Chapter 6 #2
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve been occupied with our agreement and bolted from practice today so I could shower and make sure everything was ready before you came over. They took that as I was avoiding them because of the whole Sarah thing.”
“I could see the correlation. But that wasn’t the case?”
“Not even a little.”
“So Sarah working at your arena doesn’t make you want to run for shelter?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’m dreading seeing her, that’s for damn sure, but I’m a man, so I can face her.”
“At least you can admit that.” She folds her hands in her lap. “So how did we meet?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
She rolls her eyes. “Dude, we need a story to tell everyone. People will ask how we met, and if we’re not on the same page, we’ll look like fools. People will be able to see right through us.”
“Ah, I see. Why don’t we just say we met at a bar? That’s true, so it won’t be hard to remember.”
“Kind of boring, though, don’t you think?
We have an opportunity to reinvent ourselves.
We could say something like . . . we were both at a deli, you got the roast beef, I got the meatball sub.
You took too large of a bite, started choking, and I was there to save you.
To pay me back for giving you a proper Heimlich, you asked me out to dinner, and the rest is history. ”
I feel my brow crease as I stare at her. “That doesn’t sound appealing to me.”
“You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man to admit being saved by a woman.”
“I understand that, but I also don’t want to put choking out there in the universe.”
“Aw,” she coos. “You’re one of those guys. Superstitious, are we?”
“Sure,” I answer.
“Okay, then you come up with the way we met.”
“Easy. At a bar. You thought I was hot, couldn’t live life another second without saying hi, so you came over to me and made the first move.”
“Ew, I would never.”
“Uh . . . you did. You’re the one who kissed me.”
“That’s different.” She dismisses me with a wave.
“How so?”
“That was an act of desperation. It wasn’t a move. It was survival instincts. Much, much different.”
“So you’re saying, if you just randomly saw me in a bar, without having to fend for your life, you wouldn’t have come up to me?”
“Never.” She shakes her head. “I don’t do that, and you would have seemed far too old for me.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “I don’t look that old. Stop using that as a thing.”
“Only old men get bent out of shape about being called old.”
I roll my eyes. “If you don’t like the bar story, then come up with something that doesn’t involve me choking on a fucking sandwich.”
“Fine.” She leans her shoulder against the back of the couch. “Let’s see. Hmm . . . oh, how about this. You were driving and blew a tire. I helped you change it. You were so grateful for my presence and blown away by my sheer beauty that you asked me out.”
“First of all, I know how to change a tire. Second, I own a Tesla. They don’t have spare tires, so we would have had to call a tow truck.”
“Really? That’s stupid.” She taps her chin. “Okay, what about this. You were shopping for a gift for your mom, and you couldn’t decide between a candle and a gift card, so you asked me. I told you to stop being a thoughtless asshole and directed you toward those sentimental Willow sculptures.”
“My mom prefers gift cards.”
She tosses her hands up in the air. “Fine, you come up with something.”
“We met on a ferry. You were seasick, and I held your hair back. After you threw up on my shoe.”
“Or . . .” she says, holding up her finger. “You threw up on my lap, and I guided you to the toilet, where I rubbed your back and told you all was going to be okay in the world.”
“How come you’re the hero in this story?”
“Uh, isn’t it obvious?” she asks. “Women are the true heroes in this world.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I was your hero the other night.”
“Wow, you’re just going to keep bringing that up, aren’t you? What about this? I’m your hero now.”
“How so? You’re getting the better end of the deal.”
“Excuse me?” she asks, her brows rising. “You’re the one who came up with the fake dating cockamamie idea in the first place. If anyone is getting a good deal, it’s you because I’m going along with this deranged plan. Therefore”—she points at herself—“hero.”
“Why can’t we both be heroes?”
That makes her straight-up guffaw. “Have you ever heard of a storyline with two heroes?”
“ Miracle .”
“Huh?” she asks.
“The movie Miracle . It’s about the 1980 Olympic hockey team. All those guys are heroes in my book.”
“Never seen it.”
“What?” I ask. “You can’t be serious.”
“Look at my face.” She points at her serious expression. “I am.”
Groaning, I drag my hand over my face. “Fuck, that’s annoying.”
“I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen movies I like.”
“Name one,” I challenge her.
“Okay . . . Pride and Prejudice .”
“With Keira Knightley? Seen it.”
“Okay, what about Two Weeks Notice ?”
“I’ve seen every Hugh Grant movie ever made.”
“ Pretty Woman .”
“Big mistake . . . huge,” I say, quoting the movie.
“Oh yeah, how about . . . Sixteen Candles ?”
“There’s something about Jake Ryan that makes you weak in the knees, isn’t there?”
“Ugh, of course you’ve seen that. You’re old. I need something recent.” She taps her chin. “What about Bridgerton ?”
“I got a boner during one of the sex scenes. Chills when their fingers touched in front of the art.”
She grumbles, “God, you’re annoying.”
“What you’re failing to remember is that I was in a committed, long-term relationship ever since I was in high school. I’ve seen everything she wanted to watch and then some.”
“Fine, so you’re well-polished in romance. Still doesn’t mean we can both be heroes.”
“How about no one is a hero, and I saw you in a bar and hit on you, simple as that.”
She taps her chin in thought. “It has merit. I think we could make it work.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
* * *
“So what brought us together?” Ollie asks as she blots her pizza with a napkin.
I gave her a quick tour of the apartment, saving the gym for last because I knew she would love it, and she did. She was in total awe and could not wait to work out in the space without being bothered.
She was testing out some of the weights when the food arrived, so we retreated to the dining room to eat.
“What do you mean? We saw each other in the bar. That’s what we agreed upon. We’re not coming up with something else,” I say.
“No, I mean, initial attraction clearly is what got us talking, but how did we hang on to the conversation? Obviously, I know nothing about hockey, so it’s not like we can bond over that. And I doubt you’re a lifestyle guru.”
“Are you?” I ask.
“Maybe not the guru status yet, but I do know a thing or two about the proper way to use a bobby pin.”
I scratch the side of my jaw. “Yeah, I don’t know much about that.”
“But you do know how to create a kick-ass home gym, and that’s hot.”
“So I have one thing going for me.” I take a bite of my salad. “Where are you from?”
“Portland, Oregon. What about you?”
“Minnesota.”
She chuckles. “Not the same thing.”
“Not so much.”
“Do you have any siblings?” she asks.
“I have a sister,” I say. “But we’re not super close.”
“Yeah, I don’t have any siblings.”
“What about childhood? What did you like to do?” I ask, fishing for any commonality now.
“Take pictures of moss. Collect stickers. Pretend that the sticks I found were a wand, and I was Hermione Granger.”
I pause and glance at her. “You’re a Potter head?”
She grips the edge of the table. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, please tell me that you’re a Potter head as well.”
“Eh, not so much.”
She groans. “Ughhh, really?”
“No, I actually am.”
“Stop, are you?” she asks.
“Yes, and I read some of the books when they were first released. That’s how old I am compared to you. I have some first editions.”
“You’re a liar,” she yells, excitement bustling in her eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes, they’re my prized possessions. Have you been to Harry Potter World?”
“No,” she bemoans. “But when I graduate, I plan on going. I’m assuming since you’re rich and can do whatever you want when you’re not playing, you’ve been?”
“I have.”
“Is the butter beer everything I think it would be?”
“And then some,” I answer. “Harry Potter World is probably one of the best things that has ever happened to fandom. It feels so real.”
“Urrghh, I’m so jealous. Did you get sorted into a house?”
“Yeah, Gryffindor.”
“Of course. You seem like an overachiever. I know I’m Hufflepuff through and through, and I’m damn proud of it.”
“Do you ever feel bad for people who get Ravenclaw?” I ask. “No one ever talks about it. Gryffindor is clearly superior, Slytherin has its own merit because it’s evil, and then Hufflepuff is for all the fun-loving people. What about Ravenclaw?”
“You know, now that you mentioned it, I don’t think I ever hear anyone claim they’re from Ravenclaw. That’s sad.”
“It is.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I think we figured out what we bonded over.”
I scratch the back of my head. “Yeah, the guys will love that. Harry Potter. They always make fun of me for being such a Potter head.”
“Aw, poor baby. The boys are picking on you.”
“It’s rare,” I say. “I’m usually the one being a dick.”
“Is that so?” she asks. “From what I’ve seen, you seem quite sensitive.”
“I’m not sensitive,” I defend. “That would be Posey or Holmes. I’m anything but sensitive.”
“Okay, keep telling yourself that.”
“Why the hell do you think I’m sensitive?”
She holds up her finger. “First of all, it’s not a bad thing to be sensitive.
No need to shed some toxic masculinity between us, thanks.
Second of all, you are sensitive. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.
If you were truly the dick you claim to be, you wouldn’t care about Sarah being around the arena or what the guys think.
Maybe your problem is you don’t like to be vulnerable.
Therefore, you attempt to hide it by being a dick. ”
Jesus.