Chapter 18
JAKOB
Aaaand, just like that, Zane Hirst was going on his first real date with me. Don’t act so surprised. Guys like him talk big but go back on their words all the time. Why else would I have felt so confident that he would fold?
Get this; he showed up to my place with flowers. Not just flowers, though—
a dozen long stem roses. Honest to God, he must’ve forgotten who he was going on a date with. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated the gesture, thanked him, and found a vase to put them in.
We decided to keep this simple: dinner, preferably someplace away from spots people we knew were likely to show up.
Zane drove. He had a nice set of wheels—not that I would have told him.
We all know he would have said something dumb.
Thank God he kept things fairly tame on the drive to the restaurant.
Tully’s overlooked Niagara Falls Boulevard.
I’d been there once before, and I decided the sports bar-restaurant atmosphere would be perfect for us.
Zane pulled into the parking lot, parked, and we headed into the building.
Once inside, a hostess greeted us. Zane studied her up and down, and I honestly worried he was checking her out—and on our first date!
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Zane asked her.
“No, sir,” she said. “I met you for the first time just now.”
“But you haven’t heard of me either, have you?”
She shook her head.
“And what about my friend here? Does he look familiar to you at all?”
Now she didn’t shake her head. Her eyes widened and face twisted ever so slightly. Like most of America, she must’ve thought Zane was a weirdo but couldn’t let on.
Instead of answering his ridiculous question, she asked, “So, it’s dinner for two tonight?”
Good save!
When Zane nodded, she grabbed two menus and invited us to follow her into the dining room. She sat us down at a table in the far corner and I felt instantly relieved to have gotten the Remington Riptide alone for a moment.
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” I asked.
“What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? That girl probably thinks we’re crazy.”
“No, she probably thinks I’m crazy.”
I could have told him that I found that oh so reassuring but wanted to move on from the topic. Not surprising that Zane wouldn’t allow it.
“I just worried we would be recognized, that’s all,” he said.
“Why would someone recognize us?”
“Buffalo’s not that big of a place, and we’re hockey players.”
“College hockey players, Zane. We’re not talking the NHL.”
He glanced around the restaurant like a man expecting to find special ops-agents at the next booth or fiber optic cameras planted somewhere in the joint. I doubted I’d ever slept with someone as ridiculous as Zane.
Our server came to our table and took our order of wings and Pepsi. Murder on our bodies but sometimes you’ve got to treat yourself.
“So,” I said, “what’s it like being a Remington Riptide?”
“Is that your passive-aggressive way of asking what it’s like to be a mind-blowing asshole? Or better yet, do I enjoy it?”
“Take it that way if you want.”
“Being an asshole is great. People bend over backwards for you. Tell them to jump and they ask how high. Nice people don’t enjoy those perks.”
I snorted, wondering how he would’ve reacted had I called him the Devil himself.
“To tell you the truth, there’s nothing I would rather be than a Remington Riptide,” he continued. “I love the team and everything it stands for.”
“And what does it stand for? Being a bunch of jackasses?”
“No, you double dip. It stands for hard work. It stands for honor and playing the game the way it was meant to be played. It stands for passion, commitment, and tradition.”
For a moment, I thought he might slide out of his seat, stand up straight and tall, rest his hand over his heart, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
I whistled and said, “You sure sound like you’ve got convictions.”
“I ought to. My father played in the NHL.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know that.”
“Most of his career had come and gone before I was born. He played for various teams, mostly bouncing around in the Detroit Redwings farm system. He played his share of big-league games but kept the benches warm in a lot of them.
“Dad finished out his career with the Sabres when I was in elementary school. He mostly played for the Rochester Americans. After that, he wanted to stay in Western New York because we all liked it so much, and that’s why I’m still here now.”
“Do you wish you could’ve seen more of his playing career?”
“I wish he could have been more successful. He had all the tools, you know? He had lightning speed and he handled the puck so fucking deftly. For some reason, he never got his big break, but I’m telling you he could’ve been a fucking Stanley Cup champion.”
Before, I would’ve sputtered at those declarations. He would’ve been Zane Hirst talking out of his ass for the hundred thousandth time. But I didn’t feel that vibe from him now. Zane not only sounded sane and rational (a major first) but seemed like a completely different person.
“That’s why you wanted to play hockey, huh?” I asked.
“If only everyone had your grasp of the obvious, Jakob.”
I struggled not to blush but didn’t know if I was doing a good job.
“That was why I started playing hockey in the first place. Dad would’ve probably registered me for Little Tyke hockey when I was a kid even if I hadn’t begged him. I wanted to be there in the worst way.”
“Follow in your dad’s footsteps, right?”
“Yeah, but there was more to it. I want to make up for the lack of success my dad had.”
“Right some wrongs?”
“Exactly! I’m going to be a Stanley Cup champion someday and it’ll be incredible.”
He offered another declaration like winning the big one was a foregone conclusion.
“When I win the Stanley Cup,” he said, “I’m going to give the ring to my dad.”
“That’s real noble of you, Zane.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt he would accept it if I did.”
“It’s the thought that counts.
Yeah, I know how cliché that sounded but I couldn’t help myself. Our server arrived with our wings and Zane’s eyes lit up. He even rubbed his hands together. My mouth watered at the sight, and I couldn’t wait to dig in.
“How about you?” he asked, “what’s it like being a Larkin Lion?”
Since my sarcasm detector didn’t run wild, I decided to go ahead and answer the question.
“Being a Larkin Lion is great,” I said. “It’s even better when we beat the pants off of the Remington Riptides.”
Zane, who’d brought a drumstick to his lips, paused before taking a bite.
“Dude, can you take even one thing seriously?” he asked.
“I’ll try.”
He bit into his drumstick, and I did likewise with my flat. As flavor invaded my mouth, I closed my eyes and savored it.
“I was playing hockey before I could lace up a pair of skates,” I said. “I knocked tennis balls into makeshift nets, anything I could do to play the game. And when I finally did get my first pair of skates—”
“They read TGIF on the toes?”
“Thank God It’s Friday?”
“No, Toes Go In First.”
I would’ve sputtered had my mouth not been full. Mark that in the record books, folks. Zane Hirst said something witty.
“It always felt like I was going through the motions of playing hockey,” I said. “I might not have been born with a hockey stick in my hand, but that was the closest thing to it. And then there was my dad. He was my biggest hockey influence.”
“Did he play in the NHL, too?”
I shook my head. “No, he died.”
Zane’s eyebrows arched. You know, it proved he wasn’t a braindead zombie after all.
“It’s okay,” I said, “it happened a long time ago. I was eleven when he passed.”
“Still, that must’ve been awful.”
“Sure, it was. It took a long time to get over it, but I have my memories. The most important thing was watching hockey together.”
“He was a hockey fan, huh?”
“Oh, the biggest. He wasn’t very athletic, so he never played the game, but he had a passion for it all the same.
And he never missed a game. He kept telling me I was going to be a really big deal one day.
Nothing about the Stanley Cup, but he seemed certain that I was going to be successful hockey player one day. ”
Zane surely would’ve taken his cue to make a smartass comment any other time, but now restrained himself.
“I just wish he could see me doing it,” I said. “I’m not in the NHL—yet—but it’ll happen.”
“He can see you.”
Zane spoke like he really meant that. Tenderness wasn’t the Remington Riptide’s strong suit, but he showed me that he was capable of caring.
“So, what’s the endgame for you?” I asked.
“The endgame?”
“What’s your major goal? You know, like other than winning the Stanley Cup?”
“I’ve got to go pro. It didn’t happen right out of high school like I hoped, but I’m going to enter the draft this upcoming season.”
“Hoping for any team in particular?”
“Sabres would be nice, but knowing hockey is in my future means more to me than anything.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
Zane picked up the check. Honest to God. Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised me, given how he’d shown up with a dozen long stem roses.
He drove me back to my place and walked me to the door.
“Want to come in?” I asked.
“I can’t.”
Bullshit, I wanted to tell him. Had I asked the same question a few days ago, he would’ve lunged at the opportunity. Something had changed, though I couldn’t put my finger on what.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Totally, one hundred and fifty percent positive.”
For a moment, I thought I spotted fear in his eyes. The look didn’t scream at me or anything, but it was still present. I brushed that off because so much remained in play.
“I had a nice night,” I said. “Nicer than I would’ve thought.”
“I’m not going to let you push my buttons. Nice try.”
“I’m not pushing your buttons. I really mean that. I would’ve thought a date with you would’ve at least included a little bickering. Instead…” I just shrugged.
Our eyes met. We would speak that way now because words no longer mattered. God, Zane was so perfect. Sometimes even the sight of him took my breath away. I would’ve hated thinking that before, but now the admission felt liberating.
Shifting forward, I reached past his shoulder, clasped my hand onto the back of his head, and pulled him closer. Then I brushed my lips against his and was met with no resistance. My tongue dove into his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around me.
The neighbors would be able to see us, but that didn’t concern me one bit. Zane must’ve felt the same way. When our lips broke apart, we smiled at one another and kissed once more. We couldn’t tear ourselves away from one another.
And that was fine by me.