Page 22 of Playing for Keeps

The other one giggled. “You guys played tonight, right? We were there.”

Will perked up right away, flashing a grin that could sell tickets on its own. “Oh yeah? Hope we didn’t disappoint too much.”

“Not at all,” the first girl said, leaning her chin into her hand. “You were fun to watch.”

Will raised his eyebrows and shot me a look that said Did you hear that?

I just sipped my Coke, not really interested.

“What about you?” the second girl asked me directly. “You’re on defence, right?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Trying to keep the puck out of our end.”

She laughed politely, but her attention drifted back to Will, who was already halfway into a story about his “amazing” backhand that didn’t actually go in.

“Oh my God, you’re hilarious,” one of them giggled, brushing her hair behind her ear.

Will leaned in closer. “Hilarious and good with a hockey stick. That’s a pretty solid combo, don’t you think?”

They burst out laughing again, and he ate it up. I glanced at the clock on the wall, with the neon sign humming above it. The chatter around me felt distant, like I wasn’t even in the right place.

I pushed my plate away and stood. “Gonna call it a night,” I said, offering a small smile.

The girls pouted in unison. “Already?”

Will gave me a half-grin, eyes sparkling. “He’s shy. Don’t worry about him.”

“Just tired,” I said, shaking my head.

Outside, the cool night air hit me. As I walked down the sidewalk, the noise of the pizza place quieted. The sting of the loss, the chatter, Seth’s story and Will’s easy charm all faded too.

All that lingered was the memory of that brief spark in the bookstore and the stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, I would see her again.

12

MAX

“… so anyway, I told the kids that if they really wanted to find the best books on mythology, they needed to look at the smaller presses, you know? The ones hidden on the back shelves. Everyone always wants the big, glossy editions, but the real gems are hiding.”

Zoe smiled at me across the table, talking with her hands. The little silver ring on her thumb kept catching the light.

I found myself smiling back. This was… good. She was smart, she was easy to talk to, and she didn’t once use the word “content” or show me a slideshow of pets.

“You’re a librarian,” I said, lifting my beer. “Of course, you’d know the secret treasure maps.”

She laughed. “Exactly! That’s half the fun: pointing someone in the right direction, knowing they’ll come back with wide eyes because they’ve discovered something they never would’ve found on their own.”

Her laugh was warm. And she listened, actually listened, when I talked about hockey. I told her about how playing defence is more about patience than smashing people into the boards, about timing, angles, and anticipation.

No interruptions, no shrieks of oh my God, no requests to tilt my drink for Instagram. Just a conversation.

I leaned back in my chair, relieved. “Finally,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” Zoe asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, smiling. “I just meant that it’s nice to talk like this.”

She tilted her head, both shy and a little pleased. “It is, isn’t it?”