3. Forest
FOREST
The second the door swung shut behind him, I exhaled deeply and scrubbed my hands over my face.
After waiting a few seconds to make sure he wasn't coming right back, I peeled off my soaking hoodie and dropped it over the back of the bench.
The shirt underneath was damp but not soaked through, and it was warm enough that I figured I'd survive. Thankfully, there weren’t any mirrors around because I had to be a mess.
I had to be. Running my fingers through my hair helped a bit but probably not much.
At least I felt slightly less like a disaster.
Of all the mornings to fall apart in public, I had to pick the one when the owner was gorgeous and kind. The Daddy vibes he was throwing were enough to make me hard from just a glance, but none of that mattered because I was a pathetic mess when he found me.
Scott was tall and strong with a nice smile that he wasn’t stingy with. It was clear he wanted me to feel better, and he went out of his way to make that happen. He was even buying me lunch for no particular reason.
Well, other than the fact that he was hungry and wanted to feed himself without leaving the weird dude alone in his laundromat.
I was usually pretty good at keeping my shit together around hot guys, but how was I supposed to know a hot guy would just randomly appear.
The chances were like 1%, but that was my luck.
And that totally tracked considering I didn’t have much game when it came to nice guys. Which was all the more reason I needed to just focus on getting dry and to my game.
Even though I liked to think of myself as a decent catch, the sum of my dating experience was a whole lot of bathroom hookups with exactly zero of them wanting me for anything real. And that had to also apply to business owners who found me sniveling on their floors.
Not that it mattered anyway, since he was probably straight. Statistically speaking, he was just a nice guy whose wife would want him to help a stranger in need. Fair enough. There was no version of this scenario where he looked at me as anything other than "that poor kid."
The dryer hummed steadily behind me, my jersey tumbling around in there with the rest of my stuff. The clock on the wall said it was ten twenty-two. I was gonna make it. Barely, and I’d hear shit about it all day, but I was gonna make it.
I texted Kowalski while I waited. Running late, dryer died, long story.
He sent back three crying-laughing emojis. Five seconds later, my phone buzzed again. Drew's gonna lose his mind. Can’t wait.
I sent back the most aggressive thumbs-up I could and then put my phone down on my thigh.
The door opened, and Scott came back in with his arms full.
He had a paper bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. Before I could offer to help, he put everything down on the bench between us and sat down.
There were two sandwiches, an assortment of chips fanned out like he'd grabbed one of each flavor, two bottles of water. Then he pulled a small bottle out of his jacket pocket. "Start with this." He shook it quickly then unscrewed the lid. "Get your electrolytes up before your game."
I grabbed it out of reflex and wasn’t sure what to do. It had been a long time since anyone thought about my well-being outside of the moment. Buying lunch was one thing. He was going to eat anyway. But Scott wanted me to be strong and alert for my game. For no reason.
After a second of being dumbfounded, I nodded my head and took a drink. "Thank you. You didn't have to do any of this."
He was unwrapping his sandwich as he did me the kindness of not making eye contact. "I’m happy to help."
I got the feeling he said that a lot and meant it every time.
He offered help without strings attached, and that was almost harder to accept than if he'd asked for a blow job in return.
I unwrapped my own sandwich and took a bite.
Damn, it was good. "Okay." I wiped some crumbs from my cheek and swallowed. "That's incredible."
He shrugged without looking up. "Tol’ja."
We ate for a few minutes without talking, and it was surprisingly comfortable.
I wasn't usually good at sitting in silence with people I didn't know.
I tended to fill silence with words, whether I had anything useful to say or not.
But the silence with Scott felt natural, like neither of us needed to pretend to be more than we were.
"So how long have you been playing hockey?" He reached for a bag of chips and offered it to me.
"Since I was a kid, but this is a group of guys I’ve known since college.
" I took the chips and nodded my thanks.
"We were all on the same intramural team freshman year and just never stopped. A couple of the guys have moved away, but most of us are still in the area, so we’ve stayed in a rec league. "
"That's really cool to have friends from school." He watched me as I took the last drink of my Gatorade and then pushed a bottle of water close to me. "Most friend groups fall apart after graduation."
"We almost did, but Kowalski held us together. He found this league, got us all signed up, and made our jerseys." I was already smiling just thinking about it. "He's a lot. But he's the reason we're still playing together, so we tolerate him."
Scott laughed like he could relate to what I meant. "What position does Kowalski play again?"
"Center. And he's got that center energy where he thinks every play lives or dies with him." I grabbed a chip and popped it into my mouth. "Sometimes he's right, which makes it worse."
"And you're left wing."
"Yeah." I liked that he'd remembered. "I'd rather be flying down the boards than standing in front of the net waiting to get destroyed by a defenseman."
"Smart." He took a drink of his water and met my gaze. "When you play together for long enough, you just know where the other guys are gonna be."
"Exactly." I was surprised by his insight. "You play?"
"Used to. Just pickup stuff, nothing organized. But I blew out my knee in my early twenties and lost the motivation to get back into it after."
I winced, feeling phantom pain in my knees just thinking about it. "That's rough."
He shrugged like it was long past being a big deal to him. "It’s okay. Gives me the chance to focus on my true passion." He waved to the machines surrounding us. “Laundry.”
I laughed at that. “You’re a lucky man.”
"It’s not a bad gig. I live upstairs, so it's an easy commute." He smiled then gestured upward with one hand. “I even get to swoop in and feed cute hockey players now and then.”
My cheeks warmed at the compliment as my eyes lingered up at the ceiling. Scott had been up there this whole time. He'd watched me on his surveillance equipment and came down specifically to help. I didn't know if that was mortifying or sweet or something else entirely.
It was time to change the subject. "Must be nice to live right above your business."
"It has its moments." His stare was attentive, like he was genuinely interested in what I was gonna say next. "You like working in HVAC?"
"Most days." I took another bite of my sandwich and spent a few seconds chewing before I spoke again.
"I like the physical aspect of it. I wouldn’t survive sitting at a desk.
And there's something satisfying about fixing something that was broken, ya know?
You go in, figure out what's wrong, and make it work again. "
He nodded like that made complete sense to him.
"Pretty much the same reason I like running this place. Low drama. Things work when people need them. If they don’t, we fix them.
Nothing carries over until tomorrow. People leave happy or satisfied or whatever, and it’s nice to know I helped them knock something off their list."
"Happy…except for the kiosk."
He pointed at me and nodded. "Except for the kiosk. Which I'm fixing today."
The dryer buzzed, reminding me why I was even here.
Before I realized I'd moved, I was on my feet and heading to the machine.
Everything felt warm and dry as I pressed my face into the jersey and breathed it in.
There was nothing better than the smell of fresh laundry. Okay, maybe a few things, but not much.
It just took a minute for me to get everything back into the bag, and I made the mistake of checking the clock again.
Fuck. It was getting late. "I really appreciate how nice you’ve been, but I gotta run.
" I picked up my gear bag and tried to remember how to be a normal person who said goodbye without reading too much into random kindness.
"Thanks for the sandwich. And the electrolytes. And the… Well, everything."
He walked me to the door and pushed it open. The sun was peeking out and the rain had stopped. "Win your game, Forest."
"I'll try." I shifted the gear bag on my shoulder and glanced up at him. "Thanks again, Scott."
I made myself walk to my truck without looking back. Almost made it too.