Chapter 1
ONE
I see it in her expression the exact second she loses interest in me.
Her eyes dart around the room as she takes a sip from her cup like she’s either searching for someone to save her or making an exit plan. I might be doing the same if we weren’t currently sitting in my living room.
To be fair to her, she’s been trying to engage me in conversation for fifteen minutes, and I haven’t managed much more than a few words in response.
“So you’re a hockey player?” She knows I am, but she still phrases it like a question. She’s working her ass off to make this less awkward, and it only makes me stress more.
“Yeah.” I dip my head in a nod and resist running my sweaty palms over my thighs.
“That’s cool,” she says, sounding like she means it. “I grew up in Seattle. Both my brothers played.”
It’s an opening. One of many she’s given me. I know what I should do.
Ask her more about her family.
Tell her I like her shoes.
Talk about hockey.
Talk about anything.
Instead, all I manage is to offer her a wobbly smile. My throat is tight, and my pulse is pounding loudly in my ears. A dozen scenarios run through my mind. All of them end with my voice cracking and her laughing at me.
Then I’m transported back in time, standing in the lunchroom and asking Kara Barton to the seventh-grade dance. Her dark brown hair is long and shiny and she’s wearing a white-and-blue headband that perfectly matches her cheerleading uniform. She’s the most popular girl in school.
We have Spanish class together fifth period. I’ve been helping her conjugate verbs and sound out words all semester. Usually, she’s friendly and smiley when we talk, but right now, she looks at me like we’ve never spoken before.
I fumble through the question and then silence falls over the table.
Her friends openly gawk at me. I’m the shortest guy in our class and still carrying baby weight—or at least that’s what my mom calls it.
Not to mention sporting a mouthful of braces that haven’t yet fixed my overbite and acne that seems immune to every face wash and prescription I’ve tried.
Before Kara can answer, her friends start laughing. Mean, loud cackles that make my face flush and my legs shaky. Still, I wait for her response.
When it comes, it guts me. Mostly because I’m not prepared for it. Sure, I knew she might say no, but it never occurred to me that she’d be mean. I thought we were friends.
Kara looks me straight in the eyes and snarls, “Gross. Get lost, volcano face.”
Her friends erupt even louder now, and a few try out the nickname.
“Yeah, volcano face. Get lost.”
“Oh my god, volcano face. It’s perfect.”
The nickname stuck all through middle school.
I’m not thirteen anymore. My face is clear. My teeth are fixed. I leaned out and grew well above average height. No one would recognize me.
It’s irrational to keep reliving that experience, but every time I get in a conversation with a woman, and it stalls out . . . I can’t seem to stop myself from going back there.
I blink out of the memories, and that’s when I see it. All hope dims from the expression of the woman next to me. Christina is a friend of a friend. Another setup. Another failure.
She’s fully given up. I can’t blame her.
The pang of disappointment is a close second to the anticipation I feel, desperately hoping this situation ends sooner rather than later.
Talking to women shouldn’t be this painful.
I do my own quick survey of the party. Christina and I are sitting in the living room with two other couples, neither of which is having as much trouble communicating as we are.
My roommate, D-Low, and his girl, Erin, are using fewer words, but their mouths are fused together in a way that seems to effectively say they’re both into each other.
On our other side, Travis and his wife, Hannah, are simultaneously talking and pretending like they aren’t eavesdropping. By the pitying look Hannah is sending my way, I’d say she’s figured out this setup was a failure too.
“I’m going to grab another drink,” I say to Christina. It’s the most words I’ve managed to string together since Hannah introduced us. “Do you want anything?”
A flicker of excitement lights up her face. She either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care that I’m holding a full beer. “No, I’m good. Thanks. I’m going to . . .”
Her sentence trails off, but she stands, so obviously happy to have an excuse to do so that I feel bad for keeping her occupied for this long.
I knew within thirty seconds it wasn’t going to work out.
If I were a different kind of person, I would have joked about it, maybe asked her if she’s tired of her friends surprising her with people she “just has to meet” too.
Instead, I sat there and painstakingly (probably even more so than on her part) attempted to make small talk.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, I linger in the living room. Travis and Hannah scoot over from the opposite side of the couch immediately.
“Well?” Trav asks hopefully. His dark brown eyes are wide with optimism.
“Was her running away as fast as she could not indication enough that we aren’t a match?” I ask, then take a long drink of my beer.
“She could be mingling or grabbing a drink. Maybe she doesn’t want to come on too strong,” Trav says.
I can tell he really believes that, which only makes me feel worse.
When I look up and find Christina again, she’s standing in the dining room, just inside the balcony, talking to Penn.
In general, he isn’t that much more talkative than I am, but he doesn’t struggle to speak to women—he just doesn’t usually seem that interested in dating.
Even now, I can tell by his body language that he isn’t really enjoying himself that much.
But after talking to me, he probably seems like a way more attentive, charming guy to Christina.
“Maybe Penn can show her a better time.” I wave a hand dismissively in that direction. “Sorry.”
I do feel bad that Hannah brought her friend here for me, and I couldn’t manage to carry a conversation. I like Hannah. She and Trav have been together since last fall. And from the day I met her, she’s been trying to play wing woman. You’d think she’d learn by now. I’m hopeless.
“I should have hung around longer to keep the conversation flowing,” Hannah insists. “You two have a lot in common. Christina is sweet and funny. She’s gorgeous. An athlete, like you. You should see her vault. It’s a thing of beauty. She’s even brunette.”
A laugh slips free. I love my friends, truly.
Their commitment to finding me a date is top-notch.
And the women they’ve introduced me to are great.
Christina included. She’s a gymnast, like Hannah.
Petite but muscular with short, straight dark hair with bangs, and a friendly smile.
She’s from Washington state, like me, and we’re both professional athletes, so we should have had at least a starting place for a decent conversation.
I can see why Hannah thought we’d click.
The problem is . . . well, uh, me.
“Don’t sweat it, Hannah,” I say. “Honestly, I’m in a weird mood. That’s probably as well as it could have gone.”
“Is everything okay?” Trav asks, brows tugging together in concern. He’s a fix-it guy. If someone is having a bad day or has a problem, he wants to make it better. I wish he could.
“Yeah.” I wave him off. “I’m fine. Restless. Bored.”
“Bored?” Hannah asks. A smile tips up the corners of her mouth. “Already?”
It’s only been a month since the end of the season. I spent three weeks visiting my family and mourning the loss, then came back here to Moonshot to hang with my friends since they understand what I’m feeling better than anyone.
We made it all the way to the conference finals before losing to Houston in game seven.
It hurt to get that close. I could almost feel the Stanley Cup in my hands.
The only positive is that Houston got their asses handed to them in the Cup finals.
They didn’t win a single game. No one has been swept in almost two decades.
Take that, Aven. I rub my chin where the bruise is only now mostly faded.
What a fucking prick. I can’t wait to meet him on the ice next season.
“A little,” I admit. “Maybe I should have spent more time visiting my parents.”
If I’m honest though, it isn’t only the loss or the boredom of the off-season that has me feeling off-kilter.
Things are changing. Two of my friends have settled down.
Travis and Hannah got married, then Ruby and Nick, and D-Low’s been dating Erin for a few weeks (which for him is basically an eternity).
The days of us all being single and hanging out are fewer and farther between.
Which has given me a lot of time to think about my life and what I want outside of hockey.
Because contrary to what I believed while working my way to the pros, it isn’t enough.
I need more. The goals are sweeter when you have people to share them with.
Or at least that’s how it looks as I watch my friends find partners.
“Maybe we should try a re-do. What if I stay and guide you through the conversation?” Hannah suggests.
It takes me a few seconds to realize she’s talking about Christina.
I’ve already written off that possibility.
Should it really be that difficult? And would that even fix the problem?
Sure, it might get me her number or a next date, but then what?
“Thank you. Seriously. Your friend is awesome, and I have no doubt someone else will show her a good time tonight, but I don’t think it’s going to be me.”
Hannah’s hopeful smile wobbles and falls like maybe she already knew that, but hearing me solidifies it. “Okay. But for the record, you’re awesome too.”
I huff a small laugh. “Thanks.”
“We should go out on the lake sometime this week,” Travis suggests. He’s still trying to fix things.
I nod absently. A little sunshine and a cold beer in hand does sound pretty good. I’m about to ask him about his schedule this week when I spot Penn walking our way. He takes a seat next to me in the same spot where Christina was sitting a few minutes ago.
“What’s up?” he asks, sinking back into the couch.
“Not much,” I say before Hannah or Travis can tell him about my failure with Christina. If he is interested, I don’t want him to hold back because he feels sorry for me. “Trav and I were talking about a lake day. You in?”
“Sure, but not this coming week. We have that high school hockey camp at Moonshot High,” Penn reminds me.
“Right.” Our assistant coach asked us about volunteering at a local hockey camp before the season ended.
It’s part of the reason I came back to town so quickly.
That and a single’s beach vacation is basically my worst nightmare.
I’d end up spending the entire time in my hotel room or something equally as tragic.
“That’ll be fun,” Trav says. “I heard they have a good varsity team.”
I nod. I heard the same thing. A few of our teammates have kids in the district, so it comes up from time to time.
A little of that restlessness dissipates. Maybe hockey isn’t enough, but for now it’s something to focus on.