Chapter 21
NORA
“You know every single woman there tonight now wants him, right?” Sutton asks.
I look at her. “But…”
Dammit. Yeah. Alex was pretty great tonight. He’s good-looking, incredibly athletic, and then tonight he not only allowed himself to be goofy, he did it with this grumpy, put-upon air that made it even funnier.
And then he sang.
The guy shouldn’t be good at everything he does.
“What about Beckett?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone already thought Beckett was cute and funny. And they’ve seen him play before. Alex is new.”
“New does get more attention,” Andi agrees. “And Beckett is an attention whore. He’s a goofball. That’s not everyone’s type.”
It’s not her type. That’s what she means.
Though I think she protests too much. I’m just not brave enough to call her on her shit. Yet.
My friends are sitting at the coffee counter while I load a tray with plates for the hockey guys who’ve congregated around a table in the bar.
“He’s not always a goofball,” Sutton defends her brother. “He takes things seriously when he needs to.”
“But for him, hockey is about the videos and likes online,” Andi says, popping a fry into her mouth.
“Well…” Sutton can’t really argue that.
I know that Beckett wanting to be popular with hockey fans and make a name for himself as a good-time player to watch has to do with more than just being famous, but I can’t tell Beckett and Sutton’s story.
That’s up to them. Though I’m surprised Sutton hasn’t told Andi.
Maybe it’s because she wants Beckett to tell Andi if and when he wants her to know.
Beckett’s crush on Andi is obvious, and he makes no secret of it, but it is a little hard to know how serious he is about wanting to really get to know her.
He might just want to sleep with her. Or he might just want to flirt.
He may simply consider her a challenge since most other women tend to swoon for him pretty easily.
“Okay, what about Lawson?” I ask. “He’s hot and broody.”
Andi nods and looks at Sutton. “He sure is. Don’t you think, Sutton?”
Something in her tone makes me look at our younger friend, too. She’s blushing.
“Is something going on with you and—”
“No!” Sutton says quickly.
“But she’d like it to,” Andi says.
“What?” I ask.
“No,” Sutton repeats. “I do think he’s attractive. But he’s…”
“A total bad boy,” Andi says. “Probably a lot to handle. Very experienced. Very—”
“The one guy my brother can’t stand,” Sutton breaks in.
Andi frowns. “You can’t let Beckett get in the way if you like him.”
“I have no idea if I like him,” Sutton says, shaking her head. “I don’t really know him. He’s hot. That’s what I know.”
But she’s not making eye contact with us.
“Nothing has happened?” I press. Then a terrible thought occurs. “He hasn’t done or said anything that made you uncomfortable, has he?”
Now Sutton looks up quickly. “No. Definitely not.” She presses her lips together. “I feel totally safe around him,” she adds. “There’ve been a couple of times it’s just been the two of us before or after practice, and I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. There’s just…” She leans in.
So do Andi and I.
“Chemistry,” she says softly. “But, like Andi said, he’s got a vibe that tells me he’s way out of my league and—” She sighs. “The Beckett thing.” She sits back. “So, no, nothing has happened and nothing will.”
“That’s bullshit,” Andi says, biting another fry in half. “This shouldn’t be about your brother at all.”
Sutton opens her mouth, but Andi continues, “But—”
Sutton closes her mouth again.
“I don’t have a brother I’m super close to like you guys are, and I’m talking about sex, not love. If you’re thinking about something besides letting that tattooed, broody hockey player try to break your headboard, then don’t listen to me.”
Sutton reaches over and grabs two of Andi’s French fries. “Deal,” she says. “I won’t listen to you.”
I laugh. “Well, then everyone can just lust after Lawson and not Alex.”
Sutton doesn’t look thrilled about that idea, but she doesn’t say anything.
The door to the shop opens, and I look over, my heart tripping when Alex strides inside.
He clearly showered at the arena. His hair is slightly damp, and he’s got different clothes on.
There are numerous greetings called out as people notice him. He returns them absently as he looks around.
Then our eyes meet, and he seems to relax.
I give him a smile, and his lips curl up, though the smile looks a little tight. Or tired.
I point toward the bar, and he nods, heading for the table with his teammates rather than straight up to his apartment.
Everyone else in the place is boisterous and happy and talking about the scrimmage, and personally, I’m feeling great.
Opening the scrimmage up to the fans was a great call, and Astrid has already gushed to me about how much she loved it.
I’ve had numerous people approach me and tell me how they’re looking forward to the season now, and a local radio station in New Orleans wants to do an interview with me, Astrid, and whichever of the hockey players we can get.
I think it should probably be Beckett. But of course, the station dropped Alex’s name too.
No matter how enthusiastic and online Beckett is, Alex is our big star name.
I’m right behind him with the tray of food for the table.
Even though he readily came to the table with the rest of the players, he’s frowning and is clearly not in a sociable mood.
I should not find it funny that he’s grumpy about this scrimmage. But what can I say? I like pushing Alex out of his comfort zone. I have a feeling I know the real Alex and I like that. A lot.
When he’s reacting to unexpected circumstances, he’s honest and authentic.
He doesn’t have time to rehearse lines or put on a facade.
I’m not sure he does those things in Portland.
I don’t think he needs to do those things in Portland.
When he’s there, in that bubble, things go according to a plan he knows and understands, and it doesn’t require prepared lines or fake expressions, because nothing throws him off-kilter.
And even though I shouldn’t think about what we’re doing as a relationship, there’s a little voice at the back of my mind that wonders how well the other women he’s dated have known him.
When he’s in his perfectly arranged world where everything goes his way, does anyone ever see him unsure, or vulnerable, or anything other than fully in control? When he simply follows a carefully laid out plan, does he ever think about emotions other than satisfaction, pride, and cockiness?
The scrimmage was amazing. Everyone loved it. He was fantastic.
But he’s going to complain about it. Because he was not comfortable.
I smile. His grumpiness doesn’t intimidate me. And if he’ll let me, I can make him feel a lot better about everything.
I set my tray down as Zeke says, “Hell yeah, sounds awesome. Let’s do that.”
I start passing out plates of pie.
Beckett notices me and says, “We’re brainstorming more ideas. Like, what if the Zamboni came out just randomly at some point and drove around while we try to dodge it? Whichever team manages to pass the puck around it the most times before it exits gets a bonus point. What do you think?”
“Love it,” I tell him honestly. I also love that they’re over here talking about more things to add to the games. “Just email both Sutton and me whatever you guys come up with. We are very happy to have any and all of your ideas.”
“That’s fucking dangerous,” Lawson protests. “We can’t be skating around the damned Zamboni.”
Beckett nods, but he looks thoughtful. “Yeah. Okay. What if we get a fake mini-Zamboni with pedals? And one of the mascots rides it around?” He looks at Lawson. “Would that be safe enough for you?”
Lawson doesn’t even reply. He does, however, give Beckett a you’re-an-idiot look.
“What about some different face-offs?” Josh asks, possibly jumping in to keep Beckett and Lawson from coming to blows. “Like we do rock, paper, scissors one time?” He grins. “Or we have a dance off and the fans vote and whoever wins gets the puck.”
I laugh. “Absolutely.”
I glance at Alex. He’s rubbing the middle of his forehead. That makes me laugh.
“Can we turn the lights off? Or change the color of the lights?” Teddy asks.
I prop the tray on my hip. “Probably. I promise that Astrid, Sutton, and I will try to make anything work. Why?”
“What if we did light up pucks? Like flashing disco light pucks? Or glow in the dark?” Teddy asks. “We could do different lights around the ice so it’s not totally dark and—”
“Or black lights!” Ingrid says. “Like when they do glow-in-the-dark bowling.”
I nod and start to reply, but Wes chimes in, “We also have a huge budget. It’s pretty great being owned by a billionaire who seems intent on making things totally over the top.”
I catch Alex’s eye now. “Astrid definitely likes over the top,” I agree. “And she’s broken her piggy bank wide open.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Her husband’s piggy bank,” he mutters.
I would love more backstory about Astrid and her newfound fortune and sudden ownership of this team. And her very hot, very rich husband. Who continues to live in Portland.
But I know the most important things: she’s definitely enthusiastic, and I don’t doubt her authenticity and commitment to the Revelers and Rascals.
“Are you open to ideas about what to do between periods? Like with the fans?” Quinn asks.
“Of course,” I tell them. “Listen, we haven’t brought a lot of this to you guys because you’re all busy, and we know that this hockey thing is part-time.
But we want you guys to love this. Sincerely.
If you love it, everybody else will love it even more.
You all were amazing tonight. The way you had fun with it, the enthusiasm you showed. Thank you so much.”
“It was a good time,” Wes says. “And I’m looking forward to work tomorrow. I’m guessing we’re all gonna hear a lot from people out in the community, our families, and stuff.”