Chapter 7 #2
I tilt my head to my shoulder and with a smirk I say, “He really swept me off my feet.”
They both cock their heads back into a genuine cackle.
Hammer—who jokingly introduced himself as Jordy’s plus-one when we made our round of introductions—comes up from behind Brody
and wraps his arm around Brody’s shoulders. “Too bad your old man couldn’t make it tonight,” he says.
Brody slips out of his embrace. “He’s a busy guy, but you can catch him every day on SNN Recap.”
“I never miss an episode,” Hammer brags.
Brody looks over at me, and I quickly muster a warm smile. He turns to Hammer and says, “If you really want an Erik Parker
autograph, I’ll get you one. I’m sure I’ve got a signed puck somewhere in my storage locker.”
Hammer’s eyes go wide. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m hanging on to my worn hockey card until I can get it signed in person.
With all the upcoming Freeze team events, I’m sure he’ll be able to make it to something soon.”
Brody nods along pleasantly as Hammer recites an extensive list of team events and Erik’s possible participation. I stop listening
when Brody’s cheeks flush and he grips at his stomach as if the concoction of food he foraged has soured in his gut. Our names
are called before I can ask if he’s feeling unwell.
We’re up to play. I roll up my sleeves, ready to impress. It isn’t easy, and I’m rustier than I care to admit, but we win
in what I’m told is record time in the history of Freeze Catan tournament play—fifty-five minutes, despite Brody’s indirect
efforts to sabotage us at every turn. I think he had a bet going with the other team because I not only carried us entirely,
but I also worked overtime correcting his boneheaded moves. This guy has no strategic bone in his body, which is shocking
because he plays such a strategic game on the ice.
As Andy clears the board and sets up for the next game, Brody hoists me on his shoulders in celebration. Unlike Sean Astin in Rudy, I have never been told I’m too small for anything and worry he’s about to topple over with the both of us at any moment.
To my surprise, he’s steady on his feet as we make our way through the room, dishing out high fives.
“To the kitchen! Kicking ass makes me hungry!” he shouts, carrying me to the door.
I wiggle out of his grip and back on my own two feet before my head smacks into the doorframe. “You did so good back there,”
I lie—I’m really getting the hang of this fawning business.
“That’s very sweet of you to say, but I’m a pro athlete,” he says peering back over his broad shoulder at me as we descend
the long staircase. He flashes a cocky grin before skipping the last few steps to leap down like a child would in the school
halls when a teacher isn’t looking. “I can recognize success, but I’m also familiar with failure. You carried me through that
game like a dead body,” he adds.
“A dead body wouldn’t have made such boneheaded moves,” I say under my breath. I lean against the counter, watching him grab
another plate and stack it high with food. Would be a shame for him to wither away from not carbo-loading every two hours.
“The team seems as obsessed with your dad as they are with Catan.” I peek up at him, gauging his reaction.
He might as well be sculpted from marble the way he doesn’t move. “Don’t tell me you are too.”
“I’m too young to remember when he played, but I’m sure he’s a great guy,” I force myself to say.
Brody sharply exhales a puff of air out his nose. “Yeah,” he grumbles to himself before swallowing his bite and resetting his face. “Hey, what was that thing you did with your hands up there?” He fans his big hands out in front of his face and blows on his fingertips like they’re birthday candles.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I know exactly what he’s talking about—he’s asking about Hot Hands. I must have done it after we won the game. It’s a family
inside joke. It was my dad’s thing and is now my habit.
Brody does it again, this time with more passion. Too cocky for my taste, but it’s undeniably Hot Hands.
I bow my head. “It’s stupid. A habit, really. Hot Hands. It’s nothing.”
“Hot Hands?” He chuckles.
“It’s a family thing.” I grit my teeth.
“Teach me,” he demands. He wipes the orange chip dust off his fingers using his baggy pant leg.
Giving Brody Parker a step-by-step tutorial of one of my most sacred memories of my father was not part of my plan tonight,
but I can’t shut him out now. Instead, I fan my hands out in front of my face, shimmying each finger individually, building
enough suspense, before blowing them out like they’re ablaze. Brody giggles and claps like an amused baby.
“That’s why I like you,” he says, serving himself a donut. He slides another across the kitchen island to me.
“You like me?” I slowly chew my donut while considering an appropriate reaction to his comment. Nothing comes to mind, so
I bat my eyelashes.
“I mean, I don’t know you that well, but I would like to continue getting to know you. You’re funny and smart and tall—and
winning that Catan game up there earned me locker room bragging rights.” He cracks open another pop.
“I’m not that tall, but um . . . thanks,” I say. “In the past, men have been intimidated by my ruthless Catan skills.”
“Real men aren’t intimidated by impressive women,” he says, dropping what’s left of his donut.
He turns to me and takes a step. At first, I rock back on my heels, but I force myself to step forward.
Staring at my lips, with a low voice he says, “So, are you going to let me take you out again? I’d love a real date.
You know, one without board games and an audience. ”
I hum. “Unfortunately, those are my favorite types of dates,” I say. I bite my lip, trying to rein in my widening smile, but
it’s no use. I love nothing more than victory and tonight I’ve tasted it twice. “But for you I’ll make an exception,” I add.