4. Bryce
Bryce
Well, that was… something. I went into Turn the Page for one book.
I’m leaving with five, zero clue what I’m doing, and the phone number of a woman who made me feel… Well, feel.
So, yeah. Solid outing.
I push through the bookstore door and step out into the thick DC summer air. I swear the humidity is so high here it feels like I’m covered in a thin layer of wet. Like when you get out of the shower and dry off with a towel that sort of gave up on its job a few months ago.
Definitely strange after coming from the drier air of the midwest.
I wonder how Hadley deals with this slightly damp feeling all the time.
Hadley.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
When she fell backward, her eyes wide and her mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’, I didn’t know if I should laugh or drop to one knee and propose on the spot. There was something about her that caught–and held–my attention, for sure.
Which is stupid.
It was just a conversation.
We live half a country apart. I don’t date. I don’t do casual dating either. And I definitely don’t start long-distance whatever-this-is.
No matter how intriguing I found the beautiful Hadley.
So, why did I ask her for her number?
I tuck the bag of books up under my arm and pull out my phone, scrolling to her contact like it might have disappeared in the last ten minutes.
I should delete it. Stay focused. Stick to hockey.
Right?
After all, the whole reason I’m in D.C. is for the Stars and Stripes Tournament.
My finger hovers over the delete button.
Someone bumps into my shoulder, jostling me hard enough that my thumb slips.
My stomach drops.
I lock the screen instantly and shove the phone back into my pocket.
Okay. Not deleting it.
That doesn’t mean I have to text her.
Yeah, and I don’t have to shower before a hockey game either.
I roll my eyes at myself. Thanks to the guys on my high school hockey team for coating the inside of my undershirt with icy hot before the state championship game. I didn’t notice until I pulled it on and my chest started burning like I’d been set on fire.
I remember standing in front of my stall, slapping at my chest, completely confused while the rest of the team lost their minds laughing. One of them held up the tube of sports cream like he was on a game show displaying a possible prize.
Thankfully, Coach walked in, took in the look on my face and barked, “Shower. Now! You can’t be on the ice smelling like that.”
I wasn’t prepared for the way it would burn trying to scrub the smelly cream from my body. I shudder at the memory.
After we won the game by two, the team had decided I had to shower before every game. I haven’t skipped it since. Thankfully, I haven’t had to do it covered in sports cream ever again.
I move the bag back to my hand and start walking toward the hotel again, weaving through the crowd, my mind sliding right back to the bookstore and the beautiful woman who didn’t look at me like a meal ticket, or arm candy, but someone worth seeing.
Yeah. Definitely not deleting that number.
I’m stepping into the lobby of the Four Seasons when I spot Colt at the check-in desk. He plays for Dallas, but I know him from college.
“Colt,” I say, stepping up and shaking his hand. “Good to see you, man.”
“You too,” Colt says. “I’m glad to see someone else coming into town early. I was half worried I’d be eating by myself tonight. Though, maybe Celine would have agreed to have dinner with me?” he says, winking at the grandmotherly woman working the check in desk.
Celine flushes, and Colt grins at her. I shake my head at his antics.
“I’m going to run these up to my room, but shoot me a text when you’re settled and we’ll make plans for dinner,” I say, holding up the bag of books.
“You bet,” Colt says, nodding.
I leave him standing at the counter and hope that he reins in the charm before he gives the poor woman a heart attack. I don’t want to be standing here when he ends up on the news for taking out an older woman with his wiles. I’d like to slide under the radar as long as possible.
Especially if I have any hope of getting to know Hadley before she finds out who I am and sees me as Bryce the hockey player and not Bryce the guy she met at the bookstore.
The elevator ride up to my room is slow, and I pull out my phone, debating if I should text Hadley now, or wait and play it cool.
The media likes to portray athletes as players.
Men who are constantly dating different women and then discarding them when they’re done, but that’s not the case. At least not for me and my friends.
It’s a stereotype that’s there for a reason, I’m sure, but I wish it would go away.
The elevator chimes and the doors slide open on my floor.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket and step out into the empty corridor.
Thankfully, the organizers of the Stars and Stripes Tournament have blocked off floors for the athletes.
I love meeting fans, but I also enjoy my personal space.
Something that’s hard to come by on the road.
Once I’m in my room, I put the books safely into my suitcase and flop back onto my bed.
It’s soft, a benefit of staying at a nice hotel.
The room is spacious with a king-sized bed, a small desk, and a large bathroom with a walk-in shower and a soaking tub.
The small refrigerator already houses protein drinks and water, compliments of the event staff, I bet.
I close my eyes, and immediately I picture Hadley’s face when she fell backwards at the store. Her auburn hair framing her face, her lips open in a perfect little ‘o’... What is it about this woman that I can’t get her out of my head?
It figures. The first woman to capture my attention in years lives on the other side of the country. I rub my hands over my face and sigh. The smart thing to do would be to text her and thank her for the book recommendations and leave it at that.
One thing I’ve never been accused of being is smart.
I must have fallen asleep waiting—jet lag is brutal—because the next thing I know, Colt is banging on my door telling me he’s leaving for dinner whether I’m ready or not.
I scramble out of bed and grumble out that I’ll meet him there.
Dinner ends up being at a steakhouse down the street from the hotel. Colt’s already seated when I walk in, a glass of water and a bowl of bread in front of him.
“About time you got here,” he says as I slide into the booth across from him. “I was starting to think you were going to stand me up.”
“You?” I laugh. “Have you ever been stood up in your life?”
Colt smirks and shakes his head. “Never.”
Two more men walk up to the table, and Colt stands up shaking their hands. “Nick, Tore, good to see you. Bryce, this is Nick McDonough, and Tore Aaberg. They're playing for the East team.”
I stand and shake their hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Want to join us?” Colt asks the men.
“And have dinner with the enemy?” Nick asks, laughing. “I think we’ll stick to beating you on the ice. Then you can buy us a victory dinner.”
And here begins the chirping.
“Strong words for guys who haven’t even practiced together yet,” Colt says. “Guess that means if we win, you’ll be buying our dinner. What do you think, Bryce? Prime rib and lobster sounds like a great victory meal, don’t you think?”
“Especially if I’m not paying for it,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, you’ll pay for it,” Tore says. “On the ice.”
I laugh. “We’ll see. You may want to see what your first practice is like before you make any bets.”
“Practice?” Nick says, a cocky grin on his face. “Nah, we don’t need practice. We just show up and win.”
Colt snorts. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Are you joining us or not?”
Nick chuckles. “Can’t. We’re actually meeting some of the other guys. Just wanted to say hi.”
“And get some chirping in,” I add, laughing.
“Yep,” Nick says, grinning. “All in good fun, of course.”
“Of course,” Colt says.
Tore and Nick shake our hands again before walking toward another table in the back of the restaurant closer to the kitchen.
“So, that’s our competition,” I say, nodding across the dining room.
Colt laughs. “Looks like it.”
I pick up my menu for the first time since I sat down and scan it. “What are you getting?” I ask Colt.
“I think I’m getting the prime rib,” Colt says, rubbing his stomach. “Though I’ll leave the lobster for when we win the tournament.”
The server comes to the table at that moment, her tablet in hand. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
We place our orders—two prime rib dinners with loaded baked potatoes and seasonal veggies—and settle into the booth to wait. Colt grabs a roll and slathers it in butter. “So, are you ready for this?” he asks, stuffing the roll into his mouth and taking a huge bite.
I sigh. “Yeah, I think so. You?”
Colt shrugs. “I just plan to play the best hockey I can. So, yeah.”
After a few minutes, our food arrives and conversation slows as we eat, giving me plenty of time to think about my phone burning a hole in my pocket.
“What’s got you looking like that?” Colt says, pointing his fork in my direction. “You look like you’re in charge of creating world peace or something.”
I take my time chewing and swallowing my steak before answering him. “Maybe I am,” I say straight-faced.
Colt snorts. “Yeah, right. Seriously, what’s got you thinking so hard? I can hear your brain frying over here.”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“So, it’s a woman, then,” Colt says, before spearing a piece of steak with his fork and shoving it in his mouth.
My mouth drops open. “What? How?”
Colt laughs. “Man, I’ve seen a lot of guys fall over the years, and you’ve got that gobsmacked look on your face.”
“The what look, now?” I ask, wondering what the heck he is talking about.