Chapter 5
Lucky
The clang of weights, the low thump of music, and the sound of Penn groaning as he finishes another set would normally be enough to occupy my brain.
But not this morning.
No, ever since I woke up at six a.m., I’ve been refreshing TikTok every two minutes. I’m obsessively looking to see if WinnieTheNotWild has responded to my stitch. We’re well past the twenty-four-hour mark and there’s been nothing from her.
I hit refresh again.
Nothing.
“She’s gotta post something,” I mutter, swiping down again while perched on the edge of a bench. I’m wearing a Titans’ hoodie, but I may as well be wearing a Winnie the Pooh onesie for how much attention I’m paying to my workout right now.
“Yo.” My head pops up and Atlas tosses me a bottle of water. “If you say ‘she’ one more time without context, I’m going to bench-press you.”
I ignore him and refresh again, grudgingly admitting to only myself that this behavior might be a little weird.
But watching that dating challenge video has me somewhat obsessed.
It’s like a puck to the chest—funny, honest but holding real truth.
And then I went down the Winnie rabbit hole (no pun intended) where I watched video after video of her content. I grew transfixed as I watched her.
Videos of her in a messy bun, talking to her rabbit like he’s her therapist. One where she explains how to make “emotionally supportive tea.” I’m not even into tea. But I’ve watched that one three times.
Another where she breaks into giggles mid-rant about men who treat liking Taylor Swift as a personality.
Then there’s the one where she tries to DIY a bookshelf and ends up covered in wood glue. She didn’t edit it. Just laughed at herself, told Buttermilk he could have her house if she died of shame, and signed off with a wink.
How do you not become a little obsessed with someone who can laugh at themselves like that?
“Dude,” Atlas complains. “Are you working out or not? We’re supposed to grab lunch when you’re done and Penn and I are about ready to go.”
“Just a minute,” I say with a wave of my hand. Lunch can wait.
I refresh again and my blood zings through my body as a notification with her handle shows up.
I pump my fist. “Yes! There it is.”
“What?” Atlas exclaims, moving up behind me to look over my shoulder. Penn joins him, jostling to see better, but I shush them both before they can make any more noise.
I watch intently as the screen fills first with my face on a split screen—grinning, cocky, confident.
And there she is. Her hair is in a ponytail and she’s wearing makeup, although she’s not overly glammed up. “Okay, besties. Remember how I said I wanted one decent, average guy? Like, someone who drinks regular coffee and forgets where he put his car keys and maybe has mild back pain by thirty?”
“I’ve got mild back pain and I’m nowhere close to thirty,” Atlas says.
I ignore him as now Winnie is pointing at my profile.
She smiles brightly. She’s freaking adorable.
Hilarious. She’s also about to roast me.
I can see it in the hard flicker of her eyes and the mischievous tilt to her lips.
“This is @LuckyBranson69. He’s apparently a professional hockey player.
I googled him. He has the requisite six-pack of an athlete, a verified checkmark, and the face of a man who has definitely been told he’s someone’s Roman Empire.
And he’s apparently accepted my dating challenge. ”
“She’s not wrong,” Penn wheezes.
I scowl but keep my eyes glued to the screen. “That doesn’t sound good,” I mutter in astonishment.
Winnie goes on—gently, self-deprecating, but clear. She doesn’t think I fit her ideal. Not average enough. Too shiny.
She thanks me, politely declines, and feeds her rabbit a piece of fuzzy lettuce. I watch the entire thing in stunned silence.
“She said no,” I say flatly, letting the phone drop to my thigh.
Atlas whistles. “I gotta say, I did not see that coming.”
“I’m confused,” Penn says, scratching his head, eyes roaming back and forth between me and Atlas. “Who is that?”
I don’t bother answering. I’m too busy trying to figure things out as I’m not ready to let this go.
I hear Atlas explaining, “She’s like a TikTok person the way our buddy Lucky is, and she issued a dating challenge.
Our boy wasn’t so lucky, though. He accepted the challenge and she turned him down. ”
Penn winces. “Harsh, man. Sorry.”
I tap my phone on my chin, lost in thought. “I mean… what the hell is wrong with me? I’m being penalized for having a nice jawline?”
Penn raises an eyebrow. “No offense, bro. But you’re not what she’s looking for.”
“Why not?” I demand. “What’s so wrong with me?”
“You’re you,” Penn replies like that explains everything. “She said average. You’re… not that.”
“Why do you care so much?” Atlas adds, shifting to face me. “You’ve never chased a girl the entire time I’ve known you.”
I hesitate.
It’s not just the way she looks. Although yes—those hazel eyes and the way she bites her lip when she’s thinking does something to my soul.
But it’s more than that.
“She’s real,” I say, slow and honest, as if it’s a revelation I hadn’t seen coming.
Yeah… that’s it. “She’s funny without trying to be.
She talks to a rabbit like it’s a roommate and she’s not afraid to call herself average, but she’s clearly not.
She’s brave and kind and smarter than half the people I know, and she has this…
vibe. Like she’d show up to a gala with ChapStick and granola in her purse and make fun of the centerpieces. ”
“How do you know all that?” Penn asks in amazement.
I roll my eyes at such an uneducated question. “Dude… you can learn everything you need to know about a person by watching their videos. She’s the real deal.”
Atlas blinks. “You’re smitten.”
“Am not,” I immediately correct him. “But I do love a challenge.”
Penn leans against the weight rack. “What are you going to do?”
I sit forward, elbows on my knees. “I think I’m going to prove her wrong.”
“About what?”
“About me. And about her.”
They exchange glances but it’s Atlas who asks, “What’s the end game? You going to get her to fall for you and then dump her?”
That hits hard and I deny it. “No. I wouldn’t do that.
I want to show her there are decent guys out there who might be a little more than average.
She’s not asking to find true love. Just a decent guy to date.
I want to show her that average doesn’t mean safe or boring, or that she shouldn’t lower her expectations in any way.
It can mean steady. It can mean good. And I want her to see herself the way I see her. ”
I internally wince as soon as those words are out as I realize how deranged that sounds. I’ve never had a conversation with this woman and yet… okay, maybe I am a bit smitten already. Maybe it’s the fact she loves TikTok as much as I do?
Penn grins. “You’re in trouble, man.”
“Big time,” Atlas adds.
I shrug. “Worth it. Besides, what do I have to lose?”
Confidence renewed—because truly, what do I have to lose—I open TikTok and start recording.
I’m in a plain gym tee, sweaty hair sticking up, and no filter. I lift the camera and smile, lazy and direct. I stitch her last video and I don’t mince words or drag things out.
“I can be average,” I say with a devilish smile. “And I think you’re seriously discounting the value of snacks.” I lean closer. “I bet I can change your mind.”
I post it. No tag. No follow-up. Nothing I said invites a reply from her and I don’t expect one.
But I already know my plan.
Let the challenge continue.
I fill the guys in as I knock out my last set of squats.
Atlas eyes me warily after I’m finished. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to pretend to be average to win over a woman who doesn’t know you, barely acknowledged your existence, and kind of rejected you in front of the internet? When… you’re nowhere near average or even slightly normal?”
I nod. “Yup.”
Penn laughs. “You do realize this is insane, right?”
I wag my finger at him. “I prefer the label bold romantic gesture.”
Atlas elbows me with a laugh. “You bringing a boom box too? Gonna stand outside her window like an eighties rom-com?”
“If I thought it would work, maybe.”
We all grab towels and head toward the locker room. I peel off my hoodie and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—sweaty, flushed, kind of a mess. For once, I don’t mind the lack of polish. I want her to see me like this.
Because yeah, I’ve got a great job and some shiny stuff. But I’m also the guy who eats dry cereal out of the box and forgets to buy toilet paper. I’ve got a mom who still texts me reminders to take my vitamins and a tendency to sleep in my socks when it’s cold.
I am average. At least in many of the ways that count.
“She said she wants a guy with back pain by thirty,” I say aloud as we reach the lockers.
Penn chuckles. “Well, you do complain about your shoulder after games.”
“That’s not back pain.”
“It’s hockey,” Atlas adds. “Everything hurts eventually.”
I open my locker, rummaging through until I find my spare toothbrush. “Exactly. I’m a walking catalog of moderate aches. I’m tailor made for her.”
“You’re delusional,” Penn says, slamming his locker shut.
“Maybe. But I’m also committed.”
They shake their heads, but I can tell they’re kind of into it. Even if they’d never admit it.
As we hit the showers, I’m already planning.
I’ll need to borrow someone’s car, something without seat warmers and leather upholstery.
Maybe I’ll dig into the back of my closet for that one hoodie my mom got me before I signed my rookie contract.
No cologne, no watch, and absolutely no mention of the fact I earn millions of dollars every year.
If I’m going to convince Winnie Shaw that I’m the average guy she’s looking for, I’ll have to prove it the old-fashioned way.
In person.
With snacks.