains. “I don’t have the time or the energy to properly…with school and hockey and?—”
“Then you really shouldn’t concern yourself with this,” I stop him, gathering my books. “I’ve taken up more than enough of your time, and I’m sure it won’t be too hard to figure out the logistics of hockey.”
I’ve asked Google what the day-to-day life of a hockey player looks like, but it was very unhelpful. I’m hoping it’ll be like football and baseball players, so I can just ask my brothers, but I’ll eventually have to find someone to make sure I haven’t gone completely off base with the sports stuff. Assuming I’m dedicated enough to finish something for once.
“That came out wrong, and you’re not…monopolizing my time.” He practically winces. “I’m happy to be here. Just like I would be happy to spend a few hours answering all your hockey questions.”
I could use a source to understand the sport, terms used among players, schedules, and all that jazz, but that would involve telling him what the research is for. Which I don’t want to do. But a general understanding of how the game is played couldn’t hurt.
The logical part of my brain tells me YouTube is just as useful, but the butterflies I get whenever Noah’s close tell me I wouldn’t mind another chance to hang out with him. As friends – or acquaintances – obviously, because he doesn’t date. Or at the very least, not someone like me. And spending time with him will only make me like him more. Want to spend more time with him. And that’s a terrible idea. For a million reasons. Not even counting that I know – rather unfortunately – that college athletes saying they don’t date in no way means they don’t hook up, and I’m either not on his radar, which makes sense but still sucks, or he’ll try that with me, which I think might be worse.
“You’re off the hook, Callahan,” I say softly.
“Maybe it’s self-serving and I’m about to tip the scales again.”
If he looked the least bit flirtatious, I’d assume he was coming up with excuses to see me. I’d probably be downright giddy and have to remind myself he probably doesn’t mean it that way, because no one ever does. But he looks sort of lost. And guilty. Very similar to the first time I saw him.
“How so?” I ask cautiously.
“Izzie asked if she could come to a real game next time,” he admits.
“So you thought?—”
A babysitter. He wants me…as a babysitter for his little sister, so she can watch him play. Which makes so much more sense than him wanting to date me. The butterflies take it like a punch to the gut, but the melting ovaries see how much he loves his sister, and remind me he could have been asking me to babysit so he could hook up with someone else.
My brain also points out that this means seeing him again, learning more about hockey, and getting to pretend I’m selfless and kind instead of just pathetic.
“You want to learn about hockey, Izzie wants to see me play and can’t stop talking about how awesome you are…so many birds with one stone. Plus, it’s hard to say no when she does the puppy dog pout.”
He demonstrates, and I have to bite my bottom lip to hold back from the overwhelming urge to do the same to his.
Not that I’ve ever bitten someone before.
“That would be hard to say no to.” I manage to sound way cooler than I feel.
“Glad you understand my predicament.” Noah smiles and it’s like I can’t prevent mine from mirroring. “So, do we have a deal? You let my sister sit close to you during a game and I’ll answer whatever you need to know for…whatever it is you’re working on.”
He looks like he wants to know but won’t ask.
“Please?” he tries. It’s not Izzie’s puppy stare, but it’s a genuine plea that goes straight to my heart.
“Okay,” I breathe. “I mean, of course, I’ve been meaning to get to a game, so you don’t even have to help?—”
