Chapter 3
Chapter Three
JASPER
CatsRCool
Wish me luck!
TheFriendlyGhost
Good luck!
What am I wishing you luck for?
I have a big work thing coming up
Normally, I’m pretty calm about these things
But this time, I’m nervous
Why are you nervous?
I just want to do this project justice
If you weren’t nervous, I think I’d be more concerned
That’s oddly comforting
Glad I can help
Between you and my cat, I think I’ll be able to make it through
Well, I’ll be thinking of you and hoping it all goes well
Thanks
Will you let me know how it goes?
Of course
Pocketing my phone, I grab my coffee and bag, then head into the rink. Weekend afternoon games are my favorite. An easy morning followed by an early night.
The kind where I can soak my aches and pains in peace.
After a conversation with Quinn, I feel even more at ease. Things are normal with her after a weird few weeks. Will the two of us ever meet? I have no clue.
But given that I like talking to her too much, I don’t want to push the issue.
“Hey, man.” Noah holds the door open for me as I follow Graham inside.
“Hey, guys.”
“You look like you’re feeling better,” Noah says.
I shrug a shoulder, sipping my black coffee. No sugar, no cream. I don’t need it to be fancy.
“Not going to let the fans get to me,” I say. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“That’s the spirit,” Noah says.
“If it makes you feel better, we don’t believe what they’re saying,” Graham reiterates.
“It just feels like I’m having more bad days than good.”
“So is Noah, if it makes you feel better,” Graham says.
“Hey!” Noah exclaims. “That was rude.”
“What? You said it last night. Only repeating what you said.”
I roll my eyes at them. “So I’m down with Noah. Awesome.”
He flips me off before pushing open the door to the locker room. My home away from home.
“Nothing wrong with being where we are. We’re still on the team.”
I waggle my head back and forth. “Is that what counts as pillow talk for you two? Because if so, you suck at it.”
“That is—”
Noah can’t finish his sentence before Graham is slapping his hand over his mouth. “Please don’t tell him anything more. He doesn’t need to know.”
“And let him think we lie in bed at night discussing what line we’re on?” Noah looks horrified.
“I don’t really think he needs to know what we discussed last night.”
A sly grin washes over Noah’s face as he throws an arm around his boyfriend. “No, I don’t think he does.”
“What are you guys discussing?” Bode asks as we each take our spots in front of our lockers.
“Pillow talk,” I deadpan.
Bode shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry I asked…the things we discuss.”
“Or don’t discuss,” Graham clarifies.
I push the guys and their conversation out of my head. I need this time to get into the right headspace for the game. For once, I feel good. The dull aches and pains are still there, but not nearly as present as usual.
We go through the normal pregame routine—warm-ups, music blasting through the locker room, and the usual speech from Coach Andrews.
Marcus leads us all out of the locker room before the game starts. The arena is rocking this afternoon.
Walking to the end of the tunnel, I stop right in front of two women, one of whom is wearing my jersey. And it’s not just anybody.
It’s Genevieve. The world’s biggest pop star. Even though I don’t listen to her, I’d have to live under a rock not to know who she is.
Her face is plastered over every billboard up and down Broadway. Every wannabe pop star belts her tunes from the bars.
I’ve never let myself pay this close attention to her. But as we’re waiting to be announced, I can’t help but smile at her. Her long blonde hair is curled. Her lips are painted a bright red. Black jeans cling to her curvy hips and thighs.
The jersey she’s wearing? That belongs to me.
Damn, does it ever look good.
“You ready for the game?” she asks. Her voice is deep and warm, like a smooth whiskey going down.
“Why are you asking?” I cross my arms over my chest as I eye her. She’s a good head shorter than I am in my skates.
She smiles back, a sparkling white smile. “Just making conversation.”
“Are you ready to sing?”
“Why are you asking?”
I match her smile. “I don’t know. Just making conversation.”
“Were you afraid I was going to ask if you’re ready after the game last week?”
“God, don’t tell me you’re going to heckle me about that,” I groan.
“You bounced back,” Genevieve says. “You looked good last night. No commentary from me.”
“For real?”
She nods. “I don’t play hockey. I don’t think you should take advice from me.”
“Just like you probably shouldn’t take singing advice from me.”
She taps a finger to her temple. “You’re pretty smart, Jasper Hayes.”
“I can say the same about you, Genevieve. Wearing my jersey? I like it.”
It looks really fucking good, but I don’t need to tell her that. Hell, I didn’t even introduce myself to her, but she knew who I was too.
And I really, really fucking like how my name sounds on her lips.
“I thought it was better than, say, an Evans or Fletcher jersey.”
“Damn. Don’t let them hear you say that.”
“Nah.” The corners of her mouth pull into a bigger smile. “I have my favorite player.”
“Wow. I’m your favorite? You have good taste. I feel the need to impress you now.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve already impressed me by lacing up your skates tonight. I could never skate.”
“I bet you could if you tried.”
“Is this an offer to give me lessons?” Genevieve takes a step toward me. Even with the smell of the rink and gear around me, I get a whiff of her perfume.
Something floral and sweet.
“If I had the time between my own skating and you singing.”
“Maybe in another life.”
I smile down at her as the lights in the rink go dark. I wish I could continue this conversation with her, but in about thirty seconds, I’ll be skating on the ice to the roar of the crowd.
Something about talking to her feels familiar. Easy. It’s like I’m not talking to a pop star, and she doesn’t seem to see me just as a hockey star.
“I guess that’s your cue,” she says.
“It is. It was nice to meet you, Genevieve.”
“Likewise, Jasper.”
I wink at her as I take a step back. “Good luck. Don’t mess up the national anthem.”
She holds up crossed fingers to me. “Then I should say thanks and good luck to you. Don’t mess up your passing.”
There’s that niggling feeling again. That feeling that something about her is familiar. Maybe it’s because I see her face on all those billboards. Our rink is close to downtown, so I see her all the time driving in and out.
That has to be it.
“Thanks.” I nod to her as one of the guys calls out to me. “Got to go.”
Her eyes widen a fraction of an inch before she waves at me.
Every thought of Genevieve goes out of my mind.
It’s game time.