3. Dax
dax
. . .
That explains the emojis.
I should’ve known Charlie would be a woman. Not just any woman, but the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. There’s something different about her that I can’t quite put my finger on.
She looks like someone who would order a Berry Happy Smoothie—cute and sweet.
Even her clothes match her drink. She stares at me from across the table wearing a dark pink sweater, a purple skirt, and knee-high boots.
Her outfit sure catches my attention, even though there’s nothing revealing about it.
Oh.
I know what it is. Charlie’s the kind of woman my mama always told me was worth chasing. She’s got that wholesome, girl-next-door vibe going on. And so not the usual type that I go for.
That’s a relief.
I can’t afford to be distracted by anyone or anything right now. My focus is all on hockey, which works out well since that’s exactly what Charlie wants to talk about.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asks. “I’m happy to treat you. It’s the least I can do for taking up your time.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I lean back in my chair and turn a bit to the side so I don’t have to look at her directly.
It’s not that I want to be rude, but there’s something unsettling about her brown eyes.
Like she has the ability to look past the party-guy exterior I hide my insecurities behind.
Not to mention the fact that she has dimples.
I’m a sucker for dimples. It doesn’t help that they appear every time she takes a sip with her straw.
I might as well be in the crease without my pads, chesty, and mask on because that’s how vulnerable I feel in her presence.
But I for sure am not going to let her know that.
Charlie sets down her smoothie, then picks up a pen. “All right, why don’t we start, then?”
“Okay.”
“I have some general questions about hockey to ask you and also some personal ones, like how you got into the sport, things like that. If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, just let me know and we can move on. How’s that sound to you?”
“Fine.”
“First of all, is hockey as dangerous as it looks? It seems like players get hurt all the time. I watched some clips online, and there were too many ouchie moments to count.”
I glance over at her, completely thrown off guard. “Did you say ouchie moments?”
“Yes. I could only watch like this.” Covering her face with her hand, she separates her fingers to create a V for one eye to peek out of.
Once she’s done demonstrating, she grimaces.
“I think it’s the most dangerous sport I’ve ever seen.
I don’t know why anyone would want to crash into walls or collide with other players. Or why people like to watch it happen.”
I scoff. “You make hockey sound as bad as that new chocolate kale smoothie they added to the menu.”
“Oh, man.” Her nose wrinkles as she nods. “It’s a real toss-up between those two; at least it is for me. You must like hockey though?”
“Yeah, I do.” I’d completely read Charlie wrong earlier. Not only is she not part of the Bobcats’ fan base, she’s not into hockey at all. “Can I ask you a question? Why are you writing a book about hockey if you don’t like it?”
“I don’t hate it.”
There are those dimples again, making it hard to look away. But there’s also something behind that cute, sheepish smile of hers that makes me want to know more. “You can’t even bring yourself to watch hockey. So why write about it?”
“That is a good question. I guess you could say I’m partly giving in to peer pressure and partly giving myself a challenge.
A lot of my author friends are writing about hockey and sports in general, so I thought I’d give it a try.
It doesn’t hurt to try, right?” She cocks her head and thinks for a moment.
“Actually, I take that back. Trying to play hockey could definitely hurt. I can’t even ice skate. ”
“Wow.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “That is a pity wow if I’ve ever heard one.”
I do laugh now. “You’re right, there was some pity in that wow, but only because you’re missing out. Being on the ice is the best feeling in the world.”
“It’s not for lack of trying. I’m just super uncoordinated. I took lessons for a couple of months when I was ten, and by the end of them, I still couldn’t stand on the ice without falling. I’m not exaggerating either.”
“Wo—” I catch myself before I can stick my foot in my mouth again. “Well, you must’ve had a bad teacher.”
“They actually let me try out five of their teachers, and none of them could help me. So, I’m the problem; it’s me.” She proceeds to sing a line from a song with those same words that gets played a lot during games. “Thanks, though, for trying to make me feel better.”
I shrug. “Who cares if you can’t skate? You’ve got a pretty voice. And I bet you’re a good writer, too. You describe things in ways I’ve never thought of before. It’s cool.”
“That’s really sweet of you to say. Thanks.”
“I call it like I see it.”
We lock eyes for a few seconds longer than expected, and I can feel my guard coming down.
Whom am I kidding? It’s been down since Charlie said “ouchie moment,” but I’d pretended not to notice.
But it’s getting harder now to deny the effect she has on me.
She looks at me like she actually enjoys my company and not because of what I do for a living.
It’s been a while since anyone’s made me feel this way… if ever.
Whir!
The sound of the blender makes us both jump.
We laugh at our reaction, and the moment we had fizzles out.
It’s better this way , I tell myself. Or maybe that’s Coach’s voice I hear in my head, reminding me to stay focused.
Either way, it’s not like Charlie and I would work out.
I live and breathe hockey, and she can’t stand the sport.
The two of us together make as much sense as kale and chocolate.
She speaks up as soon as the shop goes quiet. “I have some more questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you tell me when you started playing hockey, what got you interested, and how long you’ve been playing?”
I smile to myself, secretly happy that she knows so little about me.
It’s nice to meet someone different from my fans, women who claim to know every little detail about my life but at the same time don’t know me at all.
I offer Charlie the tabloid-free version of my story.
“I started skating at four. My mom got me into it; she was a figure skater before. She almost made the Olympic team, but she quit when she got injured. I got my love of the ice from her, but I didn’t have the discipline to do jumps or spins.
All I wanted was to go as fast as possible, so my mom put me in hockey when I was five.
I kept on playing and getting faster and managed to get drafted straight out of high school—that was six years ago. ”
Charlie pauses her note-writing and sets her pen down. “I love how your mom saw what you were good at and let you pursue it. She must be so proud of you.”
“She was. She passed just before I joined the Bobcats. Two years ago this month, to be exact.”
“I’m so sorry. That’s a huge loss.”
My throat burns. I’ve never talked about losing my mama with anyone before. It’s not exactly something you bring up on a date— not that this is a date. “It’s all right. I mean, it’s not, but I’m okay. You don’t need to feel bad?—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Charlie reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “It’s okay to not be okay, Dax, especially during the anniversary of her passing. If you want to tell me more about your mom, I’d love to listen. If not, I totally understand, too.”
One look in her eyes and I’m blown away by the kindness I see there. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“Of course. I’m here for you, no matter what.”
The silence that follows is calm and not at all awkward, even though I just shared more with her than I have with anyone else.
It’s strange how I don’t feel the need to prove myself to this woman.
Everything about Charlie is comforting, especially the way she squeezes my hand to let me know she’s got my back.
I almost lose my cool though when her thumb starts rubbing circles along my skin.
Or maybe I do because the next words out of my mouth go against every logical brain cell in my head: “Come on. I want to teach you how to skate.”