“You and Izzie are the only hockey players I know,” I assure him.
“What is all this for?” he presses, and I realize that was my out. I could have pretended this was to impress a guy, to cheer on a crush, or trick him into thinking I’m just into sports and want to add a new one to my roster. But I blew it.
“Research.”
“For…”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide what Noah’s reaction will be. People can be pretty judgmental, saying things like romance isn’t real literature and smut is porn, but the one that hurts the most, probably because it’s accurate, is that I should leave the romance to people who have actual experience with it, as mine would just be wishful thinking. But I don’t think Noah will make me feel bad about it, if only because he still needs me to watch his sister on Sunday.
“It helps me know if I should go technical for an essay, or use diagrams if it’s to better understand what you’re watching, or?—”
“I write,” I admit, feeling cold sweat at the back of my neck. “That’s what I was doing in the stands the other day, because it somehow helps me think, and I was trying to find something for all my main guy characters to have in common, and I thought maybe they could play hockey, but I don’t know much about it, so…research.”
I stop myself from rambling any longer, waiting for him to laugh at me. I don’t mention that most of my hockey knowledge so far comes from the few hockey romances I’ve read, which mostly covered a different kind of stick handling.
“That’s so cool,” he says the last thing I’m expecting. “That you write. And that you can just come up with something like that and research it for fun, to turn it into a story.”
“That I give myself homework?” I question.
“Does this feel like a chore?” He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile.
“Not at all,” I admit. It feels like a date, but then my experience is very limited.
“I can focus on the game basics and what it’s like to be on a team?”
“Yes, that would be amazing.” I’m pretty sure I’m still beet-red, but I might get information that isn’t on Google.
He uses his diagram to explain what all the different lines are for, and which players do what.
“How old are your characters?” Noah asks midway through explaining some of the most common penalties.
“Um, over eighteen, but I’m not sure by how much.”
“The NCAA has different rules from the NHL, and I don’t want to mislead you,” he shares. “But I guess it’s more academic status than age that matters.”
“Oh, right. I think college would probably be a good idea,” I say, then realize it’s more of a question, like I’m waiting for Noah to tell me how my story should go. “Pro players would add a lot of complications and create a power imbalance, whereas school somewhat levels the playing field off the ice…right?”
I mean to sound sure of myself, then totally ruin it, but he laughs instead of judging me.
“That sounds like a plan,” he agrees. “And I’ll be more helpful, because I know college hockey inside and out, but I’ve only ever watched the pros. I haven’t gone to an NHL game in ages.”
“Yours was the only hockey game I’ve ever been to.”
“That was just a practice,” he counters. “You’ve been to other games though, right? For different sports?”
“Lots,” I agree, feeling the heat go up my neck, to my cheeks. “Is that what you want to do when you graduate? Go pro?”
“That’s obviously the dream, but I’m more of a realist.” He smiles like I’m naïve, but both my brothers are living that dream. “I’m glad I get to play in college, and my hockey scholarship is the only reason I was able to come to an Ivy League school, but there are a lot of guys who are way better than me.”
“What are your plans then? I don’t even know what you’re studying,” I realize.
“Accounting,” he admits. “I’ve always been good with numbers, and there’s no shortage of job opportunities.”
“Hence being the one Izzie goes to with math homework. That’s very pragmatic of you.”
“See, I would have known you were a writer just for using hence and pragmatic.”
“Or a reader,” I point out.
