“What am I looking for?”
“He started focusing on his passes. I think he figured out that long passes weren’t doing them any favors because we keptintercepting the puck. They have a couple of rookies on the team this season, and we were focused on their more established players because we know their style of play. So in the second period, Haggerty stopped trying to fuck with our defense and instead made sure that his guys were passing to their rookies. It didn’t work, but they closed our lead a little with that strategy.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed. Competence should not be this attractive. Unfortunately for me, it absolutely is.
Owen dips his head. “What?”
“Youcantalk!” I try to infuse some humor into the accusation, though truthfully, I’m floored. He sounds completely different when he forgets to guard himself. I’ve never heard Owen say that many words in a stretch.
“Sure. About stuff I understand.” He hits play again. “See, here, I would expect him to pass to Matthews, because he’s closer to the net. It’s a clean shot, too, but there’s no way in hell it would have gotten through. So he takes it to Yu instead. But then—” On-screen, Owen drops into that weird crab-legged goalie pose that makes me fear for the future of his hip flexors and slaps his glove down on the puck.
“Oh.” I sit forward, trying to understand the connections that Owen’s making. “And you’re sure he didn’t do that because, um, Yu, you said? Because Yu was open?”
“Nah, he was doing it all night.” Owen lets the recording play in the background while we talk. “Haggerty pisses me off, but he’s a good captain. He was being aggressive, and when that didn’t work, he figured out how to use our own history on the ice against us. Give it a couple of years, and Yu’s going to be a hall-of-famer, I guarantee it. Their coach must see that potential, too.”
“Wow.” I try to follow the next few plays, but it’s hard to keep track. I can see what people are doing, but to me, it looks like a bunch of fit men relying on muscle memory and training.I’ve never spent much time thinking about the metagaming and psychology that goes into a game.
Owen falls silent. I’m used to his silences, but this one feels different. “Sorry,” he says. “You probably don’t want to hear about this stuff.”
“What?” I twist on the cushions until I face him. “Why do you say that?”
He fiddles with the remote for a while. “You’re not a hockey fan, right?”
“Not really. But I think that’s partly because I underestimated how complex the game is. I’ve enjoyed watching your games.”
He smiles to himself, and oh, no, Imeltat that smile. That tiny reaction feels embarrassingly rewarding. Owen isn’t very expressive, and every reaction I get from him feels like a personal victory. “Yeah?”
I think back to the plays I remember from last night’s game. “Okay, so you remember near the end of the second period, when Knight got sent to the penalty box…”
“Oh, yeah.” Owen laughs. The wall of silence he was building around himself dissipates slightly. “He was so mad. That wasn’t really his fault; that was all on Ivers.” He fast forwards to the moment I’m referring to and talks me through the play, including some colorful commentary on the referee who called the play.
I’m not sure which one of us moves first. Owen gets a little closer so that he can point out something that got cut off by the camera frame. I have to shift to see what he’s talking about, and before I know it, our shoulders are touching. We both scoot back, but not by much. Apparently, both of us are pretending we still possess self-control.
It takes a chime from my phone for me to remember where we are, and that we would be wise to keep our surroundings inmind. It’s a message from Renee, letting me know that today’s meeting with Dante has been canceled.
“What?” I open the screen and read the longer message. “But we’re alreadyhere.”
“What’s up?” Owen cranes his neck to try to get a look at my screen. His shoulder rests against mine, warm and solid. A moment later, he pulls back. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t know what Dante’s thinking, either.” I turn my phone so that he can see the email. “Apparently, our meeting today is canceled over, and I quote, a ‘caviar-related emergency.’ What does that even mean?”
“Probably a supply chain issue at the Mona Lisa. It happens.” Owen shrugs.
“Sounds suspicious.”
“Mm.” Owen’s lips twitch. “I agree. Seems fishy.”
I groan and smack his shoulder. His sense of humor sneaks up on me every single time. “Now you’re into dad jokes, too?”
His smile immediately vanishes. Right. Somehow, I forgot that any mention of fathers sends Owen into emotional lockdown. The shift is small enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice it. I do.
This time, his flattened expression only lasts for a few seconds. “Since we’re off the hook with Dante, there’s something I’d like to show you. If, you know. You have time.”
I tuck my phone into my bag. “My schedule just opened up. What did you have in mind?”
Owen rolls to his feet, then offers me his hand to help me up. “Let me show you.”
The way he says it sends a strange little flutter through my stomach, like he’s inviting me into something personal instead of just onto the ice.
