10. Aaron is going to have perfect babies with that girl.
10
"Aaron is going to have perfect babies with that girl."
Marissa Martin
I went to bed extra early last night and left for work before Aaron woke up. I’m not exactly eager to hear all about his “date,” even though I’m going to have to ask eventually.
Is it weird to both wish it went well and hope that it was a disaster? Half of me really wants him to be happy, and I know he’s always wanted a family. He’d be such a great dad. But the other half wants him to remain single for the rest of his life. I’m a lousy friend. And person.
As a result, I’ve already eaten three blueberry muffins this morning, and I hate myself for it.
Aaron’s large frame appears outside the coffee shop, and I take a deep breath, bracing for impact.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite barista,” he says, his deep brown eyes drinking me in. “How are you?”
“Hey, Hotshot.” I flash a big smile. “I’m great. How was your night? I didn’t hear you come in. I was out like a light.”
“Yeah, I was surprised you were already in bed when I came home. But it was fine. Angela is nice. We mostly talked hockey. Actually, we’re surprising her little brother with a VIP game experience tomorrow night. It ought to be fun.”
“That’s great,” I say, even though my throat is constricting. I knew this would happen. But I have no one to blame but myself. I gave Jenna and my dad this stupid idea, and now Aaron is going to have perfect babies with that girl.
Crap. There I go jumping to conclusions again.
He hands me his bright pink tumbler. “Still going on your date tonight too?”
I roll my eyes, although I didn ’t miss the “too” he added in there. “It’s not really a date. But yes. We’re meeting here at seven, so I won’t be coming home after work.”
“Okay,” he says, looking away. Clearing his throat, he takes a seat at the small table to sign some Raptors posters. Team members always do that when they stop by, and fans are always pleasantly surprised to land an autographed item.
“Here you go,” I say, placing the tumbler next to him on the table. I want to sit down and chat, but people start to trickle in, and he makes a quick exit, probably not wanting to be late for practice.
As I watch Aaron walk out the door, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always be just the person who fills his coffee cup and pretends not to care when he talks about someone else. Maybe it’s karma for eating three muffins before 10 a.m., or for failing to keep my feelings in check. But that’s all going to change tonight, because I’m going on a date of my own. Well, not really, but it’s a step in the right direction.
Aaron Miles
Why did Marissa have to run into Greg freaking Erikson? And what does “not really a date” mean? It’s either a date or it’s not. I hate that guy, and I hate myself for caring that she’s going to see him.
I couldn’t even talk to her this morning at the coffee shop. All I could think about, the only images flashing in my mind, were of Greg and Marissa on a date.
“Dude,” Adler calls, blowing a puff of air. “Are you dreaming or what?”
I glance up. We’re supposed to be stretching, but I guess I’m kind of just lying on the floor, weighed down by my thoughts.
“Sorry.”
“Gee. One date with a girl, and we’re losing you already,” he says, shaking his head. Hawthorne and Beaumont, who are right behind us, both chuckle. So does Patrick, our strength and conditioning coach.
We continue our off-ice practice session with speed drills and agility drills before finally getting on the ice.
Skates on, we kick off our practice by shooting the puck at Wally in the cage. I slalom between the cones, control the puck, shoot, and score. High-fiving Maxime, I skate back to the line.
We keep going at it for a while, then switch to half-ice breakouts and small area games. And let me tell you something—there’s nothing better to make you forget your problems than a good practice with your teammates. We face each other like our lives depend on it, and the final score leaves me pumped. A 7–2 win for Adler and me.
Practice may have taken my mind off Marissa, but the second I’m off the ice, she’s front and center again. I hate that she’s going on a date tonight with stupid Greg Erikson when she should be staying home with me.
“What’s up, bro? Look a little sour.”
“Huh?” I turn to Adler. “Just thinking. Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?” When it comes to taking my mind off my worries, Adler is always one of my first picks.
“I had plans, but say the word, and I’ll drop them for you.” He winks, and as always with him, it’s hard to tell if he’s serious.
“Game of NHL?” I ask, knowing his weakness for video games.
“You got it.” He bumps his fist on my shoulder. “But first, we grab some food.”