Chapter 10
Olivia
Tonight’s game had more penalties and fights than usual. The other officials and I discuss this in the locker room as we take off our equipment and get ready to leave. I wait until the guys have finished with their showers and then take mine. There is so much adrenaline still coursing through me, I feel like my whole body is buzzing.
While I shower, I can’t stop thinking about the interaction with Mitchell. One second, I was telling them both to stop talking and to just leave the game, and the next I saw Mitchell whirling around, ready to hit. I can’t know for certain if he was going to hit me or Ashton, but from his angle and position so close to me, I can only assume that hit was meant for me. Except Robbie was there. Why would he jump in like that?
I can’t imagine he’d do it to protect me. Not after I told him I could handle myself and that he could basically fuck off. But he did protect me, whether it was intentional or not. For that, at least, he deserves a proper thank you and maybe an apology. I kept thinking the worst of him, but the truth is, he’s a really decent guy. I’ve noticed that he always has his teammates’ backs, and if anyone runs into the refs or linesmen, he’s there to make sure they are okay. Maybe having someone like that as a friend would not be the worst thing in the world.
By the time I am all packed up and trying to leave the arena, my mind is made up. I need to talk to Robbie.
I don’t have any way to contact him so I decide to wait outside the arena by the player’s entrance. The players usually take longer to finish up as they sometimes have a team dinner inside the arena, but that’s not always the case. I’m hoping I didn’t miss him.
After twenty minutes and lots of odd looks from players and coaches exiting the arena, I finally see Robbie come out.
“Robbie!” I say, loud enough he should hear me. But he doesn’t. He also doesn’t look around, he just takes off at a fast pace. I follow him and call out once again, “Robbie, can we talk?”
He’s looking at his phone and shaking his head, and with that motion I see he has headphones in. Well, so much for hearing me, I guess. I pick up the pace, but the man has long legs. I almost have to jog to catch up.
I’m still a few feet away when I notice he slows down at a crosswalk and looks up just in time to see the light for the pedestrian turning green. What he doesn’t notice is the car running the red light and heading straight for him.
I drop my bag and start running. I reach out both my hands to grab him right as he’s about to step out in the street. I use all my strength to grab him by his jacket, pull him back and spin him around to face me all in one motion as the black van barrels past.
For a moment, we’re both frozen, just staring at each other and breathing hard. My hands are still clutching his jacket and I let go slowly, my eyes still glued to his face. Holy shit, that was close. What was he thinking?
“What the hell, Robbie? You almost got splattered by that car. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” I say angrily.
He still seems to be in shock because he hasn’t uttered a single word yet. He’s just staring at me with those wide blue eyes. The corner lamppost is illuminating his face, and I can see how pale he looks. Jesus Christ.
I look down and see that he dropped his phone so I pick it up. The screen is shattered into so many little pieces and it looks dead. That means his headphones stopped working too, so I at least know he can hear me now. I take a deep breath and hand him the phone, wincing, “Looks like you’ll need a new one.”
His hand shakes as he reaches out to take it. He’s still dazed because all he says is, “Yeah,” as he pockets his broken phone.
As soon as his hand reemerges from his pocket, I grab it and squeeze it tight. I keep my eyes on his dazed face as I release his fingers. Then I grab my bag and turn to face the crosswalk, saying, “We need a drink.”
Or five, so I can erase the image of you almost getting hit by a car from my mind.
The restaurant we walk to is only a few blocks away from the arena. The place is not too packed, so we’re able to get a booth fairly quickly. We sit across from each other and I scan the menu code and scroll through quickly to see if anything sounds good. I look up and see Robbie looking at me. I’m about to ask why he’s not looking at the menu when I remember his phone shattered to bits. He still hasn’t said anything and his eyes seem a bit unfocused. I can tell that incident rattled him. I take pity on the poor guy and move to sit next to him on his side of the booth.
I lean in close and show him my phone screen, “Are you hungry? What do you want to order?”
He clears his throat and blinks down at me a few times before finding his voice. I expect him to say something like a burger or pizza, but he says, “Thank you, Olivia.”
We continue to look at each other and I’m starting to realize how dangerous it is to be so close to him. He smells good, clean, with a hint of cucumber. His dark blond lashes are long and his light blue eyes hold me to the spot. While earlier they were unfocused, they are now clear as the sky. I can feel him observing me closely as well, eyes bouncing all over my face, but lingering on my lips.
Does he feel this invisible bubble around us? It feels like we’re two magnets circling each other. Right now, our poles are so opposite, we’re bound to attract. Before I can do something stupid like let him kiss me, the waitress comes over to our table.
“Can I get your order in? Drinks?” she says while blatantly checking Robbie out.
I look back at him and notice he’s still lost in that field, not paying attention to anyone but me. I swallow and turn to the waitress, “Can we get two of your best IPAs and the sampler appetizer platter, please?”
“You got it,” she says as she walks away.
“Hope you don’t mind,” I turn and say to him, realizing I don’t know his typical drink order. I bring my knee up and let it rest by his thigh. He’s wearing slacks with a nice cream button up and a dark wool jacket on top. In contrast, I am once again in faded jeans and a sweatshirt with a light windbreaker. I take it off and I throw it across the table onto the other booth seat. I gesture for him to do the same, except instead of throwing it, he neatly folds his jacket and places it beside him.
“Hey,” I say, to grab his attention again, because damn if I don’t want every drop of attention this man can possibly give. I’m not sure what changed tonight, but seeing him take a punch for me made me greedy. I want to yell at him to never do it again, and beg him to kiss me, because his full lips look so enticing right now. Even with a split lip, this man is drop-dead gorgeous. If anything, I want to kiss him to make it better. What is wrong with me?
“Hey back,” he says, shoulders slumping a bit as he leans back in the booth to rest his head, but his eyes never leave mine.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Thanks to you.” He manages a small smile and it nearly breaks my heart. Robbie looks exhausted, like he’s been carrying the world around on his shoulders and all he got in return was a near brush with death. I want to make him feel better, but I don’t know how. We’re not friends, we’re barley acquaintances, and I’m not great with most people. But if he can put up with me and my icy attitude, the least he deserves is some compassion.
“How are your teammates doing? Ashton, and the other one that got hurt?” I ask.
He blows out a breath and pulls his hand through his hair, messing it up.
Good Lord, he looks delicious.
“They’re okay. Jordan was just a bit dizzy when he went down the tunnel, but he’s fine, no concussion. And Ashton was mostly just pissed off at how Mitchell interfered with Elias, our goalie.”
I crack a smile. “Your goalie’s name is Elias Kalias?”
He shakes his head with a small smile and says with a sigh, “His friends call him Eli, but yes. He’s foreign, so we try not to judge him too hard.”
I laugh and shake my head. “The four of you seem really close. I take it that applies off the ice as well?”
“Oh yeah, we’re thick as thieves.”
“Pillow fights, sleepovers, robbing banks together?”
He nods along seriously, “The whole shebang.” And then he does something.
He grins.
Oh, that grin.
His straight teeth and cute dimples are on full display. This should be illegal.
The waitress brings over our beers and we both take a few gulps before resuming conversation. I really thought this would be awkward if we ever did hang out, but it’s surprisingly easy to talk to Robbie. Maybe that’s why I blurt exactly what’s on my mind, “Why did you take that punch for me?”
I think my bluntness may have shocked him because he pauses mid drink. It takes him a second to place the glass back on the table and glance back at me. “I, um—I didn’t do it for you. Not exactly.”
He didn’t? That’s good, right? But then, why?
Oh...
Oh.
My face is beet red with embarrassment and I avoid looking at him as I say, “Oh, of course. You were helping your friend. Sorry, I just assumed?—”
“No, it wasn’t just that.” My eyes jump back to his face now. “I—of course I jumped in for you. I just mean I would have done it regardless if it was you, or Ashton, or the other ref, because that guy Mitchell is an asshole and no one deserves to be treated with such disrespect,” he says hotly, “especially not you.”
“You still think that? After I was so rude to you?” I ask.
“You weren’t rude, you were establishing boundaries. I’m sorry I didn’t accept that the first time around. You said you didn’t want to be friends and I should have let it go. Instead, my ego was hurt and I kept pressing the matter,” he clarifies.
“What if I changed my mind?” I say, my eyes not leaving his.
“About being friends?” he asks with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah.” I swallow and wait for his reply.
After a moment he asks, “Why?”
“Self preservation?” I say jokingly.
“You don’t have to humor me just because I had your back out there tonight. I’ll do that any time, because it’s the decent thing to do,” he says seriously.
“I’m not humoring you. I get it now, Robbie. You’re a good guy and I can see you’d be an amazing friend. Truth is, I don’t have many of those. Definitely not ones close to my age. And it’s hard to let new people in. My best friends are my seventy-year-old grandma and my fifty-five-year-old mentor, Jack. Isn’t that depressing?” I scoff.
He smiles and cocks his head, assessing me, trying to see if I’m lying.
“I’m not kidding,” I say.
His eyebrows raise and he whistles out, “Okay, mind reader. Well, in that case, I would be honored to be your friend.” I can tell there’s no hint of humor or deception when he says it. I just hope this isn’t a mistake.