Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Savannah
Writing is my NHL
“What?” I ask, not sure what Noah’s implying.
“Fans don’t bother with practices, even when they’re open to the public,” he explains. “Who were you hoping to see?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Noah looks resigned – and jealous. Like this confirms something he didn’t want to know.
“You and Izzie are the only hockey players I know,” I assure him.
“What is all this for?” he presses, and I realize that was my out. I could have pretended this was to impress a guy, to cheer on a crush, or trick him into thinking I’m just into sports and want to add a new one to my roster. But I blew it.
“Research.”
“For…”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide what Noah’s reaction will be.
People can be pretty judgmental, saying things like romance isn’t real literature and smut is porn, but the one that hurts the most, probably because it’s accurate, is that I should leave the romance to people who have actual experience with it, as mine would just be wishful thinking.
But I don’t think Noah will make me feel bad about it, if only because he still needs me to watch his sister on Sunday.
“It helps me know if I should go technical for an essay, or use diagrams if it’s to better understand what you’re watching, or—”
“I write,” I admit, feeling cold sweat at the back of my neck.
“That’s what I was doing in the stands the other day, because it somehow helps me think, and I was trying to find something for all my main guy characters to have in common, and I thought maybe they could play hockey, but I don’t know much about it, so… research.”
I stop myself from rambling any longer, waiting for him to laugh at me. I don’t mention that most of my hockey knowledge so far comes from the few hockey romances I’ve read, which mostly covered a different kind of stick handling.
“That’s so cool,” he says the last thing I’m expecting. “That you write. And that you can just come up with something like that and research it for fun, to turn it into a story.”
“That I give myself homework?” I question.
“Does this feel like a chore?” He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile.
“Not at all,” I admit. It feels like a date, but then my experience is very limited.
“I can focus on the game basics and what it’s like to be on a team?”
“Yes, that would be amazing.” I’m pretty sure I’m still beet-red, but I might get information that isn’t on Google.
He uses his diagram to explain what all the different lines are for, and which players do what.
“How old are your characters?” Noah asks midway through explaining some of the most common penalties.
“Um, over eighteen, but I’m not sure by how much.”
“The NCAA has different rules from the NHL, and I don’t want to mislead you,” he shares. “But I guess it’s more academic status than age that matters.”
“Oh, right. I think college would probably be a good idea,” I say, then realize it’s more of a question, like I’m waiting for Noah to tell me how my story should go.
“Pro players would add a lot of complications and create a power imbalance, whereas school somewhat levels the playing field off the ice…right?”
I mean to sound sure of myself, then totally ruin it, but he laughs instead of judging me.
“That sounds like a plan,” he agrees. “And I’ll be more helpful, because I know college hockey inside and out, but I’ve only ever watched the pros. I haven’t gone to an NHL game in ages.”
“Yours was the only hockey game I’ve ever been to.”
“That was just a practice,” he counters. “You’ve been to other games though, right? For different sports?”
“Lots,” I agree, feeling the heat go up my neck, to my cheeks. “Is that what you want to do when you graduate? Go pro?”
“That’s obviously the dream, but I’m more of a realist.” He smiles like I’m na?ve, but both my brothers are living that dream.
“I’m glad I get to play in college, and my hockey scholarship is the only reason I was able to come to an Ivy League school, but there are a lot of guys who are way better than me. ”
“What are your plans then? I don’t even know what you’re studying,” I realize.
“Accounting,” he admits. “I’ve always been good with numbers, and there’s no shortage of job opportunities.”
“Hence being the one Izzie goes to with math homework. That’s very pragmatic of you.”
“See, I would have known you were a writer just for using hence and pragmatic.”
“Or a reader,” I point out.
“You’re in creative writing?”
It’s a question, but he obviously expects me to agree.
“Business, with a minor in psychology,” I argue.
“Why not creative writing? I heard it’s amazing here.”
“It is,” I agree without elaborating.
“Did you apply?” he asks, before I’m guessing he realizes what an affirmative answer would mean, and he changes his mind. “Shit, don’t answer that, I’m sorry, it’s none of my business…”
“I didn’t,” I assure him. “No need to worry about the sting of my rejection.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I thought it was none of your business?”
“It isn’t…but I also don’t understand why someone who dreams of being a writer would rather study Business instead of what they’re actually passionate about, unless…” He trails off, possibly realizing that he sounds pretty judgy right now.
“Writing is my NHL, but realistically, I’ll probably take over my family’s car dealership, which is where a degree in business would come in handy.
I could have tried for a minor in creative writing, but I didn’t want it to become work.
I know writing books will be that if I do it as a career, but someone giving me topics and parameters, grading me on it…
I was worried I would resent it,” I say, though I was more afraid of finding out I wasn’t good enough than of not loving writing anymore. I’m still afraid. Terrified even.
“So, this book isn’t for school.”
“It’s just a hobby,” I agree, way too embarrassed to mention the submission form currently open on my laptop, mocking me.
It came up while I was researching hockey romance (and buying a bunch to figure out the tropes and reader expectations), because sports romance is one of the top genres they’re looking for right now.
“Not just,” Noah argues, then sighs. “I think that’s really awesome.”
“You can say that again once I actually finish something.” I don’t mean to share that, or any of it.
I can’t even bring myself to fill out the application form to see if they have anything I should submit to.
The most they ask for is a series outline, and I’m a master at plotting out twelve-book series whenever I want to procrastinate from actually writing something.
But that’s where I fall short. They’ll expect a complete manuscript, and I’ve never even finished a draft, especially not within a few months.
“You haven’t done that yet?” I appreciate how Noah tries to hide his surprise and act like that’s completely normal.
“Nope.”
“How long have you been writing?”
“Forever.” I don’t usually talk about it with strangers.
I hardly talk to people at all, but I give him even more.
“My first book was half drawings with misspelled sentences about how much I wanted a baby sister. It ended when she asks her parents, with no conclusion, because my parents told me no, and I didn’t like that ending, but didn’t think I could change it, either. ”
“I’m sorry you never got your sister.” There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s fine. I think my brothers were so awesome with me that I wanted to be a big sibling too, and I wanted someone who’d watch princess movies with me, but I found out that if I cry, my brothers let me choose the movie.”
“Sneaky.”
“Sometimes you gotta play dirty. Though I haven’t pulled that in years.”
“Uh-huh.” He pretends to not believe me. “I guess they’re older?” I nod. “How many?”
“Two. Eighteen months and three years older. My parents were busy.”
I wish I could sink into the floor and never be seen again after that comment, but he laughs.
“Built-in best friends.”
“Sometimes.” I’m nervous we’re getting close to me accidentally saying something, but I also feel guilty for not agreeing that my brothers are my best friends. “You just have Izzie?”
“And Tatum. He hit seven months on the first.”
“Full siblings?” I ask before I can stop myself. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
He smiles at my asking inappropriate questions as well.
“Tatum’s my half-brother if you want to get scientific, and I’m sure it’ll be hard to be as close with him as with Izzie, because we’ve never lived in the same house, and I don’t plan on moving home when I graduate, but the second I held him in my arms, I felt the same love I had for Izzie, not half of it. ”
“That’s really sweet.”
“You look envious. I imagine it’s a very different relationship when you’re so close in age…”
“It is,” I say, then look down at my notes. “They have offsides in other sports, but what’s icing?”
“Back to business.” Noah smiles, but I convince myself he looks a touch disappointed.
“I don’t want to waste your time.”
“I’ll give you the answers you need, but I promise you, you’re anything but a waste of time.”
His smile makes it feel like it might be a line, but that in no way stops the butterflies from reacting, or the heat in my core when he licks his lips before going back down to his diagram.
I thought I’d be relieved to get back to work, away from the topic of my brothers, but I liked the parts where I was getting to know Noah. And to be honest, it started to feel like a date.