23. Grant
TWENTY-THREE
GRANT
MARCH, FIVE SEASONS AGO
“Denver is going to be fun,” I say when I sit next to Ethan on the team plane. He looks at me with a scowl. “Whoa. Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
“We’ve been away from home for nine days. Every hot dog I’ve had has been average at best, and there’s been no chance to do any livestreams because the hotels we’re staying in are too small.” He sighs and drops his head against the seat. “I’m struggling, man.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not being dramatic.”
“You’re chipper this morning.”
“Because it’s a good day,” I say.
“Why is it a good day?” he tosses back.
“What’s with the interrogation? It’s a good day because I’m awake and with y’all, obviously.” I roll my eyes. “Do I need more of a reason than that?”
“You’re hiding something.” Ethan lifts an eyebrow and gasps. “Wait a minute. Are you meeting up with someone in Denver? You are, aren’t you?”
“Who is Grant meeting up with?” Maverick asks around a yawn. “And why don’t I know about it?”
“While I appreciate the interest in my personal life, why are you badgering me when you could be questioning Liam about why he’s so goddamn smiley all the time?” I challenge. “It’s freaking me out.”
“Piper,” is all our goalie mumbles from two rows behind me.
“You all are exhausting.” I wave them off and pull out my phone, scrolling through my texts. “Go to sleep and stop bothering me.”
Maverick reaches over the seat and flicks my ear. Ethan sticks out his tongue and folds his arms over his chest, his snores starting thirty seconds later. I relax, glad to have them off my case, and type out a text to Amelia.
Me
On the plane to Denver. Can’t wait to kick your ass tomorrow.
She answers right away, and I swear it’s like I’m floating when I see her name on my screen.
AG
That’s funny, given our team has the better record.
Me
Still want to grab dinner later?
Totally fine if not.
I tap my foot, anxious for her reply and really fucking excited about the thought of spending tonight with her.
I’ve told myself this dinner isn’t a big deal, but it kind of is. Our hangouts have gone from accidental run-ins to intentionally planned meetups. We’re making a choice to show up at the same restaurant tonight, and being in public together toes a line I know she doesn’t want to cross.
There’s something exhilarating about it though. In the risk of being seen with her, in knowing she’s saying yes when she should be saying no. The same adrenaline that pulses through my blood whenever I take the ice starts to run through me now. I’m goddamn giddy when she texts me again.
AG
I’ll see you at seven.
I pump my fist in the air, glad my teammates have fallen asleep so they can’t see my excitement. Every day I get to spend with her is the best day ever, but I go with a touch of subtlety with my response.
Me
Can’t wait.
After a grueling practice that lasted until Connor puked and Ethan burst into tears, I have to keep my chin in my hand to stop myself from falling asleep at the restaurant later that night. I rub my eyes and study the menu, stifling a yawn and hoping I get a second wind.
A draft of cool air sneaks through the front door and wakes me up. I lift my chin and nearly fall out of my chair when I spot Amelia walking toward me.
In all the years that I’ve known her, I’ve never reduced her to her physical features, but, fuck.
Tonight I am.
Her navy-blue workout pants highlight curves made of carefully crafted muscles. I have to remind myself to breathe as she approaches the table. Her figure shows off how hard she trains to stay in shape, even today. I blush when my eyes travel to her hips.
Should I stand up? I’m not sure that’s possible right now, given the reaction I’m having to her form-fitting clothing, and I do mental math to get the idea of her out of my head.
Do I hug her? Friends hug. That wouldn’t be the weirdest way to greet her.
I could do the professional thing and shake her hand like we’re on the ice.
God fucking help me.
“Hey.” Amelia slides into the chair across from me. My palms are sweating, and I’m grateful I asked for a table in the corner for some privacy. “Glad you made it to Denver. Where did you fly in from?”
“Seattle. I had to suffer next to Ethan who snores like there’s no tomorrow, so sleep was minimal.”
“Did you ever buy those noise-canceling headphones after you got kicked out of your hotel room in favor of extracurricular activities?”
“What an extremely diplomatic way to say my teammate was hooking up with someone.” I laugh. “I did buy headphones, but they died in Phoenix. The charging cable I left in my kitchen is doing me a lot of good right now.”
“I hate when I forget things I need for a long road trip.” Her foot bumps mine when she tucks her legs under the table. “I could’ve brought you my headphones.”
“I’ll survive. Who doesn’t love sitting with their thoughts on a long plane ride?” I notice her flushed cheeks, and I push a water glass her way. “How was yoga?”
“Centering. I skate with the guys at practice, but I like more controlled workouts too.” Amelia reaches for the glass with a smile of appreciation and takes a long sip.
It’s a good thing I don’t go into cardiac arrest when her jacket slips off her shoulder and reveals fair skin and a thin strap of fabric. “How was practice?”
“Brutal, so you can’t judge me when we get up to leave. My ass is sore in places I didn’t know it could be sore.”
“Brody didn’t give you a rest day?” Her chuckle is light. “I’m shocked.”
“Are you two close?” I ask. A flicker of jealousy sits behind the question.
I’d get it if they were. He’s older and a decorated former NHL superstar. I’m sure there’s some appeal there.
“We’re friendly in the sense that we’re in the same circles, but we’re not friends.”
“Probably for the best.” I let out a relieved breath. “I don’t know if that man has ever had fun.”
“At least he’s good at his job. And speaking of jobs, I saw some highlights from your game against Los Angeles last week. You played well,” she says, and the compliment makes me grin.
“I could always use an ego boost, but do we have to talk about hockey? We both know it takes up the majority of our lives. We both know the Stars are going to win tomorrow because we’re on the hunt for the Cup.
” I scoot forward in my chair, fueled by her amused scoff at my statement. “Tell me a deep, dark secret instead.”
“Do you want to know a secret, Grant?” she asks, a scrape to her voice I swear is hotter than sin.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I do.”
“I’ve been looking forward to our matchup tomorrow for weeks.”
“Because you wanted to see me, right? Am I always on your mind, Amelia?”
It’s harmless flirting. Something I say in jest, but I notice the way her cheeks turn pinker. How she takes another sip of water and averts her gaze.
Does she think about me the way I think about her?
“No.” The word is a breathy exhale. “Because I can’t wait to kick your ass. That’s all.”
The server brings over a basket of bread and breaks up the conversation. Amelia takes a slice and sets it on her small plate before reaching for the butter.
Carb lover. My fingers itch for the notebook in my pocket.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” she says, changing topics.
“I probably deserve it. What did I do?”
“The night you were in Vegas, I told you about my sisters, but you’ve barely mentioned yours.”
“Hannah,” I say. “She’s younger than me by about eighteen months and a world champion figure skater.”
“Are you two close?” Amelia asks.
“I’d say we are. We don’t tell each other everything, but if she said she needed help hiding a body, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”
“Casual murder reference. I like it. What would you use to dig the hole?”
“I want to say a shovel, but that might be too obvious of an answer.” I take my own piece of bread and douse it in olive oil. “Have any better suggestions for me?”
“No. Can’t say I’ve contemplated any body-burying techniques. Maybe listen to a true crime podcast.”
“I’m not a podcast fan. I get bored.”
“Really? I love them. I put them on when I’m doing things around the house,” she says. “Helps pass the time while I fold laundry.”
Podcast fan.
“Why is laundry the worst chore?” I groan. “I’ll wash dishes all day, but laundry is the bane of my existence.”
“You don’t send your laundry out? You have the money to pay people to do things for you.” Amelia mirrors my pose, her elbow on the table, chin cradled in her hand. “Seems like having free time would make it worth it.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that.” The tips of my ears burn.
“Not yet, at least. With cap space, I’m making less than a million a year while some of my teammates’ contracts give them a fourteen mil average annual value.
Sure, I can afford it, but I don’t want to get too comfortable.
Sending out my laundry teeters toward that big spender tag, and that’s not me. ”
“Sorry. Money is an awkward conversation.” Amelia winces. “I didn’t mean for you to have to tell me how much you make.”
“It’s online and out there for anyone to see.
I didn’t head to the league for the monetary benefits.
While nice, the other stuff is more important to me, like playing a sport I love with the guys who’ve become my brothers.
” It’s my turn to wince, and I drop my head back.
“Dammit. We’re talking about hockey again. ”
“It’s my fault for bringing it up! I’m appreciating your humble response while also switching the topic to something else.” She drums her fingers on the table. “Tell me, Grant. What kind of IRAs do you suggest I put my money in?”
I burst out laughing, trying hard to regain composure when we place our orders. I fail miserably when Amelia starts to giggle and butchers the word asparagus so badly, I keel over and press my fingers into my side to stop a cramp from forming.
“Aspragee?” I wheeze. “Is that a new vegetable?”
“This is all your fault.” She fans her face, a tear running down her cheek that she wipes away with her thumb. “You’re making me forget how to speak.”
“Like I’m apologizing for that.” I lift my chin in the direction of a couple at the bar. “Hey. Looks like someone else is experiencing a bad date here.”
Amelia turns to glance over her shoulder, and her mouth pops open. “Oh my god,” she hisses. “That’s the same guy I had my bad date with.”
“You’re joking.” I stare, taking in the flip flops, khaki shorts, and T-shirt that says F(emale) B(ody) I(nspector). “Please tell me it was a bet. The guy is wearing sandals when there is snow on the ground.”
“In my defense, his online profile had nothing about his disdain for women on it. I’m not a mental health professional, but I’m willing to bet he has severe mommy issues.”
“And garbage fashion sense. I gagged reading that shirt.” I thank the server who brings our plates over and reach for the grated parmesan cheese in the center of the table. “You need to up your standards, Green.”
“I don’t have any standards. Pretty sure that date was one of the last I went on, and I have no plans to re-enter the cesspool that is dating.” She stabs her pasta and takes a bite. “I’m perfectly content alone.”
“After the dinner you had with that leech, I’d be happy being Ms. Independent too.
But for the record, if and when you decide to date again, I hope you don’t settle for someone who wants to tear down your career.
You need a guy who will wear your jersey to the arena and boast about how happy he is being Mr. Green. ”
“I’ve never had a guy wear my jersey. My college boyfriend thought I should be wearing his name on my back, not the other way around.
No one else has been in the picture long enough to have that conversation.
” She pauses to take another bite, chewing while the wheels turn in her head.
“I’d like to be recognized like that. To be shown off. ”
My molars ache from how hard I’m grinding my teeth so I don’t say something that will get me in trouble. If I were allowed, I’d wear her jersey every day. I’d cycle through a dozen different ones, jumping at the chance to talk about her legacy.
Instead of telling her all of this, I keep my mouth shut. I offer her a smile, resigned to the fact that idea will only ever be a fantasy, not reality.
“You deserve it.” My voice nearly splinters in two. I wish I was the one who could give it to you. “But if all else fails, at least you’ll have key lime pie.”
“I will have key lime pie.” She does a shimmy in her seat, some happy dance that’s too damn cute. “Who needs anything else?”
We go back and forth while we eat, talking about broken bones (six for her, three for me) and the best flavor of Gatorade.
“Glacier Freeze is superior,” Amelia claims.
“Orange is the only way to go, and I can’t believe you’d have such a horrible opinion.”
She doesn’t make fun of me when I ask for extra ranch, and when she orders a slice of key lime pie, I laugh at the whipped cream she gets on her nose.
“You really are a messy eater, Amelia.”
“I don’t care. It’s the only way to do it,” she says, licking her fork clean.
The check comes, and we reach for it at the same time. My fingers touch the back of her hand in an attempt to grab it from her, and she shakes her head.
“I was the one who invited myself. Let me pay.” Her gaze meets mine, defiant determination behind bright blue eyes. “Please?”
“That’s not how this works.” I manage to snatch the bill from her while she’s busy reaching in her purse. “You can get it next time.”
“You also paid for my sandwiches in DC! My IOU is growing by the day.”
“We’ll figure it out.” I count the cash in my wallet, setting it on top of the receipt with a thirty percent tip. “And if not, I’ll have to take it out on you on the ice.”
“That sounds like a threat, Everett.”
“Maybe it is, Green.”
She stands, and I do too. I give her a wide berth when I come around the table and plenty of space on our way to the door. Out on the sidewalk, we face each other. The smile she’s throwing my way is beautiful and bright, and I really fucking missed her.
“Thank you for dinner.” She rocks back on her heels. “It’s always good to see you.”
“Thanks for joining me.” I hold up my hand, going with a high five instead of a hug. A hug would mean feeling her body pressed against mine. It would mean dreaming about her soft skin for a month. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You will.” Amelia’s palm connects with mine. Her hand is smaller, more delicate. “Don’t score a goal on us this time.”
“No promises. Let me know when you get home safe?”
“I’ll text you.” A breeze ripples through the air, and she brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Have a good night, Grant.”
There’s a message waiting for me by the time I make it to the hotel, and I heave a sigh of relief knowing she’s safe.
AG
Back home.
RE: body burying tools. My pick would be an excavator. Not suspicious at all.
I climb in bed wearing the dopiest grin. I’ve never been in love, but it can’t feel much different from this.