Maybe it has something to do with the way the tips of his ears turn pink, like they’re doing right now when he forces himself to make eye contact with me when he arrives at the register. It’s cute … in a pathetic way, but still.
When Jamie comes in, our interactions tend to go either one of two ways. Sometimes he’s overcome by shyness and can barely stammer out his order. Other times, he’s built up the courage to try and make small talk.
“I’ll, umm, take a …” his eyes bounce around again for a moment, “umm, a coffee, please,” he finishes.
There’s an unfamiliar pressure at the edge of my mouth, almost like I want to smile. Almost.
I can’t make sense of this guy’s infatuation. When it started, I brushed it off, thinking that someone who looks like him—not to mention someone who’s a star player on the college hockey team that everyone here is obsessed with—will naturally find another girl way more receptive to his interest.
I have no idea how that hasn’t happened in the five months that I’ve been here.
Of course, some guys have an ego about this kind of thing. They can’t stand being rejected, so refuse to take the hint. But I don’t think that’s the deal with Jamie. Nothing about him saysegoorarrogance.
I pour his coffee and set it in front of him. He pays in cash, and when I hand him his change, the tips of my fingers brush against his open palm.
Instantly, his face turns beet red. His jaw tightens, muscles flexing on the sides of the broad, sharp-cut arc of bone.
Like his jaw is clenched too tightly to speak, he nods and flashes me a tight smile before turning around and leaving.
There’s something awkward about his stride as he heads out. Wait, is he really battling a stiffy just from the lightest brush ofmy fingertips? I push an almost-laugh through my nose, rolling my eyes.
But when the door rattles shut behind him, I can’t ignore the tingling sensation that remains on my fingertips. It was impossible not to notice how his palm felt: rough and coarsened, a thoroughly masculine feel, no doubt worked into it by years of handling a hockey stick. At the same time, it felt warm and inviting.
I imagine how that palm would feel closing over my hand, pressing it snugly.
A stronger tingling sensation dances on my fingertips now. My stomach tilts a fraction.
Honestly, the thought of hooking up with Jamie has crossed my mind. He’s hot, and maybe some satisfying sex would release some of this writer’s-block-induced tension.
But I know it would be a bad idea. I can tell he’s not the type for a no-strings-attached arrangement. He’d get clingy, which is the last thing I want. I don’t need any distractions before I finish my book.
Even if I had the time to spare, he’s a guy who’d want a real relationship. And there’s no way the two of us would work, no matter how much he’s blinded himself.
Sure, sometimes opposites can click. Like my aunt Cindy and her boyfriend Kazu, who owns the ramen shop in town. They’re as different as two people can possibly be, but sickeningly in love.
Jamie and I, on the other hand, are the wrong kind of opposites. If we spent time together, I can that tell his sunny, golden retriever personality would get on my nerves. He has that kind of perky optimism that would make me want to wring his neck on days like today, when I’m feeling particularly ornery.
No, it’s best that I maintain the distance between us and continue to withhold anything that might give him hope.
I pick up a cup and take advantage of one of the perks of working here by pouring myself some free coffee.
The rich flavor is at least a distraction from something I feel far too often when Jamie walks out the door of the café: a tiny—but tangible—twinge of disappointment at seeing him go.
3
JAMIE
“What a fucking shit-show,” Carter grumbles as we drop onto the bench.
The second line hops over the railing and onto the ice after Coach calls us in for a shift change. The first line players—Sebastian, Carter, and Kiran on offense, along with me and Veikko on defense—just went all out for three minutes. We’re sucking wind. I feel like my legs are Jello, and I know I’m not the only one.
We exhausted ourselves for nothing, too. No one can get a puck past Everwood U’s new goalie.
It’s his first game, and he’s like a wizard in the crease.
Their regular goalie went down with an injury in their last game. He was a good player. Nothing out of this world. But his replacement, a freshman who’s been a benchwarmer up until now, is sure as fuck making the most of the opportunity to show the world what he’s got.
We’re a better team than Everwood this year. We’ve been controlling the puck, and we’ve had plenty of shots on goal. But Kenny Lawless—a pretty sick name, I have to admit—has blocked every one of them. He’s gone from total unknown tolooking like a future NHL starter in the course of one game. At our expense.
