19. Are all the hot hockey fans takensomething?
19
"Are all the hot hockey fans taken or something?"
Marissa Martin
I didn’t tell my dad or Aaron about the online dating app because, frankly, it’s a little embarrassing. And it’s definitely not my vibe. I haven’t received many messages, but the ones I have gotten pretty much mirror my night at the bar.
Tonight is Deacon’s birthday, and I’m happy to spend the night with my friends instead of a bunch of strangers. There’s nothing more co mforting than being out in a safe place with people you love.
The bar is closed to the public tonight—the Raptors privatized it—and the girls have decorated the space with various banners and balloons. I can’t wait to see Deacon’s face when he comes in, because he’s definitely not the guy to have a party with balloons spelling out his name for his birthday.
Almost everyone is here already, filling the bar and the backroom. Music is blasting through the speakers, and some of the guys are serving drinks. Deacon is officially off duty tonight. Well, he will be when he arrives. Alice wanted him to come in last so he could see the final product. And they had to drop off Lola, Deacon’s niece, at her friend’s house. Knowing Deacon, he spent half an hour drilling her with various safety rules and protocols.
Auston, Emma’s fiancé, just entered with his Irish bodyguard, Cillian. Who’s also incredibly hot, not to mention kind and funny. But for some reason, I’m not attracted to him in the least. We’ve talked a few times, and the conversation flowed, but there were no butterflies. Now that I see him again, I realize I should have paid more attention to that. Why wasn’t I attracted to this perfect guy? How could I ever resist that sexy Irish accent? Something is really wrong with me.
“Hey, Marissa,” he says—and nope, the way my name rumbles off his tongue does absolutely nothing to me.
“Hey, Cillian, Auston. How are you guys? Congrats on your big award win, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Auston flashes his million-dollar smile. Emma appears at his side, and he tugs her against him, breathing in her hair before kissing it. Such a simple but tender moment, and I crave it.
“The place looks great, right?” Emma says. “Deacon is going to hate it, but it’ll be fun.”
We all laugh. “Yeah, definitely.”
“Speaking of,” Cillian says, gesturing to the door.
Deacon is striding into the bar with Alice on his arm, and the look on his face is a mix of surprise, horror, and . . . joy, maybe? I might be reaching. But he’s not furious, so that’s something.
He even smiles as the guys shake his hand and rough him up like one of their own as he walks inside.
“I can’t believe you guys. And you ,” he says, turning to Alice, who’s beaming next to him. “I know this was all you.”
“Are you happy?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“As long as you’re here with me,” he whispers to her, but I’m close enough to hear it. Dang it, those two are the real deal. Every time I see them together, there’s a pull inside me, longing to have what they have. They’re so lucky that they found each other despite their rocky start.
The door slams open, and Beth hurries inside. She notices Deacon and looks around at the rest of us, and her shoulders fall. “Oh, no. I missed it. Happy birthday, Deacon!”
“No worries.” He smiles, giving her a swift hug. “The party’s barely started. Thanks for coming—all of you,” he says, looking around.
“Don’t think that counts as your speech, man,” Maxime calls out, and we all chuckle. Judging by the look on Deacon’s face, that’s totally what he was thinking, but he quickly recovers and gives Maxime a nod. Even if Maxime is usually the one getting teased since he’s the youngest, the dynamics are slightly different with Deacon—despite him being a lot older. Deacon is dating Maxime’s sister, after all.
The chatter ramps up, and I walk up to Beth, who’s taking her coat off.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I was on the phone with Lucas. I think we really worked it out this time. We established boundaries, and he understands he hurt me. Hopefully, we’re finally on the right track.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” I say, rubb ing her back. Is it weird that I feel a pang of jealousy right now? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Even if they have their problems, Beth and Lucas always seem to find their way back to each other. I, on the other end, have no one.
“How are you?” she asks.
My eyes are immediately drawn to Aaron who's working the bar. “Good. Still have this splitting headache,” I say, rummaging into my bag to find some Ibuprofen, but it's a mess in there. “Can't seem to get rid of it."
“Ice cold lemonades for you ladies,” Aaron says, handing us each a drink with a pink umbrella. “Adler's special recipe, surprisingly good.” He winks at me and I look away for a second.
“Noted,” I say with a chuckle, finally finding the box in my bag. I take the pill, praying I'll be able to enjoy tonight.
“So,” Beth begins when Aaron goes back behind the bar to finish his shift. “How’s the online dating going? Any new suitors?”
I arch an eyebrow. “I told you how it was going.”
“I know, but things change. Have you checked the app again lately?”
I take a sip of my drink. “Nope.”
She offers her hand, and I reluctantly drop my phone into her palm. She swipes her finger on the screen. “See? Three new messages. I knew it. Let ’s see.” She grimaces and keeps scrolling. “Okay, maybe not that one.”
I furrow my brow. “What did it say?”
She glances behind her, as if checking to make sure no one was peeking at the screen. “Nothing. It was a picture.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Oh, gosh.”
“This one sends major creepy vibes, but this next one looks cute. Kyle, twenty-eight. Lives in Manhattan, works in real estate, likes to read, plays tennis, and loves hockey.”
My heart quickens. “Wait, really?”
“Yep, and he already DMed you. It’s just ‘hello, how are you?’ But he’s off to a good start.”
Definitely. Especially compared to the other weird messages I’ve received. “Show me.”
She hands me my phone, and I look at the guy. He’s all right. Not exactly my type, but on paper we have things in common, so I take a sip of my drink and reply to his message.
“Yay!” Beth cheers, clapping her hands.
We keep chatting and sipping our lemonades, but an hour later, I’m slumped on the red couch in the back room. My head still hurts and I'm a bit dizzy. Probably because Kyle's answer was another slap in the face. He does, in fact, love hockey, and he was reaching out to ask if I could get him tickets to a Raptors game or a meetup with some of the players. I guess I shoul d have left out the fact that I’m the coach’s daughter from my profile. But I was hoping that would make it easier to find a guy with similar interests—and keep Sharks fans out of my DMs.
“I’m doomed, Beth,” I groan. She’s sitting next to me, a hand on my thigh, and I hate the look of pity on her face. Unfortunately, there’s no stopping the avalanche of words now pouring out of my mouth. “Why can’t I find someone nice, funny, and good-looking who loves hockey? Is that so much to ask? Are all the hot hockey fans taken or something?”
“You will,” she says, offering a small smile.
“No, I won’t.” I yawn. “Because that guy doesn’t exist. I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.” Aaron’s laugh drags my attention to where he’s standing a few feet away, chatting with Hawthorne and Beaumont.
That’s the problem. That guy does exist. He’s standing right in front of me, but he’ll never see me the same way.