Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
When I return to the dressing room, I shove my phone back into my bag and pick up where I left off with my gear.
Before I was interrupted by my dad’s call, I was building up the courage to ask Eric out to dinner to celebrate.
Coming back to the bench beside him, I’m starting back at square one with an even tighter time-crunch and fresh obstacles in the way.
Most of the other players have already dressed back into regular clothes, and Eric’s not far behind them.
If I’m going to do this, I need to hurry up and stop overthinking.
But, God, am I about to, though? Am I really about to ask him to dinner?
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never asked a guy out—even if this is not that.
I’m not asking him out on a date, I’m offering to take him out for food and drinks—teammate to teammate.
As potential friends. Acquaintances. Coworkers?
“Everything okay with your dad, James?” Eric asks, startling me out of my thoughts.
Right, my dad, the person who completely threw off my groove because his timing sucks. “Yeah. Totally. Everything’s fine.”
I rub the back of my neck and close my eyes to muster the strength. Just do it, the voice in my head urges. Just ask him. I turn back to Eric, forcing my eyes to meet his.
“I… I was just wondering if maybe you’d like to go to dinner, you know, to celebrate our win?”
Eric stills for a moment before tugging on his shirt. His fingers tighten on the faded fabric, and he sighs, his smile faltering. My heart plummets into a tailspin, crashing and burning into my stomach.
How could I have been so stupid? So arrogant? Playing for the same All-Star team doesn’t mean Eric and I can suddenly be close. Why would I ever believe he would want to go out to dinner with me?
“Oh, sorry,” I stammer, grimacing from embarrassment. “I guess you already had plans.”
Of course he did. This is Eric Sinclair we’re talking about. The skill gap between us spans miles.
“Yeah, short notice. Wes just asked if I’d come to his afterparty.”
Thanks again, dad. If I’d been here in the dressing room, I wouldn’t have missed my chance.
“He’s a nice kid. Bounces off the walls with energy.” Eric chuckles. “You should come with us! Have some pizza and wings and mingle.”
“I… I don’t know. I mean he asked you, not me. I wouldn’t feel comfortable going to the party uninvited.”
“I’m sure Wes wouldn’t mind more company.”
It’s extremely considerate of Eric to extend the offer, but my unease remains.
I don’t know what kind of young man Wes Harper is since he’s so new to the league.
For all I know, he could be picky about the people he hangs around.
Wes is a skyrocketing superstar who probably wants to spend time with other superstars like Eric. Not me.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” I mutter. “Thanks, though.”
I turn away from Eric while I change into my street clothes.
It’s fine. It’s better this way. Get a full night’s rest and come back to day two recharged and ready to play.
Who actually wants to stuff themselves with lousy carbs and greasy cheese anyways?
Probably people who aren’t interested in helping their team win All-Star Weekend.
“Will you be at breakfast tomorrow, James?” Eric asks while I’m in the middle of pulling on a pair of pants.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer while fumbling with my zipper. “I’ll be there.”
Us goalies have a busy Saturday for day two of All-Star Weekend. Group breakfast at the hotel followed by an early Q I’ll tackle it in the morning before tomorrow’s events.
I change into a pair of shorts and pull on a loose faded t-shirt of my alma mater.
Room service arrives shortly after I step out of the bathroom. I tip the worker, thank them, and then close the door behind me as politely as possible despite being in a ravenous hurry. I bring everything to the bed, pulling off clamshell after clamshell of food from the cart.
While tearing through dinner, I scroll through my social media feeds.
Hockey fans have clipped and shared every key moment from All-Star Weekend’s first day, but I’m only interested in rewatching the challenge Eric and I participated in.
After every regular season game, I make time to watch the VOD to study everything from another angle, hoping it will provide insights on what I did well and what could be improved upon.
Eric’s highlights depict him as fluid as water, moving with grace and purpose as he denies Wes Harper’s every shot but the first. The commentators shower well-deserved praise on Eric while lamenting the pitfalls of Harper’s youth.
As a goaltender, he plays deeper into the crease, practically inside the net.
Eric’s not as flexible as other goalies (he’s admitted to struggling with the splits), but his lateral speed and control of his body is unparalleled.
While scrolling through the Eric Sinclair tag without an ounce of shame, I discover a recommended post from the account of Nathan Riley, a defenseman who’s playing on Team Callahan this weekend.
The picture features Eric and his sister Elizabeth, who’s also a professional goaltender.
She’s here at All-Star Weekend along with a handful of other PWHL stars to represent a slice of women’s hockey.
Seated across from Riley, the duo pose for the camera. Behind them, Los Angeles Grizzlies memorabilia decorates the wall from the floor to the ceiling. Riley’s caption reads:
POV you’re the man who stares at GOATs @EricSinclair @ElizabethSinclair
The siblings are twins in nearly every sense of the word: similar in appearance and in their careers of choice. The comments under Riley’s post are, as they should be, full of love and support for the two goaltending greats.
On my Pixstagram account, I follow only a handful of other hockey players—mostly fellow goalies.
Nathan Riley isn’t a player I already follow, so this is a rare instance where I’m grateful for the post recommendation.
Curious to find out if there’s other pictures from the party, I tap through to Riley’s main page, only to be bombarded with a row of thirst-trap mirror-selfies of Nathan himself as his pinned posts.
I shouldn’t be surprised; many of the hockey players who post online show off their hard-earned figures.
Riley’s attractive, sure, with no shortage of confidence and flirty swagger in his pictures, but he’s not my type.