Page 61 of Golden Goal

“Stay there,” I say when I finally find a place to park. Hopping out of the SUV, I make my way to Becca’s side so I can open the door and help her out.

I know she doesn’t really need my help, but I’ll take any excuse to touch her.

We make our way to the restaurant and join the long line, which thankfully moves quickly. When it’s our turn, we both order tacos, chicken for me and steak for her, and I also order a side of chips with guacamole and queso for us to share. Since the only places to sit are outside, and it’s windy and fifty degrees, we decide to take our food to go.

“Your place?” I ask Becca when we’re back in my car. “If we’re going to mine, I should run back and get Hadley food. She won’t be happy if I bring tacos home and there’s none for her.”

Becca lets out a chuckle. “Where does she think you went?”

“To run errands.”

“Oh.” I peek over at her to find her picking her thumbnail. “I didn’t mean to take you away from your plans. You can take me back to my place and get on with your night. I know your time is limited, with it being the season and all . . .”

I turn in my seat to face her. “Becca. Look at me.” She does as I ask. “I want to spend time with you. How about we go back to your place? My errands can wait.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” I face forward, pulling on my seatbelt, and driving us back to our apartment complex.

“Seriously, Holt? I knew hockey players had interesting rituals, but I didn’t know to what extent.” Becca giggles, wiping her hands on a napkin and crumpling up the wrapper from her last taco.

“Yes, seriously. Wes uses a fresh roll of stick tape for every single one of his sticks for every game.”

“Isn’t that wasteful?”

I shrug. “The tape eventually gets used by one of the other guys.”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “What are your special pregame rituals?”

My heart skips a beat that she’s asking. Kat never cared. She never wanted to talk about hockey, or my friends, unless it had to do with how much I was getting paid, or how it would make her look. I give myself a mental shake. I have to stop thinking about my ex.

“I change my socks after every period.”

She giggles. “Seems ridiculous, but go on.”

“My feet get sweaty, and my socks get wet. And who wants to wear wet socks?” I shudder. “I have a pregame playlist I always listen to. But that’s pretty normal. Let’s see.” I tap my chin. I may be a goalie, but I don’t really have many superstitions. “Oh, I know. I always eat a banana and two tablespoons of Jif Peanut Butter right before I leave for the arena. Has to be Jif. I even travel with my own jar because I can always find a banana, and usually peanut butter, but not always Jif.”

Becca raises her eyebrows at me, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “Why Jif?”

“The one time I ate a generic brand, I let in four goals in the first period and got pulled.” I grimace. “Never again.”

“Fair enough. It doesn’t really make sense to me, but I can see how it would to you.”

I chuckle, enjoying this playful banter. “It makes total sense. The guys even bought me extra jars of it, so I never run out. I have an entire shelf full of the stuff in my pantry. Every time I’m down to a jar or two, an entire box shows up at my doorstep. I swear someone must have a subscription set up for it.”

She huffs out a laugh. “This I have to see.”

“I’ll show you next time you’re over.” I crumple up the wrapper of my taco, gather all the garbage, and put it back into the bag.

“I’ll take that.” Becca stands up, holding her hand out.

Wordlessly, I hand her the bag and follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as she throws the garbage out and washes her hands. She shuts off the water and turns to face me.

“Now what?”

I stalk over to where she’s still standing by the sink, and cage her in as I reach around her to wash my own hands. “Now I wash my hands, kiss you one more time, and go home.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed.