The puck whistles through my five-hole, and I slam my thighs together too late to stop the buzzer sounding, the Toronto fans going crazy. The Titans are now up by three goals to our one, and in frustration, I slam my goalie stick against the goalpost and snap the fucking thing in half.
This is the third game in a five day away series and I’m exhausted. I picked up a stomach flu that had me benched for the second game against the New Jersey Raiders, but I pleaded with Coach Casey to let me play this game. The second string goalie put up a valiant effort against the Raiders, but we lost that game by an embarrassingly huge margin, and I wasn’t going to let a little projectile vomit keep me off the blue paint for this game.
“Hold your shit together, Thor,” Bugs yells as he cruises past me. Thankfully we’ve gone to a TV break, so I can quickly skate over to the bench and replace my trashed stick.
“I’m trying, man,” I growl. “But Nate left me wide open on that last play, and I didn’t stand a chance.”
“I know. I’ve spoken to him about tightening that up, but the Titans’ center is so damn fast,” Bugs replies, squirting water into his open mouth and spitting it out on the ice. “We’ve got you, man. No more fuck ups.” Then addressing all the players, our captain shouts, “There’s ten minutes of the period left. We can get this back, am I right?”
“Yes, Captain!” we yell, slapping gloved hands on helmets and backs. As I skate back to the goal with my new stick, Nate flashes past me and offers me an embarrassed apology, and I feel like a dick for blaming the last goal on him. I saw the damn puck coming; I was just too slow to stop the fucking thing. I squirt water into my mouth and over my face, still feeling slightly feverish after my bout of sickness. Perhaps I shouldn’t have played this game. I should have left it to the second string goalie and taken more time to recover.
Well fuck that! That attitude isn’t the one that made me one of the most successful NHL goalies of the twenty-first century. As the puck drops for the restart of the game, I suck it up and focus every ounce of energy I have left on keeping that little rubber disk out of my net.
Thankfully, I manage to keep a clean sheet for the rest of the game, and Ford gets one back for the Whalers, meaning the game ends three-two to the Titans. It’s the first time they’ve beaten us in three seasons, and the weight of that rests heavily on my shoulders despite the encouraging slaps to my back and helmet from my teammates as we trudge down the tunnel.
“Thor!” Coach Casey barks as I pull my jersey off and sling it into the laundry bin. “A word when you’re dressed.”
“Yes, Coach,” I reply, feeling the bile rise in my throat. This could be it—my time’s finally come to hang up my skates and retire. Thirty is fast approaching, and I’ve had just over a decade in the NHL. Not all of us can have age-defying careers like Henrik Lundqvist. My health hasn’t been the same since the injury to my throat last season, but I’ve worked fucking hard to stay on top form.
As I continue to strip out of my gear, I spiral further into a sulky depression until Bugs pulls me aside on my way to the showers.
“Everything okay, man?” he asks.
I huff out a breath and my long hair flips off my forehead. “I’ve just broken our winning streak against the Titans, and Coach has called me into his office. It doesn’t look good.”
“Look, you had a stomach flu and should’ve probably sat this game out. I think Coach just wants to check you’re good for the Bull Dogs game tomorrow before he finalizes the roster.” Bugs slaps my bicep and leads the way into the showers.
“You’re probably right,” I reply, turning on the water so it cascades over my aching muscles. “I just feel like I’m about to have that road to retirement talk, you know what I mean?”
“Don’t be stupid.” My captain laughs, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. “You’ve plenty of good years left. You’re being paranoid. One bad game doesn’t mean you’re being put out to pasture.”
Bugs is a few months older than me, but the career of a goalie tends to be harder and shorter than any other position on the team due to the fact that we play almost the entire game and not twenty minutes in short shifts. His career could last another five years or more, barring serious injury.
I ponder all of this as I quickly shower, dry off, and put my game day suit back on. The locker room is still buzzing with activity when I knock on the door to Coach Casey’s temporary office and wait for Mila to open the door. She smiles kindly at me and that just exacerbates the tight knot of worry in my gut. Was that pity I saw flash across her face?
“He’s ready for you.” Mila lets me in and then leaves, quietly closing the door. Coach Casey is sitting behind the desk, typing away on his laptop while I stand awkwardly by the door.
“For God’s sake, sit down.” He laughs, absently waving his hand toward the chair while he finishes what he’s doing.
I drop my large body into the chair and count the seconds until Coach closes his laptop and fixes me with his green eyes. He steeples his fingers under his chin and taps them together, a gesture I’ve become familiar with over the years—he’s got something difficult to say, so I brace myself for the worst.
“Hell of a game tonight,” he finally states, leaving it open for me to respond with my thoughts.
“Not my greatest performance, I’ll admit.”
Coach looks at me but doesn’t speak, leaving me free to continue.
“I probably wasn’t one hundred percent ready after my stomach flu, but I’m prepared to give it my all in New York tomorrow. Have no doubt, Coach, that I’ll be ready to end this series with a win.”
I finish my speech and wait for Coach’s response. “I’m happy to hear that because you’re an amazing goaltender, and it’s become clear to myself and the GM that we’re not in a position to lose you to injury. You’ve been a driving force in this team for years, and I think we’ve got complacent that you’ll play forever.” Coach Casey looks down at his lap and shakes his head. “With you out of action for part of this series, it’s become painfully clear that our back up goalies have been allowed to get lazy and that’s entirely on me. I want to apologize to you.”
My mouth drops open, and I make some kind of strangled noise. NHL coaches are not known to apologize for anything.
“I’m apologizing because you felt the need to come back before you were ready because you saw there was no other choice. That shouldn’t ever be the case. You’re a valued member of this team, and I’m sorry you were forced to play sick to cover up the holes in our goaltender roster.”
I literally feel like I’m witnessing something no one has seen before, but I can see from the pained look on Coach’s face that this is really hard for him, so I don’t act like an asshole about it.
“I appreciate that, Coach,” I reply after clearing my throat. “I know it was stupid to offer myself up to play tonight when I knew I wasn’t ready. I’m happy to put more training hours in with the other goalies to help keep them game ready.”
Coach Casey laughs and smiles. “That’s just like you, Alex. Always pulling for the team even if it costs you more of your precious free time.”
“It’s what we do, Coach,” I state. “Anything for the good of the team.”
“And that’s what makes you a great team player. Thank you, Alex. But I actually brought you in here to tell you that when we get back to Seattle, I’ll be hiring another goaltending coach to work with you all.”
The relief that floods my system makes me slightly light-headed. I’m not being forced to retire or step down from my starting slot. Thank fuck for that! It would be another thing for my mom to ride my ass about as well as my lack of potential wives.
“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate your support.”
“Sure. Go on. You’d better get your ass on the bus. We’re due to fly out in a few hours,” Coach Casey opens his laptop and fires it up again, essentially ending the meeting and dismissing me.
As I leave, Mila returns and smiles at me again, but this time I return it. This crazy career can end in the blink of an eye, but it looks like I’ve still got a few more games in me yet.
I walk into my apartment a few days later and throw my duffel on the floor, unable to even comprehend dealing with my laundry yet. I lost my tie and suit jacket before I got into Nate’s truck at the airport, so I untuck the dress shirt from my pants and kick off the expensive shoes that hurt my feet. Even though I had them custom made for my ridiculously big feet, they still pinch, and I hate wearing them. I spend most of the time at home in bare feet, so I quickly pull off my socks and fling them on top of my duffel, enjoying the feeling of the underfloor heating as I pad into the kitchen and open the fridge.
Fuck! I forgot that my weekly meal delivery isn’t coming until tomorrow, and all I have in the fridge is an out-of-date meal I should have eaten before I went away and a takeaway carton that has something growing in it. I huff out a breath and check my watch—it’s only a quarter after five, so if I was so inclined, I could go to the grocery store down the street and pick up something. But the thought of going out now has zero appeal, so I open the drawer that holds the forbidden takeout menus and decide to order something in.
I’m just deciding between Thai and Korean when my phone beeps with a message. Some of the guys were talking about going to O’Connell’s tonight for drinks, but I’m really not in the mood, so I pick up my phone intending to sack off the invitation.
To my surprise, when I open the message, it’s not from one of my teammates—it’s from Lana. Even though we had exchanged numbers so that we could easily arrange my helping out at the truck, we don’t talk much. I try hard to brush over the fact that seeing her name on my phone just made my day.
[LANA: Matt said you had a rough trip. Wanna learn how to cook salmon en papillote?]
My mouth waters and my stomach lets out a loud rumble at the mention of food, and even though I’m reluctant to go out with the guys, a night of learning to cook with Lana sounds like perfection.
[ALEX: Sounds delicious but complicated. Can’t we start with eggs or cereal? ;)]
[LANA: Hahahahahaha, no we can’t. It’s very simple. Thought hockey players love a challenge? (thinking face emoji)]
Damn, I can’t resist her sassy attitude and I smile as I type out my reply.
[ALEX: Game on, baby. Do I need to do anything?]
[LANA: No, just make sure you have utensils and a tray that can go in the oven]
Thankfully, even though I don’t cook, this apartment came fully loaded with everything in the kitchen already, most of which is still in pristine condition.
[ALEX: Got everything you need. Come over whenever you want]
I hit send and leave my phone on the counter, rushing through my apartment, pulling off my shirt and hopping out of my pants and underwear so I can get into the shower. I quickly wash away the smell of traveling from my skin and hair and dress in Whalers sweatpants and my favorite T-shirt that’s so old and soft, it always makes me feel comfortable.
I’m just stuffing my smelly duffel in the laundry room and setting up some music to play quietly in the background when the buzzer goes to alert me there’s a visitor in the lobby.
I press the Talk button on the intercom and the concierge announces that Lana is downstairs, so I confirm I’m expecting her and bounce nervously on the balls of my bare feet until I hear her gentle knock on my door. Not wanting to seem like an eager loser, I walk in a large circle in the foyer to make it seem like I’m coming from deeper in the apartment and finally open the door.
I have to work hard to control the sharp inhale of breath when I see Lana. Jesus, she’s stunning. It seems impossible, but she’s grown more attractive and sexier since I last saw her at the outdoor movie marathon. Her chestnut hair hangs in a thick plait over her shoulder and her face is fresh and clear of makeup, her cute freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Her denim blue eyes light up when she sees me, and then I’m almost floored by her megawatt smile. She’s carrying two heavy looking grocery bags.
“Hey,” she says in her sweet, lyrical voice. “How are you? Rough trip?” Her brow creases in concern for me.
I regain my senses and step aside, taking the bags from her, allowing her into my apartment, her vanilla scent filling my nose and thickening my cock. I guess sweatpants were a mistake! So as she unzips her jacket and hangs it on a coat hook by my front door, I discreetly adjust myself and wonder if it will look weird if I quickly change into jeans.
“I’m good, thanks,” I reply as I show Lana into my kitchen and put the bags on the counter. “It was a hard trip and getting sick didn’t help.”
“Yeah, Matt said you got sick.” Her brow creases again with sweet concern and I have an overwhelming urge to kiss her there. “Are you okay now? We can do this another time if you want.”
I laugh and point to the loaded grocery bags. “Looks like you’re ready for lesson one now, so let’s do this.” I squint my eyes and rub my bearded chin, shrugging helplessly. “We’re making something with fish?”
Lana giggles and begins to unpack the bags. “Salmon en papillote. It means salmon in paper or parchment and it’s a really easy recipe with lots of different variations, so I thought it would be a perfect dish to begin with. I thought we’d serve it with herbed new potatoes and asparagus wrapped in bacon with a hollandaise sauce.”
I hold up my hands. “Woah there, firecracker! That sounds a lot more complicated than salmon in a parcel!”
“Don’t freak out. You only have to worry about the salmon. I’ll do the rest and you can just watch.” Lana moves around the counter and begins to open cabinets, taking out utensils, pans, and other things I didn’t even know I had.
Once she finds everything she needs, we wash our hands and begin to prepare a marinade for the salmon using ginger, garlic, soy sauce, and rice wine vinegar. Lana seems completely at ease as she shows me how to peel ginger with a small spoon and grate the garlic instead of chopping it. I’m completely useless when I try to slice the zucchini and pak choi, but she’s encouraging and patient. She shows me how to hold the knife correctly, keeping my fingers tucked under so I don’t accidentally slice one off. The touch of her hand on mine is almost distracting enough that I do exactly that! But she laughs sweetly as I pump my fist in the air when I successfully manage to cut up all the veggies without losing a digit.
“Now we just need to leave the salmon to marinade while we make the hollandaise.” Lana finishes covering the fish with saran wrap and gets a large glass bowl out of the cabinet and fills a saucepan with water, putting it on the stove to heat.
As Lana busies herself at the stove, I open the bottle of wine she brought with her, pouring us both a glass.
“How’s business been since the movie marathon?” I ask, watching intently as Lana melts an enormous amount of butter in a pan.
“Oh my god, it’s been crazy,” she replies, glancing over her shoulder as I place her glass of wine on the counter next to her. “I spoke to some other truck owners, and they gave me the names of some upcoming events that might have spots open. So, in the next month I’ve got a couple of food fairs and a music festival.” Lana carefully takes the pan full of melted butter off the heat, and I can already calculate the extra miles I’ll have to run after this meal.
“That’s so great,” I reply, watching as she whisks egg yolks in the glass bowl over the simmering water, adding a splash of vinegar, her lightning-quick wrist movement causing a deluge of dirty thoughts to reel through my head.
“It really is,” Lana enthuses. “My Insta and Twitter are so crazy I’ve had to turn the notifications off and only look at it once a day or else I never get anything done. Your posts have really helped, by the way, so thank you.” She flicks her eyes to me and smiles sweetly, and I gulp down the rest of my wine to prevent my hands from reaching out and tucking a loose strand of silky hair behind her ear.
“My pleasure,” I stutter, moving away and returning to my seat at the counter. I need to put some space between us before I allow my sexy fantasies to become a reality.
Now that I’m at a safe distance, we continue to talk easily about the truck and my disastrous away series. I even share my feelings about the meeting with Coach Casey with her—she’s so easy to talk to while she busies herself whisking ladles full of butter into the eggs until it’s a silky, yellow sauce.
“It sounds like Coach Casey has your best interests in mind,” she replies as she puts the freshly made sauce to one side. “Will you bring the salmon over? We can start wrapping it in the parcel.”
“Yes, Chef!” I laugh, picking up the dish filled with fish and marinade and pulling off the saran wrap. As I approach Lana, she turns unexpectedly, and we end up crashing into each other, the dish tipping between us, covering her in sticky brown liquid. The fish lands with a wet plop on the floor, and we stand there, covered in marinade, our dinner ruined.
I half expect Lana to yell at me for fucking up all our hard work, but instead she shocks me by bursting into hysterical laughter.
“Oh my god, we’re such a mess,” she gasps between heaving guffaws, holding her arms out to the side as the liquid drips down her shirt and onto the floor. Unfortunately, the dish tipped toward her, so she got the full hit of the mess whereas I seem to have come away mostly unscathed.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” I drop down and begin scooping the slippery fish off the floor, hoping we can somehow save it from the trash.
“Don’t worry about it.” She giggles, grabbing a roll of paper towels from the counter so she can wipe up the marinade from the tiles. “I think it’s past saving.”
“See!” I laugh. “This is why I stay out of the kitchen. I’m a fucking disaster.”
Lana drops the ruined fish into the garbage along with the sodden paper towels and washes her hands. As she turns, I realize her shirt is a complete write-off; she can’t spend the night stinking of garlic and soy.
“Let me get you a shirt,” I offer, trying desperately not to notice the way the wet fabric clings to the curve of her breasts and the peaks of her nipples.
“Thank you,” she replies, trying not to get more of the marinade on her. I lead her through to my bedroom and am immediately thankful my cleaner came by while I was away and there aren’t any sweaty workout clothes lying around. Quickly, I disappear into my walk-in closet and dig around in a drawer where I keep my T-shirts. There’s surely something that won’t swamp her petite figure. I finally pull out a soccer jersey that I’ve had since I was a teenager and, despite it being too small for me, it’ll probably still hang off Lana like a dress.
“Here you go,” I say, handing her the shirt. “You can wash up in the bathroom.” I point toward the door that’s slightly ajar. “I’ll go and order some takeout.”
Lana smiles shyly and accepts the shirt from me, our fingers brushing against each other, and I’m positive I feel little sparks of electricity flicker between them. Her eyes hold mine for a moment longer than feels friendly, and then she shoots off into the bathroom, breaking the spell. When the door closes and the lock engages, I release a breath in a long stuttering exhale and press my fingers into my sternum, my heart beating furiously beneath them.
Jesus fucking Christ! I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a woman before, and it’s beginning to freak me out just a little. It’s just my bad luck that the woman my heart seems to want more than any other is completely off the table. I don’t know whether she harbors any feelings for me, or if I’ve been permanently added to the friend list. I can’t see Matt ever allowing Lana to date one of his teammates and probably for a good reason, but I don’t just want to hook up with her. For the first time, I can actually see a future with someone: dating, moving in together, marriage, children, growing old and fat together, surrounded by grandchildren and maybe a couple of dogs.
Whoa! I need to pump the fucking brakes here. These thoughts are way too intense for me to be having them about a woman I haven’t even been on a real date with yet.
I quickly leave my room and go back to the kitchen to order the Thai banquet from my favorite place. I’m just finishing the order when Lana returns, and I forget how to form words. She stands before me in my old soccer shirt that I’ve only kept for sentimental reasons. It hangs down to her knees and has slipped off one bare shoulder. In her hands, she’s holding her ruined shirt, and if I’m not mistaken, I catch a glimpse of black lace which can mean only one thing.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Mentally kicking my ass for not taking the chance to change into my jeans, I will my cock to stay down and compose myself enough to finish up the order and give my credit card details. While I finish up, Lana returns to the kitchen and decants the hollandaise into a container which she puts in the fridge along with the other ingredients we didn’t get to use.
I hang up the call and ask, “You like Thai, right?”
Lana turns toward me after closing the fridge and smiles, rubbing her belly. “Yum. Yes, Thai’s a great choice.”
“I’m sorry again that I ruined our meal,” I say, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my sweats. “You worked so hard on that sauce…”
“Hey, stop apologizing.” Lana laughs, hopping up on one of the high stools at the counter. “I’m not one of those tyrannical chefs who screams at everyone. I’ve worked for enough of them to know that’s not my style.”
I join Lana at the counter and pour us another glass of wine. “So, tell me what it was like being a chef in Paris.”
She takes a beat and sips her wine, something dark flashing across her face so quickly I almost don’t notice it. When she lowers her glass, she captures her plump bottom lip between her teeth and sighs.
“It was amazing. It was a dream come true to learn at the best culinary school in the world, meet some of my foodie heroes and eat in the best restaurants...” She takes another sip. “But it was time to come home.” She gives a nonchalant shrug, but I have a feeling that’s not all there is to it.
“Sounds to me like you had a great life there,” I reply. I want to press for more information, but I’m cautious. I don’t want to scare her off. “What brought you back? Especially to Seattle. Matt tells me you lived in Tampa with your parents before you went to Paris.”
Lana huffs out a breath. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“I’m interested, that’s all. I know what it’s like to move your life halfway across the world to chase your dream,” I state, remembering my own transatlantic journey all those years ago.
Lana closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, I can see she’s ready to start talking. However, just as she begins to form the words, the buzzer goes to announce the arrival of our food and she clams up again.
Goddamn it!
With my frustration levels at boiling point, I answer the intercom and wait at the door for the delivery guy, cutting his tip in half for fucking up my heart-to-heart with Lana. When I return with the food, she’s setting out plates and cutlery and folding cloth napkins that must have been in one of the drawers I never open. We share the food out between us and make small talk while we eat, not returning to the subject of her time in Paris. Instead, we stick to safe subjects like the Whalers cup run, our favorite movies, and current Netflix binges.
By the time we finish eating and load the dishwasher, the wine is gone and there’s an awkward atmosphere where neither of us knows what to do next. All I know is that I don’t want her to leave yet.
“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask, running my hand through my hair, feeling like a teenager asking his crush out on a first date.
Lana smiles shyly and nods. “Sure. There’s a new horror that’s been on my watch list for a while if you’re in for a bit of a scare.”
“Sounds good to me.”
She uses the bathroom while I set up Netflix on the large flat screen TV mounted on the wall in my living room, searching for the name of the movie. When she returns, I’ve got myself a beer and a glass of water for her, and I’m opening a bag of pretzels. Suddenly the room plunges into darkness, and I look up to see Lana making her way carefully to the couch.
“You can’t watch a horror movie with the lights on.” She laughs, sitting next to me and stuffing her hand into the bag of pretzels. This is suddenly feeling very much like a date, and I’m not sure how she feels about that. I know how I feel, especially with her wearing my clothes. I definitely know how Lana’s grumpy ass big brother would feel if he knew I was sitting in the dark with his sister.
The real question is… where do I want this to go, and should I press my luck?