Chapter 6 Let’s Play With Some Balls
Chapter Six
Let’s Play With Some Balls
ELI
The dive bar was packed for it being a random Tuesday night in November.
I hadn’t realized Burlington went this hard for their drink specials.
Apparently, it was buy one, get one tonight.
Not that anyone on the team was utilizing much of it.
We had our first home game coming up this week, and no one was looking to wake up with a hangover for practice tomorrow.
Granted, it was against a team that the Bobcats typically dog-walked across the ice, but still, we all wanted to be at peak performance.
Especially me. I had shit to prove tomorrow. I didn’t often get nervous before games, but I couldn’t ignore the buzzing energy inside my chest that made my heart beat faster than usual. It was fed by a fear of messing up and of making it clear that trading me onto the team was a mistake.
That was likely one of my biggest fears in life.
Continually and massively letting down people who counted on me.
I was a grade A people pleaser. I wanted everyone around me to not only be happy but pleased with me, with my performance.
The second I got a whiff of disappointment, I shut down.
I beat myself up and made shit so much worse for myself.
It was difficult to recognize in the moment. I’d been getting better at calling out my negative thought patterns and trying to break them, but it wasn’t an easy task when logic was constantly overridden with anxious thoughts.
I chewed on my pink nail—a bad habit sponsored and brought to me by anxiety—and tried to focus on the moment, not on the chance of failure beyond this moment.
The sounds of some overplayed pop song bounced between the wooden beams covered in dollar bills as Soren tried to talk over the music, in the midst of explaining why ice plunges were crucial in his recovery and performance.
Real riveting stuff.
Dylan caught my attention and nodded to the bar.
I followed him over. I leaned my elbows against the polished but very scuffed bar top.
Dylan ordered himself a tall, icy-cold glass of water, which he raised and clinked against my half-empty Stella.
I tried not to stare at the interesting—and frankly handsome—birthmarks that streaked his eyebrow and hair.
It looked like someone had taken a paintbrush and swiped it directly across and around the side of his head.
If he didn’t have a career in hockey, then I was pretty sure he’d be fine making it as a model.
“Ready for tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m feeling good. I think we’ve all got our roles down and work really fucking well together,” I said, shielding my anxious thoughts with the positive ones.
“I’ve been traded a couple times before, and it took me a bit to get in the flow of a new team, but I already feel like I’ve been playing with you guys for months. ”
Dylan smiled at that. He had a rogue dimple that dipped into his left cheek, which somehow made the boyish freckles on his nose appear even more innocent, which was ironic because out on the ice, he played like a rabid bulldog.
Nothing about his aggression to score a goal read as innocent.
“I think we all feel the same about you. It was pretty effortless. Obviously, just by your numbers, you were going to be an asset, but I’m glad it ain’t just about numbers with you. ”
“Same here.”
I just hope you’re saying the same thing after tomorrow’s game.
The loud clink of a pool ball smacking against another came from my left. I glanced just in time to catch Gabe bending over, his jeans tight around his ass and legs.
I snatched my gaze away, focusing instead on the back of some man’s balding head.
I’d been catching myself doing that a lot.
Sneaking looks in Gabe’s direction. It wasn’t even like I was consciously trying to be creepy or anything.
For some reason, I just found myself naturally looking in his direction.
I needed to stop that shit. I shouldn’t be ogling my own teammates—that made things messy.
I also wasn’t in the headspace to be looking at other men, whether I found them insanely attractive or not.
My last relationship not only ended on a terrible note, but my ex had left some invisible wounds that I continued to struggle with.
Emotional hurt that still dimmed my light, and now was not the time to open myself up to more pain.
Although…
No. I’ve got to get him out of my head.
“You and Gabe are a force on the ice.”
Well, there goes my decision to not even think about the guy.
I gave a dry nod. “He’s a great sniper. Awesome at offense.”
Gabriel played as right wing, which was an offensive position that required one to be aggressive about getting the puck and keeping it.
Lots of shit-talking and body slamming was involved.
I played right defense, which meant I typically had Gabe’s back on the ice.
It was—as the name suggested—a primarily defensive position.
I worked hard to make sure the other team didn’t even get a chance to try and shoot for a goal.
“A great what?” Dylan asked with a tone that surprised me.
“Sniper,” I repeated, louder this time. “He’s a great sniper.”
“Ohh, right,” Dylan said with a laugh. He sounded relieved.
What the hell did he think I called him?
“You’re right, Gabe’s a star.”
“He is, he is.”
“And so are you.” Dylan poked my bicep.
That bit was harder for me to believe. “I’m just glad to be in a team surrounded by talent. I feel like everyone here is playing on the NHL level. It’s inspiring.”
“I think a lot of it has to do with how close we are. Us Bobcats, we’re like a family.
We also really just fucking love hockey.
It’s in our bones. My dad and my grandfather both played, my dad going to the playoffs for the Stanley Cup twice.
My grandmother used to be a center for the Seattle Chargers.
My mom, she’s the most badass of them all—she played in the PWHL until a really bad knee injury took her out.
Now she’s one of the regular reporters and analysts for ESPN. ”
“Holy shit, that is hockey through and through.”
“It is, it is.” Dylan cocked his head. He had bright blue eyes that were simultaneously beautiful and intimidating. Like he was looking through me, scanning my deepest, most intimate secrets. I looked away, as if that would help sever whatever imaginary connection I was feeling.
“I can’t say I have such a deep-rooted history with hockey, but it is something that my parents were obsessed with.
My family didn’t have much money growing up, so whenever we’d save up some entertainment money, it would go toward a night out watching a hockey game.
I started playing around five years old, going through the junior system.
In high school, I picked up a gig at a coffee shop to pay for all the shit I needed and help my parents out. ”
Dylan nodded and smiled at that. He was definitely one of the guys I clicked with best. We bonded pretty quickly when his love of Broadway was mentioned in the locker room.
It wasn’t exactly the most common thing for a “typical” hockey player to be into, so it was nice to see that someone else besides me shared the same interests.
Besides being a model, I could also see Dyl being an actor in another life.
If the rink hadn’t called to him, I was sure the stage would have.
He enjoyed attention, but not in an obnoxious way.
More like in the way a golden retriever would happily sit in the middle of a house party with his tongue lolling out as long as they were getting pets.
We continued to chat a little more about our past with hockey until Dyl’s attention was pulled away by Emerson. He called him back over to the table to settle some bet.
I checked my watch. It was already nine.
Damn, time had flown by pretty fast. I figured I could use a hot shower and some downtime before tomorrow’s game.
I pushed off the bar, turned around, and closed my tab, tipping the kind bartender, who I was sure I’d be seeing around.
I turned back to the group but stopped midway, frozen.
It was Gabe. He was still at one of the pool tables. He’d just reracked the balls and was chalking the end of his stick. His biceps twitched in his baby blue shirt, his chest making every thread of that shirt fight for its damn life.
It was his eyes that made me freeze. He had them locked on me.
Watching.
What the hell? Did he have a problem?
Why were my cheeks flushing with heat?
Why did my lungs tighten and my stomach flutter?
Why the hell was he smiling?
I decided my shower and bed could wait. I wanted to figure out what this guy’s deal was.
He’d been acting weird ever since the moment I met him that night in downtown, and it didn’t change after we hung out at the photography meet-up, either.
He’d only speak to me if it was about hockey, and he was always bolting out of the locker room after every practice, almost like he was avoiding something.
Or someone.
Me. He was clearly avoiding me, and that, well, it bothered me.
I had a craving for praise and validation.
I loved to be liked. For a long time, I had solely focused on chasing down my happiness by trying to please my ex-boyfriend—and finding myself constantly failing, especially if his (often shouted) words were to be believed.
With him out of the picture, I had found myself suddenly yearning for praise from all different directions. I wanted to make sure everyone around me was happy, that I was doing a good job, that people liked me.
So this—whatever it was—between me and Gabe had to be squashed.
I didn’t want whatever was brewing under the surface to come out on the ice later.
Maybe he just didn’t like me because I was new, or maybe I reminded him of some asshole neighbor who would always let their dog shit in front of his house and never pick it up, making you cross your front yard like it was an active minefield just to check the mail.
That last one I’d understand.
“Is something wrong?” I asked as I reached him.
“Wrong? No, why would it be?”
“I don’t know. You were just looking at me like you had something to say.” Smoke from someone’s fruity vape drifted in my direction. I waved it away. The smell was quickly replaced by whatever oaky, piney cologne Gabe had on. It smelled expensive as fuck.
Gabe shrugged, still smiling. He was a little taller than me, so I had to tilt my head—but not by much, okay?—to meet his eyes. “I’ve got nothing.” He had a cocky attitude that made me want to push him against the wall and start… nope. Not going there.
“You sure? I’ve sensed this weird energy coming from you. I’ve also never seen someone shower and get dressed so fast after practice. It’s like you’re running from a fire.”
“So you’ve been watching me in the shower?” A thick, dark brow arched.
I blinked and flustered out some vowels and consonants, none of them sounding like actual words.
Damn it. I’m such an idiot. He’s going to think I’m a fucking creep.
Gabe winked. “Let me know next time—I’ll use less soap. Covers less.”
“I wasn’t watching,” I finally spat out. Had he drunk more than he should have? Did I drink more than I should have?
…Also, I may have peeked one or twice. But I ignored that. “I just want to make sure there’s no bad blood or anything.”
“Why would there be bad blood? Your plane practically just landed. No, no. I’ve been hurrying out of practice because, well, personal things.” He said it in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to delve much deeper than that.
I got hit with an instant smack of regret.
“Ah, right.”
I really was on a roll tonight, wasn’t I?
Not only had I made voyeuristic suggestions to one of my teammates, but then I had turned a situation that was none of my business into something centered around me.
I should have just gone home. My shoulders slumped, and the exhaustion of the day crawled into me like a Victorian-era ghost looking for someone to possess.
“And I’m sorry I’ve been standoffish,” Gabe said. “Admittedly, I’m not the most social guy on the team. Making new friends isn’t easy for me.”
I still felt stupid as shit, but at least I got confirmation that Gabe didn’t automatically hate me.
Not that it would have really mattered at the end of the day.
I didn’t get traded so I could participate in the Burlington Bobcats best friend race.
As long as we played well together as a team, then that’s all that mattered.
“Okay,” I said, glancing at my watch again. I wanted to blink my eyes, vanish, then reappear in my own bed.
Gabe must have had different plans for me, though. “Grab one,” he said, nodding at the row of pool cues up against the wall. “Play with me.”
A tiny fire sparked at the base of my spine. My core became warm. I licked my lips. I could practically hear my bed shouting at me from miles away, calling to me, trying to distract me from whatever heat sparked through my veins.
Why did this decision feel more consequential than just winning or losing at pool?