Chapter 22
JAYDEN
Betty lets out a few yips at seeing Frank and jumps around so much, Stella can’t unfasten her leash. Finally, she gets it off and Betty barrels across the space toward Frank. They do their usual excited greeting.
Stella walks toward me, her steps more measured now as she coils the leash in her hands.
I smirk at her. “Running late?”
“Just a little.” She rolls her eyes. “I got stuck on a call at work.”
“Ah. Come sit down. You look… stressed.” I take her hand and lead her to the bench. Our bench.
“I’m okay. I could use a big glass of wine.”
“We could go get one after this.”
She tucks her hair behind one ear. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of cold for sitting outside though, so we might have to take our dogs home.”
“Hmm. We wouldn’t want them to be cold.”
“Or me. I hate cold.”
“You play hockey!”
I grin. “Okay, I don’t hate it. Although I work up quite a sweat while I’m playing.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I know.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”
“Not you specifically,” she backtracks. “Hockey players in general. I used to nearly vomit in the car with my brother after a game.”
“Didn’t he shower?”
“Of course he did. I mean, I’m not sure. It’s possible he didn’t. Teenage boys are gross.”
I laugh.
“But the equipment smelled bad enough!”
“I guess I’m used to it. But I know what you mean So. I had an idea.”
She wiggles her fingers in encouragement. Fuck, she’s cute.
“Next weekend, we have most of Friday and all day Saturday off. I was thinking maybe we could drive up to Whistler for the night on Friday.” I stroke hair off her shoulder. “We could have dinner there. Hike. Go to the spa. There’s this night walk in the forest that sounds cool.”
“Ohhhh.” Her gaze hangs on mine. “That sounds so nice.”
“Okay, good. I’ll make a reservation at a hotel—”
“But I can’t.”
Not this again. I try not to show my disappointment. “Oh.”
“It’s my brother’s wedding.”
“Oh.” At least she’s not doing a hot oil treatment on her hair or something.
“I’m sorry.” She bites her lip.
“We can do it another time.”
“So you don’t have a game that Saturday.”
“No.”
“Would you… like to come to the wedding? As my plus one.”
That gets my attention. “I fucking love weddings.”
A laugh escapes her. “You do? Don’t most men hate weddings?”
“I’ve heard that. And maybe it’ll be different at a wedding where I don’t know anyone, but when my teammates get married, it’s a good time. Open bar, free food, dancing.”
She cocks her head. “You like to dance?”
“Oh hell yeah. You should see my moves.”
She rolls her lips in. “Will I get to see them?”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll come to the wedding with you.”
That’s a big step, right? Meeting her family. Probably some friends. Maybe I should be more leery, but… I’m down bad for this woman. And maybe… she wants to take that step.
“Okay.” She smiles. “Good.”
“We’ll find another time that’ll work for Whistler.” Am I getting ahead of myself? Maybe. Again, I should probably be more… restrained. I don’t want to come across as desperate. I need to be cool. Casual.
“Sure.”
We chat while the dogs play but it’s dark and damp and I think Stella is shivering despite her warm jacket.
“What do you want to do? We could take both dogs to my place and leave them there. Or your place. Or we could meet at the restaurant.” We decided where to go as we talked, a casual barbecue and blues place.
She shifts her shoulders side to side. “Your place. It’s on the way.”
“Sounds good.”
We lead our dogs the short jaunt to my condo.
“Frank had dinner before we came, so he’s good,” I say as we drop them off. “Does Betty need food?”
“No, I fed her.”
“Okay, you two, behave.” I point at the dogs. “No shenanigans. We don’t want any unplanned pregnancies.”
“Betty’s spayed,” Stella whispers to me.
“Yeah, Frank is denutted.”
Stella chokes.
“It’s hip to snip,” I say.
She falls against the wall laughing. “Oh my God. Does that apply to men, too?”
I wince. “Uh, no. I mean. Not at this time. It could happen in the future.”
Back out on the street, I take Stella’s hand to walk up Richards a few blocks and turn at Robson. The trees have lost most of their leaves, branches now bare against the pale, overcast sky. At least the rain stopped.
We stop at the brick building with the neon sign saying, Blues Room and I open the door for Stella to enter.
Inside, it’s dark and the raw sound of harmonica, bass, and male vocals swell.
We take a minute to adjust our eyes. There’s a hostess stand just to the left so I move that way to request a table.
As we’re seated, the music changes to a slow, soulful rhythm. The live band is on a low stage at the far end of the room. We slip out of our jackets and both shift our chair so we can see the band. This is a good reason for me to sit closer to Stella.
She moves her shoulders to the rhythm. I’d rather watch her than the band. Don’t be a creep. Be cool.
A server brings us menus and takes our drink order. I indulge in one beer and Stella orders a glass of pinot noir. “The biggest you have,” she says.
The server grins. “You got it.”
Stella picks up her menu. “I’m starving.”
“That’s usually my line.”
“I didn’t have time for dinner,” she says a little sheepishly.
“Stella.”
She looks at me.
“You could have eaten.” I soften my tone.
One edge of her mouth lifts. “I was running late.”
“I would wait for you.” I pause, focused on her face. Saying that feels bigger than what I was responding to. I would wait for you, always. Forever. Jesus. What is happening to me?
Her eyes warm and her mouth softens. “Thank you.”
She orders a pulled pork meal which comes with cornbread, beans, and slaw.
“That sounds really good. But I did have dinner.”
“Quinoa and spinach?” she teases.
“No.” I pause. “Salmon and sweet potatoes.”
“Ah.”
“They’re both really good for you.”
“Did you make it yourself?”
“Yes. I like to cook.”
“Really? Huh. Maybe you should make me dinner one night.”
“What night?” I pull out my phone to check my schedule.
She laughs.
“Can’t do it tomorrow.” I scroll on my phone. “Thursday?”
She thinks. “Yes! I was supposed to be in New York, but we rescheduled.”
“Okay. We’re on. Dinner at my place.”
Our drinks arrive. She picks up her wine and takes a healthy sip.
“Any food allergies I should be aware of?”
“No. But I hate truffle oil.”
“Oh. Okay. Noted.” I’ve never in my life cooked with truffle oil. “Any other things you hate?”
“Not really. There are some things I like less… like raw celery. The strings make me gag. But if it’s in something and cooked, it’s fine.”
I try not to smile. “Got it.”
“What foods do you hate?”
“Olives.”
“What? Olives are delicious!”
“Olives are the Devil’s testicles.”
She snort-laughs, leaning against me.
“I have literally eaten real testicles,” I continue. “But I will not eat olives.”
“Real testicles! What? Oh my God.”
“Rocky mountain oysters,” I clarify. “Bull balls.”
She covers her mouth with one hand, eyes big. “I think we just found another food I won’t eat.”
“Why do testicles keep coming up in our conversation today?”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“We were talking about Frank’s earlier. Then mine. Now the Devil’s testicles and bull balls.”
I can see she’s battling a smile. “I don’t think we talked enough about yours.”
“Sure, let’s talk about the time I took a puck to the nuts.”
Her mouth falls open wide enough to drive a Zamboni in. “Oh no!”
“I’m okay,” I reassure her. “I was a little worried, though. It got me right under the can and I dropped like a sack of spuds. I have never experienced pain like that. I couldn’t even breathe. Had to crawl off the ice.”
Her face wears a look of horror.
“Our trainer told me I could have a ruptured testicle and I needed to go back and get checked out. That was fun.” I grimace. “Luckily, no rupture. But I missed a few games.” I pause. “With a “lower body injury”.”
She covers her mouth again. “Holy shit.”
I shrug. “Some things are just nuts.”
“Aaaaah! That’s so bad.”
“Life’s tough,” I add. “But my balls hang in there.”
She leans into me again, doubled over with laughter. “Those are terrible jokes.”
“But you’re laughing.” I smile and slip my arm around her shoulder.
“It must be the wine and no dinner.”
“Sure. That’s enough talk about testicles.”
Stella’s food is served then and we stop talking while she eats (and lets me steal her cornbread).
Later, at my place, Stella comes up to get Betty. Once inside the condo, she says, “You promised me something.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You said we would break the bed when you got home.” Her tone is flirty, her eyes seductive.
“Fuck. Yes, I did. Okay, get your pretty ass upstairs and into my bed.”