Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
CHARLIE
“ S o, what do you think?”
Emma bit her lip, her gaze darting around the buzzing arena. “It’s… loud.”
I laughed. “Just wait until someone scores. Then you’ll see loud.”
I might have quit playing hockey before college, but I’d never stopped living and breathing the game. The chill in the air, the roar of the crowd, the scrape of skates on ice, it all felt like coming home.
When one of my clients had let slip that he had season tickets and he’d be in Romania all summer, I’d snapped them up. I’d have gone anyway, but Emma hadn’t really left my house since she’d arrived. I wanted her to experience some of the great things about this city. I’d left Canada for Los Angeles, and I loved it, flaws and all. This game was the first of many. Hopefully, it would get her mind off her business.
She raised a brow. “I’m not sure my ears can handle that.”
“Trust me, you’ll love it.” I leaned in closer, pointing to the ice. “See that guy there? Number 87? Keep an eye on him. He’s a magician with the puck.”
Emma squinted, trying to follow my finger. “They’re moving so fast. How can you even tell who’s who?”
“Years of practice. And an unhealthy obsession with the sport.”
As the first period got underway, I found myself splitting my attention between the game and her reactions. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to follow the action.
“Okay, so explain this to me again,” she said during a lull in play. “Why did they just stop?”
I suppressed a chuckle. “Offside. See that blue line? If an attacking player crosses it before the puck does, play stops.”
“And that’s… bad?”
“Very bad. Kills the momentum of the attack.”
She nodded slowly. “Right. Got it. I think.”
I launched into a more detailed explanation of the rules, gesturing animatedly as I spoke. Emma listened intently, her eyes flicking between me and the ice.
“You really love this, don’t you?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Yeah, I do. It’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.”
“Tell me about that,” Emma said, turning to face me fully. “What was little Charlie like, discovering hockey for the first time?”
I leaned back in my seat, shuffling through my memories, trying to pinpoint the exact moment. I couldn’t find it. “Honestly? I can’t remember a time when hockey wasn’t a part of my life. My dad had me on skates before I could walk.”
Her eyes widened. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Nah, not really. It’s common for hockey families. He had me bundled up like a little marshmallow. I couldn’t have hurt myself if I tried.”
Emma frowned. “I guess. But still, a baby on ice skates...”
“Trust me, it’s fine. I turned out okay, didn’t I?” I winked, trying to lighten the mood.
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
I laughed, then turned my attention back to the ice as the Toronto Timberwolves scored. The crowd around us erupted, and I joined in, whooping and clapping.
Emma winced at the noise. “Okay, you weren’t kidding about it getting loud.”
“You’ll get used to it. Maybe.” I leaned in closer, speaking directly into her ear to be heard over the din. “Want some earplugs? I always bring a pair.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll tough it out. When in Rome, right?”
“That’s the spirit!” I clapped her on the shoulder, then quickly pulled my hand back. Touching her, no matter how innocently, always sent a jolt of electricity through me. “Just wait until you hear the goal horn. It’ll blow your mind.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I laughed. “Depends on which team scores.”
On the ice, a Timberwolves player deked past two Stingers defenders, faking left before cutting right. With lightning speed, he fired a shot that sailed over the goalie’s glove and into the top corner of the net.
The crowd around us erupted.
“Damn it!” I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “Come on, Stingers! Get it together!”
Emma watched me with amusement. “I take it that wasn’t good for our team?”
“Definitely not,” I grumbled. “We’re down by one. They need to step up their game.”
“But the Canadian team scored.”
“Ah, well…” I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. “It’s a bit complicated. My dad played for the Toronto Timberwolves back in the day.”
Emma’s eyebrows rose. “So shouldn’t you be cheering for them?”
“Not a chance. After he left us, I made a point of cheering for any team playing against the Wolves. Petty, I know, but…”
“But it feels good.” Emma finished for me, her voice soft with understanding.
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s like my own little act of rebellion, I guess. Every time they lose, it feels like a tiny victory against him.”
Emma reached out and squeezed my hand, her touch unexpectedly comforting. “That’s not petty, Charlie. It’s human.”
“Now, let’s hope the Canadians don’t score again.” I grinned. “Or I might have to disown my entire country.”
As the players reset for the face-off, Emma pulled a small stack of notecards from her purse.
“What’s that?”
She looked slightly embarrassed. “Oh, um... just some of the questions we haven’t gotten to yet.”
“You brought study cards to a hockey game?”
“I did.” She stared at me, a determined glint in her gorgeous eyes.
It was stupid to love a stubborn streak in a woman, right? It probably spelled trouble for me down the line, but I couldn’t make myself care when she looked at me like that.
“Alright, hit me with your best shot. But fair warning, I might get distracted if something exciting happens on the ice.”
She nodded, shuffling through her cards. “Okay, here’s an easy one to start. Did you have any hobbies growing up besides hockey?”
I side-eyed her. “Who says hockey was a hobby? It was more like a religion.”
She laughed, but I really wasn’t joking. In my house growing up, hockey had been all we worshipped.
“Alright, alright. Well, my sister and I used to spend hours exploring the woods near our house. We’d build forts, pretend we were on grand adventures, that sort of thing.”
“That sounds nice,” Emma said, an odd catch in her voice. “How old is she?”
“V is three years younger than me.”
Her brow creased. “V?”
“Veronica.”
She studied me with a critical eye. “And how old are you?”
I snorted. “Maybe you should have asked me that before you jumped into bed with me.”
Emma shook her head, chuckling. “I just had the exact same thought.”
“I’m thirty-two. You?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“A year younger than V.” I nodded.
Is it weird that I knocked up a woman my sister’s age?
I really didn’t want to know the answer, so I brushed it away and focused on what we’d originally been talking about. “Anyway, V might have been younger but she always kept up. Our mom never worried about us when we were kids, you know? We’d disappear into those woods for hours, and she’d just assume we’d come back when we got hungry.”
“Was that a generational thing or what? My aunt never knew where I was. I’m not sure she actually cared.”
I shrugged. “Different times, I guess. It’s funny though, as soon as we hit our teens and started getting into typical Canadian teenage stuff — parties, drinking in fields, that kind of thing — suddenly Mom got all protective. It was bizarre.”
“Maybe she just started feeling more responsible,” Emma said. “Where was your dad then?”
“Fucked off with some z-list actor when I was twelve.” A familiar tightness formed in my chest and I rubbed at it. “I think after that, Mom felt like she had to be both parents, you know? But by then, we were used to our freedom. Made for some interesting arguments.”
Emma was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I waved it off. “Don’t be. He was an ass. We were better off without him.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but the crowd erupted. I turned my attention back to the game, grateful for the distraction.
“Oh, come on! That was clearly interference!” I shouted, jumping to my feet along with half the arena.
Emma tugged on my sleeve. “What happened?”
I sat back down, still fuming. “The ref missed a call. Our guy got checked illegally, but they’re letting it slide.”
She nodded, but that adorable furrow between her brows told me she didn’t have a clue what any of that meant. “And that’s... bad?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her earnest attempt to engage. “Yeah, it’s bad. But it’s part of the game. Sometimes calls go your way, sometimes they don’t.”
As play resumed, Emma shuffled through her cards again. “Okay, here’s another one. What’s your favourite childhood memory?”
I thought for a moment, a smile spreading across my face. “Oh man, that’s a tough one. But I’d have to say... probably the time V and I built this massive snow fort in our backyard. We spent days on it, and it was like our own little ice castle. We even slept out there one night, bundled up in sleeping bags and drinking hot chocolate.”
Emma’s eyes softened. “That sounds wonderful. I wish I had memories like that.”
Her wistful tone made me curious. “You don’t?”
“A lot of my early memories are kind of fuzzy.”
“But there must be something.”
She hesitated, her brow knitting slightly. “My parents took me to the beach once. I must have been about five or six. We built sandcastles and flew a kite. It’s not much, but it always makes me smile when I think about it.”
There was something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty that made me wonder if the memory was entirely real or if it was something she’d constructed over time. But the way her face lit up as she described it, I didn’t have the heart to question it.
“That sounds great to me,” I said softly.
Our moment was interrupted by another roar from the crowd. I turned just in time to see a Stingers player score, tying up the game.
“Yes!” I shouted, jumping to my feet and pumping my fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Emma laughed, clearly amused by my enthusiasm. “I take it that was good?”
“It was freaking awesome!” I grinned, caught up in the excitement. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “We’re back in this!”
As soon as I realised what I’d done, I let go, feeling a mix of embarrassment and something else I couldn’t quite name. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Got carried away.”
Emma’s cheeks were slightly flushed, but she smiled. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Any more questions on those cards of yours?”
She shuffled through them, her brows drawing together. “How about... did you have any pets growing up?”
I chuckled. “Not unless you count the raccoon family that lived in our garage for a while. Mom was too soft to call animal control, so we just kind of... coexisted with them for a summer.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Weren’t you worried about rabies or something?”
“Nah, they mostly kept to themselves.” I shrugged. “V named them all, of course. The mom was Bandit, and the babies were Rascal and Trouble.”
Emma laughed, shaking her head. “That’s insane.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Any pets in your past?”
She shook her head. “No, my aunt was allergic to pretty much everything with fur. I always wanted a dog, though.”
“Maybe someday.” It sounded too much like a promise, like we were planning a future together beyond our current arrangement. A future I wouldn’t mind bringing to life.
As the second period came to an end, the arena buzzed with excitement. The score was tied, and the tension was palpable.
“So, what happens now?” Emma asked as people started getting up from their seats.
“Intermission. Time for a bathroom break, grab some snacks, that kind of thing. Want anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” She shook her head. “But I might take you up on those earplugs now.”
I laughed, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small case. “Here you go. Just don’t put them in too tight, or you’ll miss all the fun.”
I watched her as she adjusted the earplugs, unable to stop myself from enjoying the sight of an adorable line of concentration forming between her brows, the slight pout of her lips as she tried to get comfortable. Was there anything this woman could do that I wouldn’t find endearing?
The crowd around us started to get rowdy as the Kiss Cam made its rounds on the jumbotron. Couples were being highlighted, some eagerly locking lips while others shyly pecked each other’s cheeks.
“What’s going on?” Emma asked, her voice a bit louder than necessary due to the earplugs.
I chuckled. “It’s the Kiss Cam. They put random couples on the big screen and?—”
My explanation was cut short as our faces appeared on the enormous screen above the ice. The crowd around us erupted in cheers and whistles.
Her eyes widened in panic. “What do we do?” she half-shouted.
My heart raced, caught between the desire to kiss her and the knowledge that we’d agreed to keep things platonic. “We don’t have to do anything,” I said, leaning close to her ear so she could hear me. “They’ll just boo and move on.”
She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “And if we do?”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as my pulse quickened. “Then we give them a show and go back to watching the game.”
Emma bit her lip, glancing between me and the screen. The crowd’s chanting grew louder, urging us on.
“Oh, what the hell,” she muttered, and before I could react, she grabbed the front of my jersey and pulled me in.
What started as a gentle, soft brush of her lips, transitioned to a full on inferno. An explosion of sensation, a burst of pent-up desire that had been simmering between us for a week.
I tilted my head, taking complete control and deepening the kiss as one hand cupped her cheek while the other wrapped around the nape of her neck. The taste of strawberry invaded my mouth, her lip balm.
Emma responded with a passion that matched my own, her fingers twisting in my jersey as her tongue duelled with mine. The world around us faded into oblivion, replaced by the sound of our breaths mingling and the cheers of the crowd that felt like they were a million miles away.
One touch, and I forgot everything, including why this was a terrible idea.