14. Renee
I’m sitting on the bench after practice, scrolling through my shots from today’s drills, when a voice comes out of nowhere.
“Hey… Renee, right?”
I scream and my soul leaves my body for a brief second before I realize it’s just one of the players. I may or may not be wound up a little too tight as of late.
Orion Beckstrom is standing next to me. Well, not quite standing. He’s actually got his ass in the air and his head under the bench like an ostrich before he wriggles back out and stands up. I see him holding a gleaming Rolex in his hand.
“Forgot to take this off in the locker room and then forgot to pick it up after practice.” He eyes me warily. “You alright? Feel like I mighta spooked you a bit there.”
I blush a shade of Pepto Bismol pink that does my complexion no favors. Brushing my hair back behind my ears, I give him a wobbly smile. “All good. Sorry. I was just… in the zone, I guess.”
He smiles back. It’s just a pleasant smile, not a smirk or a scowl by any stretch of the imagination. A no-strings-attached friendly smile. It’s weird how jarring that is, and it takes me a second to realize why.
It’s because Weston couldn’t smile like that if his life depended on it.
Now that my heartbeat is somewhat back to normal, I take a look at him. Instead of his practice uniform, Orion is in a long-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans. He’s the picture of California casual and a lot more handsome than I thought.
Girls must go crazy for him. He’s sort of Cali surfer bro but with a little more edge. Blond hair and gray eyes, muscular arms, a broad chest and slender waist. His cheekbones could cut glass and his lips are full. Not my type, but undeniably attractive.
I clear my throat so I don’t embarrass myself with a nervous squeak. “You’re Orion, right?”
He nods. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t think you noticed.”
I grin. He knows damned well he doesn’t go anywhere that some woman wouldn’t notice. “Oh, I noticed. You’re a very proficient stick…er.” I don’t know where I was going with that but now I just sound stupid.
“Stick handler? Is that the phrase you were going for?” His lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh at me.
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.” I shake my head. “And you shot the…” It’s a food. C’mon, Renee, say it, dammit. “… Cracker?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.That’s wrong and I should know better, but the right words just won’t come.
“I think you mean ‘biscuit.’”
I bury my face in my hands. “Jesus. I’m so bad at this.”
He laughs. The sound is nice, although it doesn’t make my belly tingle the way the growl from … no. I am not going to think about him. We’ll just stick with calling him “the asshat who lives next door to Sutton’s apartment.”
“Yes, biscuit.” I sigh. “I swear I studied.”
Who knew hockey was so complicated? I feel so na?ve for thinking I had it all committed to memory on that first day. It’s more than shooting and scoring. There’s nuance and intricacy that I want to convey, but it’s like trying to rub my belly and pat my head at the same time.
He leans against the door to the ice and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re doing fine.”
“You’re being kind. It’s just a lot of terminology that I can’t wrap my head around.”
“I could help you, if you want. I know a thing or two about the game. And I’m a good teacher… or so I’ve been told.”
“That would be great! I can’t even tell you how grateful I would be. Do you have time now? Danni is out for the afternoon, so we could go to her office and?—”
He snaps his fingers. “Aw, shoot. Forgot I have a sponsor thing to do. I could pick you up around seven, though? We can do dinner, talk, I can walk you through whatever you aren’t clear on, maybe show you a couple new things. Whatever you need.”
He’s nice and cute and sweet. So why is my heart sinking?
I wish I knew. He’s the kind of guy a girl just knows has boyfriend potential. The good kind. The kind that would call back. The kind that would ask about your day and listen to your answer.
The kind I’ve never had before.
Because just like Sutton said, I always go for the asshole. The guy who doesn’t bother to ask how my day is. The guy who insults me in the hallway. The guy I wish was taking me out tonight.
I hate myself for it.
It only firms up my resolve. I need to quit Weston Scott for good.
“Yes. That would be perfect. I’m at The Palais. You know it?”
“You live in Weston’s building?” He chuckles. “You guys should carpool to work.”
I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
He arches an eyebrow, but I don’t elaborate. Mostly because I don’t want him to tell Weston that I was talking about him. The less I talk about or think about that jerk, the better my life will be.
Now, if I can only talk my brain into complying, I’ll be sitting pretty.
Orion smiles. “Ah, ol’ Westy. You’ll get used to him. He’s not nearly the asshole he pretends to be.” He twists his mouth to the side. “Or, you know what? I take it back. He’s a total dick and you should continue to hate him and we can commiserate over dinner.”
I’m not sure how to take his grin at the end. I laugh, not because I agree, but because it took me a minute to realize he was flirting.
“I don’t know him that well,” I correct.
He nods meaningfully. “Good.” Then, with a mock salute, he starts to back away down the tunnel that leads to the locker room. “I’ll see you tonight, Renee.”
I sit there for a while after he goes. This is a good thing, I tell myself. You’ll get a crash course in all things hockey from someone who knows it like the back of their hand.
And it doesn’t hurt that he’s cute, right?
That’s the problem, replies a snide voice in my head. He’s cute. Not devastating. Not life-ruining. Not a bonfire ready to crumble you into a pile of blissful ash.
I tell that voice to hush. Maybe I can convince myself to let the nice guy win.
Just this once.