Was not expecting that. “Why?”
“Because Moretti made that save, the one where he went post to post and got his pad across? And the way the crowd reacted, I don’t know.” She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “I’ve been watching hockey my whole life and it still does that to me sometimes. My mom thinks I’m insane.”
“That’s not insane. It was a great save.”
“It was a ridiculous save. He had no business getting there.” She points at me. “You were good tonight too, by the way.”
“I sat on the bench.”
“I know. The back of your head is very nice to stare at.” The way she says it is extremely matter-of-fact. “You do this thing where you track every shot even though you’re not playing. Your head moves with the puck. I don’t think you realize you do it.”
I didn’t realize I did that.
“Most of the guys on the bench are talking or whatever. You’re playing the game from the bench. You see everything.” She pullsher knees tighter. “Anyway. Your turn. Something interesting about you. And don’t say hockey.”
“I don’t have anything interesting that isn’t hockey.”
“Try.” She watches me steadily. “One thing.”
The problem is everything I am is tied up in the crease and the rink and the routine. I haven’t had to describe myself to another person in so long that I don’t know what’s left when you strip hockey out. She’s sitting here like she’s got all night, and the look on her face is making me want to try harder than I normally would.
“I can’t sleep without noise,” I finally say. “Not music. Just ambient stuff. Rain, or a fan, or traffic. Without something running in the background my brain won’t shut off.”
“What does it do?”
“Runs every mistake I’ve ever made on a loop.”
I don’t know why I said that. I’ve never told anyone that, definitely not a girl I met seven minutes ago. She nods like she understands.
“Mine too,” she says. “Except mine runs everything I haven’t done yet. Every conversation I should have had, every risk I didn’t take.” She pauses. “I dragged you out here because of that, if we’re being honest. I saw you against that wall and I thought, I’m going to regret it if I don’t talk to him tonight.”
“You didn’t exactly drag me. I came to you.”
“Because some asshole forced your hand but I had a plan. It was a good plan. It involved me being smooth and charming and not needing to be rescued from a guy at a bar.” She hops off the table and lands right in front of me. “I think I owe you for that, actually.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Too bad. I’m a big believer in paying debts.”
Before I can react she grabs the front of my shirt. Herfingers curl into the fabric then she’s up on her toes and her mouth is on mine.
My brain stops. The running commentary I carry everywhere—evaluating, adjusting, reading angles—goes completely silent for the first time in my adult life. She starts to pull back, a flush climbing her neck, obviously thinking she read me wrong, and I catch her waist and step into her, backing her gently against the picnic table and kiss her again.
She makes a small frantic noise and her hands slide from my shirt to my shoulders and I lose my mind a little. I can taste her cherry lip gloss and I bite her bottom lip gently. The gasp that comes out of her goes through my entire body. I press closer, making sure she can feel what she’s doing to me, and she arches into me, eager and clumsy and responsive to everything. Every shift of my mouth, every slide of my hands up her ribs makes her shiver. I pull her closer because there’s still space between us and I realize suddenly that I never want her to stand further away from me than this.
The door bangs open as some of the team spill out onto the patio.
She steps back fast. Arms crossed, casual-conversation posture deployed in under a second. Meanwhile I’m standing here with my hands open at my sides trying to remember how breathing works.
Brody glances over. “Oh hey, Almardon. Didn’t know you were still here.”
“Just getting some air.”
She catches my eye. Her lips press together like she’s fighting a laugh, and there’s still color high on her cheeks. She starts combing her fingers through her hair where my hands were in it, then she tilts her head toward the door and starts to walk away.
I follow her inside and she stops in the hallway where the music swallows everything.
“I have to go.”
