Bexley.
“Sure.”
I grab my headphones that are sitting in the middle seat and watch as she takes the empty seat on the aisle.
Even flying, Bex looks gorgeous, wearing a cowl-neck, deep-green sweater that clings to her curves and dark gray pants. Her dark hair is tossed up onto her head with black-framed glasses sitting on her nose.
“How are you taking the loss?” Bex asks quietly.
Glancing over the seats, all the overhead lights are off except one in the back. Coach Barney always sits and reviews the game on his own on our way home. The deep-purple glow of the lights over the bulkhead cast a soft light through the plane.
“Eh.” I shrug a shoulder.
“It’s not your fault.”
“In the grand scheme of things, I know this. Hell, it’s not even in the top ten of my worst losses.”
“Oh really?” She quirks a brow at me, shifting in the seat to cross one leg over the other. I do my best not to focus on wanting them wrapped around me. “Alright then, what was your worst loss?”
“Are you really asking me that right now?” I shoot back, mirroring her pose and shifting closer to her.
“You got better things to do, Nick?”
The look on her face is one that would make me spill my deepest and darkest secrets to her. There’s something about herthat I trust. Maybe it’s because this thing between the two of us is only between us, but even if it ended tomorrow, I know she wouldn’t go airing my dirty laundry to the press.
“Alright, fine.”
“Good. Tell me.” Her dark eyes are focused on me, so intense. Always so emotional and telling me what she really feels.
This time? Victory.
“Well, I think my worst loss was in college. We got shut out and lost the game, seven to nothing. Two players had hat tricks, and it was one of the worst games I’ve ever played. It seemed like every time the puck came my way, it went into the back of the net.”
“Seven to nothing? Wow, had I known that I might not have drafted you.”
“Ouch.” I laugh. “Glad to know what you really think of me.”
“Stop it.” Bex brushes me off, her hand ghosting over my forearm. It sends a frisson of energy racing through me. “You know you’re one of the best goalies the Black Diamonds have ever seen.”
On nights like tonight, I don’t feel like it. I hate that I let our fans down. The team I have around me.
“Hey,” Bex breaks into my own train of thought. “You know you’re not the only person out there on the ice. It’s a team effort. Every single one of those guys could have played better.”
“I know, but?—”
“No buts.”
This time, when she drops her hand on my forearm, she leaves it there. Her thumb traces the protruding vein there. I watch, entranced by the slight touch she’s giving me right now.
“I know you’ll look at the film tomorrow and see what you can clean up before our next game, but that’s it. That’s all you can do,” she tells me.
“You have a shockingly clear perspective on this.”
“It was my dad’s perspective during his playing days. You knew he played, right?”
“I knew he played, but didn’t know how calm and collected he was. Apparently he passed on all his zen behavior to you.”
Bex stifles a laugh with her hand, likely not wanting to draw any attention to us.
