Chapter 7 #3
“Um… Let’s see. Either Four Christmases or Scrooged with Bill Murray.”
“Not It’s a Wonderful Life?” He seemed surprised.
“Too depressing.”
“Even with angels saving the day?”
I held up my index finger. “One angel and what the hero had to go through pisses me off. Did you know that movie almost tanked James Stewart’s career?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I know. My mother is all about Christmas. On Christmas Eve no matter how old we were or what we wanted to do, she’d force us to line up in the family room so we could watch the movie together.
Then she picked it apart, including the actors who’d appeared in the movie.
As we grew older, the only way the four kids could tolerate the event was by getting fashionably drunk. ”
When he laughed, I could tell very easily how much he cared about his family and wasn’t making fun of their tradition. Maybe I’d need to return another half point. A solid nine wasn’t bad at all.
“How do you get fashionably drunk?” I sipped my wine, suddenly realizing we’d both ordered a second drink.
While leaning forward, he scanned the darkened bar as if worried others would hear what he had to say.
“A trade secret. We carefully disguised the alcohol in these huge sports bottles we’d gotten in our stockings the year before.
A new one every year. Mom thought we were drinking water or energy drinks instead of tequila. ”
“That is brilliant.”
“I know.” He blew on his knuckles and raked them across his shirt.
“I hope that doesn’t mean she tarnished Christmas for you.”
“Nah. I love Christmas. Except…” His entire face wrinkled.
“Except?”
He hung his head as if about to share the most horrible admittance with me. “Except when the best damn winger on the team decides that displaying Christmas lights on the roof of your three-story home in the dark while two half-clothed girls cheer him on is a good idea.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. And when he decides to take a nosedive off the building, breaking his leg in three different places, effectively removing him for the rest of the playing year.”
My face ached by how hard I was pinching it. “That’s terrible. Were there other injuries, not that breaking your leg in three places isn’t horrible?”
“The EMTs said he was lucky. While he landed on his head first, he was so drunk, his body was limber enough he didn’t even have a concussion. Or maybe he’s as hardheaded as we think he is.” He snorted, pulling the beer bottle to his lips.
His very full lips. Lips meant for kissing.
As he took a sip, I found myself watching him far too intently. Completely embarrassed, I hid behind my glass, pretending as if something interesting had popped on the television overhead.
“He’ll be okay. From what I heard, he’s headed back to Montana to stay with his parents while he’s recuperating followed by months of physical therapy.”
“That just sucks.”
“All the way around, including needing to find another roommate. We gelled together. Breaking up the brotherhood isn’t good for the team.” All I had to do was give him a harsh look and he threw up his hand. “I’m sorry. I know the rules. No talking about work.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
Maybe this was where the awkwardness of the evening would control and contain us. When I lifted my gaze from my glass, he was actively picking at the label on the bottle.
All while keeping his eyes pinned on mine.
Was it suddenly hot inside the bar? “Um, cool place.” For a dive bar. Maybe the style of very dark paneling with blocky wooden tables and benches for seats, low-hanging fake Tiffany lamps, and a long bar likely having seen arm wrestling and knife fights was popular in Seattle.
The joint was certainly perfect for clandestine meetings.
Or affairs.
I sucked in my bottom lip since instead of a laugh, a silly moan had threatened to give away my thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s okay. A good place to come when I don’t want to be pestered.”
His statement held no sound of amusement, more serious than we’d been. “Because you’re recognized?”
“Sometimes.” He also seemed sheepish about whatever celebrity status he’d achieved. I honestly kept as far removed from hockey as possible and I wasn’t interested in most other sports.
“Because you’re a famous hockey player?”
He’d gone back to fiddling with the label, finally peeling off a large section. “Famous? I don’t think so. I do alright. Hoping to do better. Sometimes it’s not about being recognized as a decent player. You know?”
No, I didn’t know, but I nodded to be cordial. As he pulled the bottle to his lips once again, I noticed an even deeper flash in his eyes.
“Maybe someday I’ll come to a game and check things out.”
When his face lit up, the room should notice. “You’d do that for a guy low on the scale?”
He’d been paying way too close attention. “I didn’t say I’d be going because of you.”
“Oh, of course not.”
“Of course not,” I repeated, flicking my eyes into his.
There was much more to Roy, my mysterious and very sexy date than simply being a hot guy who just happened to be pretty good at hockey.