2. Ace
TWO
ACE
A drop of lakewater dripped down my back. I shivered, wrapping the mile long scarf around my neck and put on my hat.
“Thank you for saving him.” The dog’s owner wrapped the leash around her hand at least twenty times. Had she not learned her lesson? Ignoring her, I squatted to examine the clip on the leash. “Here’s the problem: the metal piece has some ice in it.”
She bent to examine the carabiner, pulling off her mitts to move the mechanism back and forth. A waft of what I could only describe as a yoga studio mixed with vanilla shampoo came with her. My cock was still recovering from his second dicksickle moment of the day, so I was surprised when he suddenly pulsed back to life. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping that the bulge wasn’t obvious through my crappy snow pants.
“Let me.” I took the carabiner from her hands and cupped it in mine, blowing onto the metal. It only took two puffs to get it to slip back into place. I snapped it back and forth a couple of times to illustrate that it was working properly. “Now you can give Morton a little bit of breathing room.” I tried to loosen one loop of the leash from her hand, but she had it in a death grip.
“You remembered his name?” She unwrapped the leash and stretched out her hand.
I patted Morton on the head. “Who can forget a face like this? And, we’ve gone swimming together now, so we’re friends forever, whether he likes it or not.”
As if on cue, Morton’s tail smacked against the floor of the ferry and he leaned his soaking wet body against my pants.
“Don’t get a big head. He likes everyone.”
The girl’s words caught me off guard and I froze, pausing mid pet to look up at her. Her tone was harsh, but the sides of her lips were quivering, as if she was trying to hide a smile. My cock pulsed again. She was sexy in an understated way. If only she knew how big my head was getting… I squeezed my eyelids together to get the locker room banter out of my head. She was a sweet, well-spoken woman, not a raunchy NHL player.
Morton licked my hand. “Well, then I’d say he’s a bad judge of character.” I gave her a wink and it could’ve been the cold air, but her cheeks turned a shade pinker than they’d been a minute earlier.
“Goldie always says that she doesn’t get it when people don’t like dogs, but when a dog doesn’t like a person, it means that they’re like a psychopath or something.”
“I guess I pass the Morton test then? Goldie?” I held out my hand. “I’m Ace.”
“I know.” She shook my hand with a firmness I hadn’t felt from a woman in a long time. “We just watched you cannonball into the lake with your brother…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I had no idea it was…”
“Me?” I grinned. “You didn’t say anything that the newspapers haven’t been saying for months now.”
She let out a breath. Her apology seemed genuine. “This is Mel.” She put her hand on the dark-haired girl’s shoulder.
Mel extended her hand and shook mine. “Nice to meet you, Ace. Why aren’t you on the boat with all the other players?” She pointed to the Toronto skyline where the other boat had likely already disembarked.
I shrugged. “I wanted to take a little more time in the sauna.”
“I thought that you guys had to head back for a practice?” Mel tilted her head and I felt like I was sitting in an interrogation room.
“The practice isn’t for a few hours.”
Goldie rolled her eyes. “So they just wanted preferential treatment. Typical.”
“Hey, don’t lump me in with those guys. I waited my turn.” Goldie’s eyes were so warm, but as soon as she started talking about preferential treatment and hockey players in general, they seemed to lose a little bit of their sparkle. But she called it like it was; we did get preferential treatment everywhere we went. Clubs: front of the line; restaurants: reservations not required; upgrades in hotel rooms: practically expected.
Mel cut her eyes at her friend. I wasn’t the only person who had noticed the not-so-subtle hostility when it came to hockey players. It was rare to come across a Canadian who didn’t treat me like a movie star. Last week when we’d played in LA, Timothée Chalamet had been brushed aside by a fan trying to get to Gideon for an autograph. “Is that the guy version of, I’m not like other girls?” Unlike Goldie, every word that came out of Mel’s mouth dripped with flirtation.
“Not at all.” I leaned against the railing and waited for a response from Goldie, but she didn’t give me anything to work with. “I’m way worse.” I dropped my voice an octave.
This brought a smile to her face, and the sparkle in her eyes returned. The voice through the loudspeaker told us to wait until the boat was docked to make our way to the exit. The only thing I knew about Goldie was that she was beautiful, had a weird name, and had lit an intrigue inside of me that I hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever.
I didn’t have many regrets in my life, but I knew that if I let the cute brunette with the slightly salty attitude and kind of dorky glasses walk away, it would be one of them. But before I could muster up the courage to ask her for her number, or her social media contact, Mel did it for me.
She squatted next to Morton. “What’s that?” She pretended that the dog was speaking into her ear. She held up a finger as though she needed quiet to hear what the silent dog had to say. “I see.” She nodded her head and then stood. “Morton wants to take you to lunch for saving his life.”
“Is that so?” I tilted my head and cast a glance at Goldie. Her lips drew into a line, but only for a second.
“It’s the least we could do. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.” Her hand dropped to Morton’s ear and she rubbed his velvety fur between her unmanicured fingertips.
The boat engine roared as we settled into the harbour and the passengers started to line up to disembark. “Well, Morton, if you insist. Where are we going for lunch?” I didn’t care where we were going. I would’ve choked down some oysters, the only food that made me sick just thinking about it, if it meant one more minute with Goldie. All I needed was more time. I could win her over.
“We’re going for pizza. Is that all right?” Mel was the first one off the boat and we fell in stride next to her as we wove through the crowd. Luckily, I was in my dirtbag disguise, and walking through a crowd undetected, in the city where I was a hockey star, was almost as exhilarating as each time Goldie’s coat sleeve brushed against mine.
“Only if it’s the best place in the city.”
“Big Slice?” Mel asked.
Goldie and I both scoffed at the same time. Mel laughed. “All right, if it’s not Big Slice, who’s got the best pie in town?”
“Al’s,” Goldie and I both spoke at the same time.
Mel had an amused look on her face. “You two have to be the only people in the city who think that Al’s is the best pizza in town.”
I held up my finger. “The best pizza I’ve had is in Chicago, but for Toronto, Al’s is a close second.”
“Are you talking about Four Corners Wheel?” Goldie asked.
“Of course.” The woman had excellent taste in pizza. “When I played for Chicago, I ate there almost every day. It’s steps away from the rink. Did you live in Chicago, Goldie?”
“I did for a while, right after high school. What about you?”
“I lived there for one season when I played in the Northern Professional League.” I wondered if we were there the same time, if we had rubbed elbows at Four Corners. As quickly as I had the thought, I shook it off. Goldie wasn’t the kind of person you forgot; there’s no way I could’ve brushed past her and not noticed. “I miss their mozzarella.”
“Me too,” Goldie said. “And that pesto they made in the summer, from the stuff they grew on their rooftop garden.”
“What about the pepperoncini?” I asked, my mouth watering just thinking about it.
“Oh, the pepperoncini,” Goldie moaned. “So good.”
“You two don’t need to get a room, you need to get a pizza.” Mel laughed.
“No, trust me.” Goldie grabbed her friend’s arm. “The pizza here is good, but Chicago is a whole other level.”
We were about a block away from Al’s. “Shit.” Mel stopped. “I totally forgot that I have to…do something.” She took the leash from Goldie’s hand. “I’ll take Morton home with me so you don’t have to deal with people trying to save him from the cold.”
“But…” Goldie tried to take the leash back from Mel. “What do you have to do? What about lunch?” She put her hands on her hips.
Mel was already three steps away from us, in the direction we had already walked. “I have an appointment.”
It didn’t take a body language expert to know that Mel was bailing on lunch, and that Goldie was pissed about it. “Mel.” Goldie’s voice was low, almost a growl. “You didn’t have an appointment when we planned our day.”
Mel’s lips drew into a line, then she threw her hands into the air. “If you must know, I’ve got diarrhea.”
The pedestrians next to us slowed, and a couple of guys raised their eyebrows at the beautiful woman shouting about shitting her pants on the street. “I’ll see you later. It was nice meeting you, Ace! I’ll bring back Morton on Monday.” She broke into a light jog. Morton hopped in delight, and then matched her pace.
“She’s really committing to her story.” Goldie raised her eyebrows. Mel and Morton disappeared around the corner, leaving me and Goldie steps away from the pizza shop.
“You don’t think she really had to go?” I asked.
“Maybe.” Goldie shrugged. It was obvious that she did not believe that Mel had a looming disaster pants emergency. I knew a wingman, or rather wingwoman, when I saw one. Mel had just set Goldie and me up on our very first date. At least, I hoped that’s how she would see it.
“I know that Morton wanted to buy lunch, but if he’s not here, I’m happy to step into his shoes. Or paws.”
Goldie’s cheeks turned pink as she smiled. “It’s not the first time he’s forgotten his wallet at home, but no, I owe you lunch. You saved him.”
“Well, as long as it’s coming out of his biscuit allowance, I guess it’s okay.” I hated the idea of Goldie paying for lunch, but a gnawing feeling in my gut told me that if I insisted on paying, she would cancel the whole thing.
We were seated in a booth at the front of the restaurant. It was one of those days where the sun beamed through the window, and even though it was below zero outside, inside it felt like a hot summer day. Goldie’s coat hung over top of mine on the hooks outside the booth, but soon enough we had both peeled off another layer of clothing. Underneath her puffy coat, she had been hiding curves, and they were better than the ones I had imagined.
The waitress filled our water cups and handed us the menu, although I already knew what I was going to order. Goldie replaced her sunglasses with regular glasses—they were huge and made her eyes look even bigger.
“Wow. Those are some serious glasses. What do they call those kind?” I racked my brain. They were the kind of glasses that secretaries wore in porno movies, or librarians before they shook out their buns and their boobs popped out of their blouses. The steamy imagery wasn’t helping out with my short-term recollection of words. To make matters worse, Goldie’s nipples were slightly visible through her white tank top, and it was better than any movie I had ever seen.
“Glasses?” Goldie took them off and squinted as she looked at her own eyewear. “They’re used to read, you know words and stuff.”
I was falling right into the dumb hockey player stereotype. “No, there’s a name for the kind of glasses that go to a point. Horny rimmed or something?”
Goldie choked as she took a sip of water. She wiped her lips with her napkin. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what they’re called. I believe that you’re referring to horn-rimmed glasses, but these are just old-fashioned cat-eye glasses.”
“Cat eye.” I snapped my fingers. “That’s it.”
Fuck me. Horny rimmed. So much for winning her over. I shifted in the booth, apparently all the blood had run to my cock, leaving my brain starved for oxygen. If I wanted to have a chance with this girl, I needed a little bit of brain power. She slid the glasses back on her face and proceeded to study the menu like it was a textbook.
“Well, whatever they’re called, they suit you.” I set down the menu.
Goldie looked up over hers. “Thank you. I’ve had to wear glasses ever since I was a kid. I’m trying to have a little bit of fun with them. I spent so many years looking like Bubbles.”
A smile crept across my face. “Did you just reference Trailer Park Boys ?” It was a Canadian show, and wasn’t overly popular with the puck bunny crowd. I loved it.
“Rakins are the garbage cans again,” she quoted one of the characters who always said words wrong. In this case, racoons . It was hot.
“Did you see the one with the chicken fingers?” I leaned on my menu.
“And the hockey stick?” she laughed.
“The hockey stick. I forgot about that part. So good.” I was laughing too. “What’s a Canadian TV show without a hockey stick or two?”
“Oh, Canada.” She raised her eyebrows. “And its fucking hockey.”
“Whoa.” I reared back. “What’s with you and hockey?”
She shrugged. “What do you mean?”
The waitress appeared. “Do you have any questions about the menu?”
I gestured to Goldie. “Ladies first.”
“I’ll have the Chicago style with mozzarella and pepperoncini, and a glass of Cabernet.”
The waitress turned her attention to me. “And for…” Her voice trailed off. “Wait a minute, aren’t you…”
Without my disguise, I was no longer invisible. Behind the waitress, a couple of other people in the restaurant started whispering. It was only going to be a few minutes before a fan interrupted our non-date to ask for an autograph.
“I have one of those faces,” I interrupted. “I’d like the same, but add some of your homemade sausage.”
The waitress made notes on her pad, but she kept eye-fucking me. It was totally obvious. If it had been the other way around, and I was running my eyes up and down her body the same way, it would’ve landed me in jail. “Wine?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I’ll have a bottle of sparkling water.”
When the waitress took our menus, she made a point of letting her fingertips touch mine. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
I didn’t watch as she walked away. The overt flirtation while I was sitting with another woman was a complete turn-off. Goldie, on the other hand, did. When she returned her gaze to me, she smiled. “I guess you’re used to that.”
“What?” I played dumb.
“Please.” She sipped her water. “I’ll bet you one hundred bucks that waitress is in the kitchen telling all of her friends to walk by table one because there’s a Toronto Tiger sitting at it.”
As if on cue, a couple of the waitstaff sauntered by our table.
Goldie didn’t try to hide her smile. I reached into my pocket and put a hundred-dollar bill on the table. It couldn’t have worked out better; this was my way to pay for lunch.
“Should we double the wager?” Goldie leaned her elbows on the table. “How long until someone comes up for a selfie? Or someone asks if you’re ever going to be able to get a five-hole shot past Bellamy.”
Bellamy was the league’s top goalie, and played for one of our biggest rivals, Vegas. He was known for his flexibility, and the only way players could score against him was between the pads. “How do you know about Bellamy?” I asked. I noticed that she’d avoided the question about hating hockey players.
“Everyone knows that’s the only shot that’s gotten by him this season.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. We thanked her, but I didn’t take my eyes off Goldie. Smart, sexy, beautiful, and knew about hockey… Had I won the lottery?
“All right. I think that people will wait until I’m done eating to come up for a selfie, and I don’t think that anyone will ever get a puck past Bellamy.”
She folded her hands and leaned her chin on her knuckles. “I bet you that someone will interrupt your lunch, and I think that you’re right about Bellamy.”
The world around me disappeared and the only thing that I could see or hear was Goldie. “It’s a bet.” I reached my hand across the table, and she unlaced hers to shake mine. My heart thumped as she squeezed my hand tightly. Her hands were small and soft, but felt strong and capable. “Only if you tell me why you seem to hate hockey players so much, yet know so much about the game.”
The deep breath she took made it obvious that I had skated into unwelcome territory.
“I love hockey.” She smiled. “I think that when it’s done well, it’s the most beautiful sport in the world. There’s nothing better than watching a perfectly executed play. In my opinion, there’s no better athlete than a big player who is also nimble. Some of those players have more edge control than the best figure skaters out there.”
My heart swelled. Maybe I didn’t have to prove anything to her at all. Maybe her hatred of the game had been in my head.
Our pizzas arrived and we tapped our glasses together before devouring them. I offered her a bite of mine and she accepted, giggling as the cheese stretched and slapped her on the chin. Instinctively, I reached across the table to wipe at her chin with my thumb, but she beat me to it with her napkin.
Over pepperoncini and mozzarella, I discovered that she was a master’s student at the University of Toronto and had moved a lot as a kid. We spent the rest of the lunch talking about Morton and the dogs that we’d had growing up. Her family had been a fan of rescue dogs, where mine had been into labrador retrievers named after the seven dwarfs.
“You’re joking.” She laughed. “So you had a dog named Dopey?”
“Yep. And Sneezy. And get this, he could sneeze on command.”
Tears had formed in her eyes as her laughing continued. “Well, ours were not much better. They were named after hockey players.”
Her wine was finished, so she sipped on her glass of water.
“Let me guess.” I’d discovered that Goldie was twenty-five, so if her parents were in their fifties, that would make them fans of the idols I’d had growing up. “You had a Coffey.”
“Yep.” She nodded.
I tapped my finger on my lip. “What about a Lindros?”
She laughed. “No way. My dad hated that guy. You’re forgetting a pretty major one.”
“Gretzky!” I raised my arms in the air as though I’d just scored.
“You got it. He was my favorite.”
The conversation flowed easily, and time either came to a stand still or flew right by. I couldn’t tell.
She dabbed her lips with her napkin and sighed. “I guess I lost that bet.”
“Wait. Were you drawing out that conversation to give someone time to ask me for my autograph?”
She held up her hands in front of her. “Guilty.”
Exactly three seconds after the waitress cleared our plates a man with his kid approached the table. “Excuse me.” The father pushed his son towards me. The kid looked to be about ten years old. He was shy and leaned into his father. “Are you Ace Bailey?”
“I am. Would you like a photo?” I took the phone from the man’s hands. “What’s your name?” I asked the boy, whose face transformed with a wide grin.
“I’m Matthew.”
“Do you play hockey, Matthew?” I slid out of the booth and rested my hand on the boy’s shoulder. He nodded enthusiastically and looked over his shoulder at me. “I do. One day I’m going to play for the Tigers.”
I squeezed his shoulder. “Practice, and never lose that positive attitude. One day, you’ll get there.”
The dad must have taken about five hundred photos. “Thank you.” He shook my hand. “You’re Matthew’s favorite player.”
“No, Gideon is my favorite,” the boy protested.
Goldie clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I love it.” I smiled. “Kids always tell the truth.”
The fans returned to their table and Goldie slid the hundred across the table. “Are you okay?”
I smiled. “Gideon is the number-one player in the east. He’s every kid’s favorite.”
Cute crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. “But everyone loves an underdog.”
I could’ve swept Goldie off her feet and planted a huge kiss on her beautiful lips. Instead, I reached across the table to grasp her hand. “Goldie, please let me buy lunch. You’ve made my day and I’m going to go to practice with a smile on my face, and an unfortunately huge amount of pizza in my belly.”
“I lost the bet.”
“We can make another one.”
She pulled her hand from mine. “Thank you for lunch, Ace. I appreciate everything you did for Morton today.”
I handed the hundred to the server and told her to keep the change. As I helped Goldie into her coat, another whiff of vanilla made my cock twitch. “I never got to ask you about your name. Let me take you on a proper date. One where I don’t have practice and can drink more than sparkling water.”
Shrugging into my own jacket, I followed Goldie to the door of the restaurant, jogging to ensure that I could open it for her. After the heat of the sunny spot in the warm restaurant, the cold was like a slap to the face.
“Ace.” She turned to face me and extended her hand. “Thank you again for lunch, but I can’t see you again.”
I shook her hand, and a bad feeling came over me. It felt like the end of a business meeting, not a fun pizza date. “Why?”
“You seem like a nice guy, but I don’t date hockey players.”
This time it wasn’t the air that was assaulting me, it was her words, hitting me like a palm to the cheek.