I want to press, but she looks ready to bolt.
“I’ll start with the basics, then.”
“You shouldn’t waste your time on?—”
“I’m practicing for the kids,” I stop her from turning me down. Again. “So let me know if I use too many big words.”
I wink and finally get a smile, but she still looks nervous.
“Each team starts out with six players on the ice.” I draw the rink with our initial positions. “Three forwards, two defensemen, and one goalie.”
“You’re a forward?” she guesses. Unless she looked me up.
“Forward center, yeah.”
“Which means your job is to score.”
There’s something about the way she says it so confidently, a statement not a question, that has me fighting both the juvenile urge to say, ‘that’s what she said’, and the strain in my pants at the idea of scoring with her.
“It is,” I agree instead. “That’s the goal, for each team, to score the most goals. Stats will consider how many wins or losses, goals and assists we each have, how many shots we take on the net, how many pucks are stopped or let in by goalies…but every time the puck gets past this line and into the net, the team who scored – or I guess the team who’s net it isn’t – gets a point.”
She’s nodding until the last bit, where she smiles.
“Do a lot of eight-year-olds score on themselves?” she asks, but the joy and mischief in her expression have turned the only thought in my head to she’s beautiful, and I can’t believe that wasn’t the first thing that hit me when I met her.
“Especially at the beginning of the season. But I’ve seen twenty-year-olds do it too.”
“What are your stats like?” She takes notes, and I really wish I was better at reading upside down.
“They’re decent. I haven’t scored on my own net in at least a decade.” This gets me a laugh from Savannah.
“Nice to see you’re humble.”
“I’m the top scorer on my team, but not in the division, and I think a lot of our wins have more to do with Steele, our goalie, who often doesn’t let any goals in.”
“Which is called a shutout, right?” I nod. “You realize you won seven-nothing on Tuesday?”
“We did,” I agree with a huge grin. “Did you watch it?”
“No.” She laughs like the idea is silly. “But it’s all over campus. My high school only cared about football and basketball. You had to join a city league for anything else, but I feel like all the Wyn U teams are doing well, so everyone follows everything. Or at least everyone who is into sports.”
“Are you?” I ask. “Into sports?”
“I like the players,” she says before her face turns bright red. “I mean I watch sports if I know someone on the team, not for the love of the game.”
“Who do you know in hockey?” I can’t help but ask.
Chapter Nine
Savannah
Writing is my NHL
“What?” I ask, not sure what Noah’s implying.
“Fans don’t bother with practices, even when they’re open to the public,” he explains. “Who were you hoping to see?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Noah looks resigned – and jealous. Like this confirms something he didn’t want to know.
