Page 9 of Playing for Keeps

He leaned back, triumphantly. “Excellent. You and me, spinning across the floor. Everyone else will be jealous.”

“Of your hips, maybe.”

“Always.”

We both started laughing, and I suddenly felt less tired after a long day.

5

MAX

I was back at the same restaurant, hoping for a date that wouldn’t include a seventy-slide tribute to her cats like the last one. So I ordered a beer and braced myself. Then Jill walked in, moving like she was on a catwalk. Her entrance only added to my growing unease.

“Finn!” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Oh my God, you’re, like, taller in person. I mean, duh, hockey player, but still. Wow.”

“Thanks,” I said, pulling out her chair.

She immediately pulled out her phone.

“Hold on,” she said, already angling for a selfie. “We need, like, a cute picture of us right now.”

Before I could even answer, she leaned in with her phone. “Say ‘date night!’”

“Date night,” I muttered, but only half a smile as the shutter clicked five times in a row. Five photos in two seconds. That had to be some kind of record.

“Perfect,” she said as she scrolled. “I’ll edit later. Filters are everything.” Her eyes flicked up at me after reviewing the selfies. “I just can’t believe I’m on a date with Max Finnegan! You’re, like, huge. Not just tall, but like, broad. You must live at the gym or something.” She reached for her phone again, tilting her head. “And your hair, it’s so good, you know. Messy on top, but in that way that looks on purpose. Do you put any product in it, or does it just fall like that?”

I took a long drink of beer. This was going to be something.

The waiter appeared.

“Ugh, hi,” Jill said, not looking up from her phone. “I’ll have a martini. Extra olives. Like, really extra. Don’t skimp.”

“We never skimp, madam.” The waiter gave me a look that said good luck with that, and walked off.

Finally, Jill put her phone down and leaned in. “So, Finn, tell me everything. Like, what’s it like being famous?”

“I’m not famous.”

“Um, yes, you are. You’re, like, a hockey player. People recognize you. That’s, like, literally fame.”

“Mostly people just want me to block shots and not screw up line changes,” I said.

She giggled. “Oh my God, that’s so funny. But seriously, do you get, like, free stuff? Clothes, cars, whatever? Because you totally should.”

I forced a smile, nodding as I took another drink, wondering if I could survive the evening with my sanity intact.

Dinner arrived, and Jill’s eyes lit up, not because of the food, but because of the presentation.

“Wait, wait, don’t touch it!” she shrieked as she grabbed her phone again. “I need to get the shot.”

She stood, angled the plate, shifted the candle. “Hold your glass up a little higher. No, higher. Tilt it. Tilt! Okay, perfect. Ugh, this lighting is tragic. Can you, like, lean closer? Closer. Smile! Oh my God, gorgeous.”

The waiter stood nearby, holding a tray with a neutral expression, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. When Jill finally sat down again, he asked with a wry smile, “Should I reheat the food, since it’s had its photoshoot?”

Jill blinked. “What?”

“Never mind,” he said smoothly, turning away.