2. Charlie
charlie
. . .
I am so ready to interview Dax Rogers.
Never mind the fact that I know nothing about the guy or about hockey, but I’m certain that by the end of the week I’ll be an expert on both. Or at least sound like one.
I’m an author, so I’m used to making things up; it’s basically in my job description.
Except that this time I may have gotten myself a little in over my head.
I’m known to write stories featuring all kinds of heroes—CEOs, celebrities, first responders, even the guy next door—but I’ve never written about an athlete before.
That’s because I’m about as uncoordinated as a panda on ice skates.
If I get within a foot of a ball, bat, or racket, you can be sure something will get broken, or someone will get a black eye.
My younger brothers were my first poor, unsuspecting victims. By the time I got to middle school, my PE teachers excused me from any activity that required sports equipment.
The one thing I can do safely is walk, so long as there’s a wide, open space in front of me.
That’s why the idea of me writing a hockey romance makes as much sense as adding chocolate sauce to salad.
But athletes are the latest craze in contemporary romance, and what the readers want, the readers get!
I love my job and couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
Being able to create a fictional world with a pen, notebook, and my imagination is the best feeling in the world.
I just need to figure out how to insert hockey into it.
“Hey, Charlie, do you want your usual?” Nicole, the owner of Sweet ’N’ Smooth, calls out to me from behind the counter as I walk into the empty shop.
She looks to be about my grandmother’s age but has the energy of a teenager.
Her blue eyes sparkle as she says, “Or do you want to try the new flavor I came up with yesterday—chocolate kale?”
I wince, imagining the taste of my most favorite and least favorite flavors combined. “Oh, no, thank you. The poor chocolate! I can almost hear it crying out in agony.”
Nicole throws her head of silver hair back and laughs. “You’re hilarious! This is why you’re the romance author and I’m not! Okay, no chocolate kale for you. The usual, then?”
I glance at my watch. “I’m waiting for someone. He should be here any minute now. I’ll order when he gets here.”
“Did you say he?”
“Yes.” It’s hard to miss the excitement in Nicole’s voice.
Ever since my ex-boyfriend ran off to join the circus—he’s a mime, so at least his departure was a quiet one—so many folks around town have been trying to set me up.
I appreciate their support, but I only have the heart for fictional relationships right now.
Shaking my head, I pop Nicole’s bubble. “He’s just an acquaintance, so don’t go getting any ideas. ”
“That’s how it usually starts, my dear.” She gives me a wink before returning to her duties.
“Not this time,” I mutter under my breath. “Especially not with a sporty guy.”
I find a table to settle down at, a small, round one by the window so I can spot Dax as soon as he walks in.
Never mind the fact that I don’t know what he looks like, but I figure he’ll be athletic.
Opening my canvas bag that says Booktrovert in block print across the front, I take out a stack of colored notebooks and a matching pencil pouch.
I flip to a blank page and choose a blue pen.
In cursive, I write out the words Leading Man across the top, then add some pink and purple hearts around it.
With a black pen, I also draw a hockey stick, which ends up looking like an upside-down candy cane.
I jot down a note in the margin to remind myself to ask Dax to show me one in person.
I’m so grateful to my friend Vivi for this great opportunity.
I hadn’t even considered interviewing a real hockey player until she texted me saying her cousin could help me out.
I’d originally planned on picking Vivi’s brain since she’s on staff with the Bobcats, but this works out even better.
If I need to get inside the head of a hockey player, I can’t do better than shadowing one.
I’m ready to get up close and personal with?—
Ding!
The bell on the door jingles, announcing the arrival of the next customer.
Whoa. He’s got to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Jet-black hair, piercing green eyes, and the facial features of a Greek statue.
Chiseled cheekbones, a square jawline, and the most kissable-looking lips enter my line of sight, making my stomach dip in a delicious way.
He has all the makings of a leading character in the way he moves with the ease and confidence of a top dog… or a Bobcat?
Gulp.
This guy must be Dax. He has the same color eyes as Vivi, but that’s the only thing they have in common.
The rest of him is pure muscle, beautifully wrapped up in a T-shirt and jeans.
One glance at his broad shoulders and muscular arms is proof that he does more than hold a pencil for work.
And his smile—it’s like a ray of sunshine on this cloudy day.
I just want to bask in its warmth and let my insides turn into a puddle of goo?—
Whir!
The sound of a blender cuts into my daydreaming and drags me back to reality.
I kick and fight against the pull—in my head of course since flailing in public would be neither cute nor acceptable—but ultimately lose.
It’s better this way. This is really not the time to be drooling over my interview subject. Not when I have a book deal to save.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that my publisher has been on my case for months now. I have a bad case of writer’s block and an upcoming deadline to meet, a combination no author wants any part of. So, I rein in my emotions, wipe up my drool, and act like the professional I am—or should be.
Taking a deep breath, I get up and go over to the counter where Dax is looking at the menu.
Since the blender’s still roaring, I tap him on the shoulder and wait for him to turn around.
When he does, the grin he shoots my way nearly knocks me off my feet.
I grab ahold of his arm to steady myself, all the while smiling like a fool.
“Sorry! I lost my balance,” I say over the din in the shop. “Are you Dax?”
The blender stops right before he replies, “The one and only. Let me guess, you’re part of The Claw Crew?”
“Huh?” I don’t understand what he’s referring to, but then I see his gaze flick down to my hand.
My hand that’s still attached to his very developed bicep.
I quickly let go. “My bad! I didn’t mean to hold on to you for so long.
Good thing I just trimmed my claws,” I add as I show him my short, pink-painted nails.
He chuckles, and the rich, deep sound soothes an itch I didn't know I had. “You seem like a fun person to hang out with.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks warm at his compliment. “I’ve been known to be funnier in print than in person, so it’s nice to hear you say that, you know, since we’re in person.”
He nods. “Did you want to take a selfie together, or is there something else I can do for you?”
“I should be the one asking you that.” I gesture to the menu overhead. “What smoothie would you like? It’ll be my treat.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. I’m meeting someone.”
“I know.” I offer him my hand. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Vivi’s friend Charlie.”
His jaw drops. “No, you’re not.”
“Um, yes, I am.”
“But how? How can you be Charlie?”
“How?” My hand continues to go unnoticed, so I drop it to my side.
I thought I’d be the one asking the questions today, but apparently, the tables have turned.
“It’s a long story, but if you really want to know…
My mom and dad have always loved Snoopy, but they obviously couldn't name their kids that—can you imagine having to answer to Snoopy during roll call at school? They went with Charles instead, after Charles M. Schulz, the guy who created Snoopy.”
“Your name is Charles, then?”
“No, silly. They named me Charlotte, and my two younger brothers are Charles and Chas. But I’m the only one who goes by Charlie.”
“You really are Charlie.”
“I am.” I hesitate, noticing the concern in his furrowed brows. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes. I mean no.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, then gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s get started. The sooner we do, the sooner we can get this over with.”
He walks over to my table and plops down on a chair, leaving me standing in the middle of the shop wondering what exactly I did to offend the Bobcats’ star goalie.