Victoria.
Leaning over the rail, holding out her hand, her face a mask of nothingness.
Then she nods, motioning that she wants me to take whatever is in her hand.
There are a million people watching and I know this is going to bite me in the ass but I take the small, folded piece of paper anyway. Then I keep walking without looking back. It’s killing me not to know what it says so I drop my head and look down.
954-555-0001
Her phone number.
Why does she want me to have it? Is she letting me know she wants me to call her? I’m so damn confused. And a little pissed off that she chose right before a game to drop this on me.
Of course, she has no other way to get in touch with me so I guess it makes sense.
I glance back to where she was standing, but she’s gone now.
“Who was that?” Milo asks, skating up next to me. He’s younger than I am and wasn’t around during my rookie season, so he probably has no idea what went down. Or who Victoria is. Despite being with me at the club the other night.
“An old friend,” I say casually.
He grins. “The same one from that night at the club? She’s hot.”
That she is.
“Yeah.” What else can I say?
“Why do you look rattled?” he asks curiously.
“It’s a long story. Not one for right before a game.”
He nods. “Gotcha.”
We get into position and start shooting pucks at the net but my mind is a million miles away.
954-555-0001.
I’ve already memorized it.
Because I know I’m going to call her.
I don’t know why, and I’m probably going to say something stupid, but the digits of her phone number are already burned into my brain.
The last week has been a blur of anger, frustration, disappointment, and…yearning. Like I’m desperate for something I don’t even want. I’m not talking about sex. God knows, I’ve had so much of that the last few years, it’s almost embarrassing. No, there’s something more intimate about my need for Victoria. She was my first love, and if I’m honest, the only woman I’ve truly loved. We were young but everything burned so hot, so fast.
Everyone warned me it was too soon, she was still in high school, but I couldn’t resist her then and it seems like I can’t resist her now. I sulked when she turned down my offer to go out again, and now that she’s extended some kind of olive branch, I’m equal parts giddy and wary.
Asking her out had been impulsive but the desire to spend more time with her—get to know her again—was genuine. And she was conflicted. I understand that; if her father is even half as grumpy as he was four years ago, he won’t be happy to see me back in her life.
And yet, I’m still going to call her.
The game feels like it lasts forever, but we manage to win 2-1. I even got an assist, though I barely remember passing the puck to our team captain, Vaughn Elliott. I rarely allow myself to get distracted during games, but it was hard to concentrate, wondering if Victoria is still here. If she cheered for me. If she’s waiting for me to reach out to her after the game.
Does she still own the jersey I bought her for Christmas that year?
I’m an idiot.
I already know this, and as soon as the game is over, I join Jude in the dressing room.
