Chapter Six
Honor
He stares at me for what feels like forever, and I quickly regret my decision to ask him for help.
What was I thinking? I go from having the warm and tingly sensation around him on day one, to embarrassment the next when he doesn’t recognize me, and then irritation over the attraction I very much still feel regardless of those other factors.
It seemed like asking for help was a good idea twenty seconds ago. Is it possible for somebody’s hotness to strike a person stupid? I could be a case study, because I’m definitely not processing things thoroughly.
But Bodhi is the only one that I know here outside of my father, and asking my dad for help wouldn’t instill a lot of confidence in me for taking this job.
I blame Max and his love for hockey and my parents for their ugly divorce for the distance I put between me and the sport.
If they’d stayed together, maybe I’d know how many quarters are in a game.
Wait, is it quarters or periods? I’m going to need to make a list of important questions to ask if he agrees.
I almost forget that Bodhi is standing in front of me until I register the amused smile that crinkles the corners of his lips as I start thinking of all the things I don’t know about hockey.
Damn. I forgot he had a dimple. Only one, on the right side of his mouth.
How could I forget? I’d stared at that mouth for longer than I should have at the bar.
It’s a nice mouth. The bottom lip is fuller than the top and—
God, I’m pathetic.
The warm and tingly sensation is back, but I refuse to acknowledge it as Bodhi studies me. Planting my feet on the ground, I force myself to stand straight make eye contact with him without squirming.
I’m not going to give away that his attractiveness makes my skin buzz or my heart do that weird thump, thump, thump thing in my chest like it’s at a techno rave.
Nope. I’m sure he gets that a lot from women.
Maybe even men. What he probably doesn’t get often is awkward women bombarding him in the hallway of the MSG Center asking for help figuring out how the hell ice hockey works.
Because, seriously, I have no clue. There’s a puck and a goal and men on ice skates in matching jerseys that skate around to earn points.
Beyond that, I’m clueless. How many points is a goal? How does the scoring system work?
“I’m not well versed on the sport,” I explain, hoping he won’t judge me too hard or be offended. “I mean, I know the bare basics, but that’s about it. I could probably Google everything, but God only knows if Wikipedia is right about half of it and—”
“I’ll help you,” he answers, cutting me off with an even bigger smile than before. There’s something in it that makes his eyes glimmer, and my stomach flips and flutters.
I stop rambling to stare at him. Why am I surprised that he agreed? Wasn’t the whole point of me asking to assume he’d say yes? “Oh. Well…cool. Yeah, great.” I’m nodding like a moron now, unsure of how to react.
His lips waver upward, neutralizing into a friendly smile. But his blue eyes have a shimmer of mischief in them that makes him look oddly boyish for his six-foot-four stature. “What exactly is it that you need from me? Game breakdown? Different plays? Players numbers?”
Nibbling my bottom lip, I heft out a short sigh.
I really should have tried to do my own research before asking him, but he’s in the thick of it.
Who better to get the inside scoop from than somebody who lives and breathes the game?
“Is all of the above an option? I’d like to start with the players.
Who they are, their jersey numbers, and what position they play.
If I’m going to be taking everybody’s pictures, I need to know they are so I’m not taking photos of the wrong people. ”
He nods once. “Makes sense. When do you want to start?”
Again, I’m a little taken aback that he’s being so easy-going about this. He’s got a life outside of me. I’m sure that’s only intensified since the last time he’d drunkenly confided in a stranger who he thought was attractive.
“I’m supposed to start the job tomorrow. Although, it’s just doing paperwork and basic training, so—”
He claps his massive hands together once and gestures toward the door. “Great, let’s go. I’m starving.”
He starts walking away, expecting me to follow.
Which I do, after a solid ten seconds.
“Wait. Where are we going?”
“Out to eat,” he answers, with a silent “duh” tacked onto the end. “I skipped lunch and only had a protein shake. They don’t keep me full long, and your dad has been unforgiving in practice. I need to replenish some calories.”
He wants to go out to eat? Together? “What about your daughter?” I ask, hoping for an out.
I don’t get one. “She’s with her grandparents tonight. I’ll see her after the game.”
Bodhi opens the side door and holds it for me. I’m still hesitant, but I walk through and stop directly outside the building.
He turns to me, pulling out his phone. “Want me to send you the address to where I’m thinking? You can follow me there.”
Wetting my lips, I look down at Puck. “Uh, I don’t have a car.
” Or a license. It’s as embarrassing to admit now as it was when it first revoked for medical reasons.
Even though it’s not totally my fault, it feels like I’m admitting to drinking and driving or having some sort of arrest history. “But I can call an Uber or—”
“You’re kidding right?” he asks, two deep lines appearing between his brows. “We’re going to the same place. I’ll drive. Come on.”
Once again, he starts walking. Puck stands beside me but doesn’t start walking toward Bodhi because I’m rooted to the ground. “I don’t know. Maybe we should start tomorrow? It’s kind of late…”
Bodhi calls out, “It’s only eight o’clock. You better get used to long nights if you’re working for the team, Erikson.”
He just pulled out the last name like I’m one of his bros—just another player. It leaves a belly full of cement weighing me to the pavement.
“My name is Honor,” I inform him, finally walking over and stopping mere inches away and pinning him with an unimpressed look. “I’m not one of the guys on the team.”
Those beautiful blue eyes make a quick scan of my body from the top of my messy bun down to the pair of sandals I’m wearing. It’s quick, but I still feel the prickle of heat his gaze leaves in its path that has my toes curling inward.
“Trust me, Honor,” he replies, his voice a notch lower than before. It’s gravelly, but smooth. “I know you’re not.”
*
The restaurant he drives us to is even smaller than Mila’s Bistro, but the inside is cute, cozy, and private.
Based on the warm hug he gets from the short older man who barely comes up to his chest, followed by the peck on the cheek from the older woman who’s even shorter, it’s obvious he’s a frequent here.
“You brought a girlfriend!” the older woman says cheerfully, turning to me with a wide smile.
She has an accent I can’t quite place. It isn’t Italian, like Mila’s parents have a hint of when they talk passionately about something.
Mediterranean? It would be fitting for their beautiful olive skin that I wish I had instead of my fair tone that makes it easy to burn and hard to naturally tan.
Bodhi laughs lightly. “She’s a friend, Nina,” he corrects, gesturing me forward. “This is Honor. Honor, this is Nina, and her husband Elias. They own this place. They’re normally closed by now, but I asked if we could sneak in for something to eat before they left.”
My eyes widen. “You made them stay open?” I ask, feeling bad for the couple who have to be at least in their mid-sixties. “We could have gone somewhere else.”
It’s Elias who waves off my worry, bringing his hand out to take mine and cupping it between his two palms. “Nonsense, Honor. We take care of our own, and a friend of Bodhi is a friend of ours.”
His reassurance doesn’t make me feel any better, even when they sit us at a table off to the side that’s already set and pour water into our glasses.
“Your usual?” Nina asks Bodhi with a raised eyebrow.
Bodhi grins. “Of course. With extra—”
“Tzatziki sauce on the side,” she finishes for him, turning to me. “He loves our lamb gyros. Would you like the same thing? I can bring a menu over if you’d prefer looking at something else. We specialize in Greek cuisine.”
Greek. I knew it. “That sounds good to me.”
Truthfully, I’m not very hungry. Any appetite I may have had got squashed the second I closed myself into the tight quarters of Bodhi’s truck.
I shouldn’t have been shocked that he opted to drive a full size four-door pickup in the city.
The maroon vehicle somehow fits him—makes his broad shoulders and bulky frame seem that much bigger in the cab.
Bodhi sips his water. “So ask away,” he prompts, leaning back in his chair.
My first question has nothing to do with hockey. “How do you know Nina and Elias?”
He doesn’t seem to mind. “I wandered in here a few years ago when I was out and about. It’s a small place, so even when they’re open it’s easier to hear people talk versus at bigger restaurants. And everything they sell and serve is homemade. Can’t get better than that.”
That must mean he takes dates here. Jealousy, unwarranted and unwanted, tugs on my heart.
“What’s that face for?” he asks curiously, lowering his water down.
I don’t realize I’m making one until I’m called out for it. “Do you bring a lot of women here?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Instantly, I cringe.
Now his smile is hiked up another notch on his face, and it makes his eyes shine. “Would that make you jealous if I said yes?”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. Play it off, Honor. “No. I’m just curious.”