Chapter 4 #2
“I’m surprised that wasn’t added pressure.”
“We worked hard to shift our mindset away from that perspective. Our experience was an advantage, not a hindrance.”
That’s what makes the Seadogs a formidable, high-ranking team. Not many other players would be able to turn pressure into drive, doubt into faith. I envy Eric. Every aspect of the Seadogs franchise, from his teammates to how his organization’s managed is next level.
“Your team’s culture is so… positive.”
“We’ve been fortunate, no denying that. I’ve talked to countless other players who can’t say they’ve experienced the same.
” Eric shrugs. “You can carry that positive mentality on your own ad nauseam but if your teammates don’t share the values, it’s going to be a challenge.
No single person can carry their team on their own. ”
And that’s the double-edged nature of hockey compared to other sports. There may be star players on teams, but they can’t play the game alone no matter how hard they try.
And boy, do some star players try.
“Enough about that,” Eric says, shifting the conversation again. “Tell me, if you weren’t here, what would you be doing on your break instead?”
“I don’t know…” I shrug. “Reading or gaming, I guess.”
“Oh yeah? What do you like to read?”
Our food arrives before I have a chance to answer.
Two extra servers have to help our waitress with our meal.
We’re lucky the table’s big enough for each plate.
With a miniature buffet in front of us, I have no idea where to start first. Everything set on the table looks and smells inviting, so I add a little of each entrée to my plate and then dive in.
The soft tacos have Mahi Mahi fish and shrimp with a spicy-sweet salsa. Green sauce enchiladas haven’t been my go-to in the past, but they will be from now on. The fajitas and chile relleno are seasoned perfectly. To top everything off, there’s no shortage of rice and beans with cotija cheese.
“What’s the verdict?” Eric asks before licking a bead of salsa sliding down the side of his hand.
I stare, transfixed, the image burning into my mind to be used as fuel for my dreams. I have to snap myself out of it, so I clear my throat and answer. “Everything’s delicious! I’ll definitely come back here the next time I’m in LA.”
Once we’ve both had a chance to take the edge off some of our hunger, Eric picks up where we left off in our conversation—hobbies outside of hockey.
“You were going to tell me what you enjoy reading?”
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Uh, well mostly high fantasy. My dad got me into the genre as a kid.”
“That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to try the genre but I have no idea where to start since there’s so many different series. What would you recommend? Anything you’re reading currently?”
I hesitate. Just how specific should I be? I’m not exactly reading something most hockey players would be interested in.
“Well… I’ve been rereading my favorite author’s main series lately since he’s coming out with a new book later this year.
It’s an intricate story with a deep magic system.
I wouldn’t say it’s as intense as it could be for the genre, but this author’s really into developing their fictional world.
There’s several different kingdoms and factions to keep track of.
Large cast of characters. Something for everyone. ”
“What do you like most about it?”
Well, Eric can’t say I didn’t warn him.
I start by summarizing the series, giving Eric the basics about the plot, the main kingdoms, the protagonists and the villains, and the magic system.
Yet the more I share, the more my explanation becomes complex, with tangent after tangent.
A dam’s broken inside me, gushing out useless fact after useless fact about a fictional world I’m in love with.
I fear I’ve been pent up, just waiting for a hapless person who would agree to listen to me gush over this series, only to rue their fate.
By the time I’ve started to explain the plotline with the false heir and the knight who’s tasked with rescuing him from a rival kingdom, I catch myself, suddenly self-aware of how long I’ve been rambling in the middle of our lunch. Sure, these books are my favorite, but does Eric really care?
I let out a deep breath and hide behind one of my neglected tacos. “Sorry. I could go on and on about all this. You probably regret asking.”
Eric shakes his head. “Not at all! I’ve enjoyed listening to you talk. You’re really passionate about it. Have you ever been to a Renaissance faire before?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to go and dress up for one. Have you?”
“Oh, no. I always see ads for one just outside of Seattle every summer. I’ve always felt too old and not cool enough to go.”
I gawk, stunned Eric could ever see himself that way. “What are you talking about? You’re hardly too old. And you’re absolutely cool enough, are you kidding? You’re a professional goalie! The best in the league. Dropping that fact’s bound to earn you a few tankards for free.”
Eric chuckles. “I guess when you put it that way, maybe I should try it.”
“You should totally go this year.”
“We’ll see.” Eric smiles. “You said you game, too?”
I nod. “Mostly just single-player stuff.”
“Let me guess,” he says, scratching his chin as if in deep thought, “fantasy RPGs?”
“Guilty as charged.” I pour some extra salsa over my remaining rice. “What about you? Do you read or game?”
“I mostly read when we’re on the road. When we’re home, I host parties at my place with the guys. Sometimes they’ll turn on a racing game or whatever FPS they’re currently into while I’m at the grill.”
I can’t even imagine spending time at one of my coworkers’ houses. I don’t think I even know the names of half of their spouses and kids.
“I don’t mind gaming during the season, but during the summer I’d rather be outside doing something. Hiking, biking, camping, you name it.”
Eric and I both reach for the last enchilada. We share a laugh, but he backs off.
“You can have it,” he offers. “I’ll have the fish taco.”
“Thanks,” I say as I drag it onto my plate, “you weren’t kidding about these.”
Nestled in the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes, it’s easy to let myself believe we’re the only two people in the room.
I appreciate his consideration for privacy, because after nearly three hours of sharing Eric with the rest of the world, it’s been a joy to talk with him alone over a delicious meal.
Underneath the heavy gear, the numerous accolades, the lasting legacy, Eric Sinclair is so easygoing and friendly. They say you should never meet your heroes, but they’re wrong. The real heroes are worth meeting.
We lose track of time as Eric shares more stories about the Seadogs and his hobbies. I could listen to him talk about anything. The weather, his to-do list, him reading the phonebook—especially the goalie puns he sprinkles into our conversation.
“…and so I said to Braydan, we have to always be looking for ways to in-crease our chances of success or we’ll never reach our goals.”
I snicker, grinning from ear to ear. “I bet the whole room groaned.”
“They did, but some people just don’t get goalie humor.” Eric leans his cheek into his palm and sighs, glowing with warm appreciation. “It’s fun to be around someone who does.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say with a half-hearted smile.
“You know, I think we’ll make a great team tonight, James,” he says, sounding so certain.
That’s when it hits me. What am I even doing here?
How did I end up sitting in a restaurant enjoying lunch with my idol?
Did I do something right, somehow, at some point, to earn Eric’s attention?
This is real, and I’m starstruck, dragged under by the tidal wave of his compliment.
How am I supposed to respond? How am I supposed to be coherent?
I beam back at him, hoping the low lights hide enough of my ever-burning blush. “I can’t wait to share the crease with you, Eric.”
The stakes of tonight’s game will feel so much more intense.
Our team could win the entire All-Star Weekend if we keep our overall points lead.
Later, Eric and I will be swapping in and out for each ten minute period of the 3-on-3 games.
He’s so confident, so certain of our synergy.
There’s no doubt in his mind we’ll win tonight and earn the grand-prize for our team.
Just as I’m about to gush some more, his phone pings with a text message. His eyes fall from mine as he pulls out his phone to check. Upon reading the message, he laughs and turns the screen to me so I can read the message from Braydan.
Braydan
Did you kidnap James? Where are you guys? I’m about to send a search party. We need our goalies.
“Guess we lost track of time. Do you feel kidnapped?”
Kidnapped? Not at all. Swept off my feet by a goaltending god? Absolutely.
One minute it was a quarter past noon, now it’s past three in the afternoon. We’re not late yet, but we’re rapidly approaching the point of causing a real panic among the rest of our teammates.
Eric flags down the waitress, and before I can protest, he’s already handing her his card to pay for lunch.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “I’m happy to pay my half.”
“You can pay next time.”
Next time.
Oh God, does that mean there’s going to be a next time?
After this morning and lunch, I’m practically floating. I’m not sure this day could get any better, but then Eric finds a way to top everything.
“We could continue our conversation after the games, if you want?” he asks, flooring me. “Over dinner?”
“Y-You sure? You don’t already have plans?”
I don’t want to hog his time… but I’m also not a saint. I’m guilty of coveting this man more than anyone else. Eric’s a popular guy, and there’s no doubt in my mind plenty of other All-Star participants would love a chance to hang out with him.
“Nope, I’m all yours tonight.”
A shiver races down my spine, my mind buzzing with anticipation. “Our hotel has a rooftop restaurant we could try? I hear it has a great view.”
“Well, I’m a big fan of those,” Eric says, eyes never leaving mine. “Sounds perfect.”
One more All-Star event. That’s all that separates us from more time alone together.