Page 57 of Banter & Blushes #1

ETHAN

S econd goal accomplished—I got her phone number.

And wow, what a way to get it. When she pulled out her lipstick, I expected her to swipe that red stick across her lush lips, but then she wrote the first digit in her phone number and blew my mind.

Any lingering doubts about her being the one flew out the door as she kept writing, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth on one side.

And now I know her name.

Mia.

With a heart on top. Too cute.

She’s bold, exciting, and gorgeous. I can tell she has a playful side, too, considering the way she gave me her number.

And smart, too. I don’t think I could write numbers backward like that.

Yeah, the Zamboni driver shook his head over that one, so I may have to do some damage control, but I don’t care. She’s worth it.

Oblivious to anything else, I plop down on the bench in front of my locker.

The rest of the team is either showering, dressing, or something in between.

I made myself wait until after I showered and cleaned up to text her, but I’m so tempted to just call her so I can hear her voice.

But then she might think I’m trying too hard.

I’ll just send a short text, so she knows I’m not a total flirt or something.

And that way she’ll have my number, too.

I type a simple ‘Hi, Mia!’ with an exclamation point. But what if that comes across as too strong, too? What if she thinks I’m some dumb jock who gets hit on all the time? I mean, I get my fair share of offers, but I’m not a player. Never have been. Never will be.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stop to think this through.

I’ve never second-guessed myself like this with a girl before, and I haven’t officially met her yet.

What if she turns out to be a puck bunny?

Really don’t want to travel that rocky road again.

When I first started playing professional hockey, I dated a woman who always hung around the arena.

I figured since we hit it off, her hanging days were over.

Not. I ended the brief relationship when I found out she had a habit of dating hockey players. As in, all the players. Yeah, not my kind of girl.

With a sigh, I delete the exclamation and keep it simple.

Hi, Mia. This is Ethan McKennan. It was nice…

Hmmm, nice seems so… nice . And today was more surprising and unexpected than just ‘nice.’

Mathéo sits down next to me. “Texting your girl?”

“She’s not my girl.” I meet his gaze and grin. “Yet.”

He bumps my shoulder. “You stare at your phone like it’s going to kiss you back, mon ami . Just send the text.”

Payton pulls his jersey over his head. “Perhaps he’s composing a sonnet. You lot don’t appreciate the finer things—like agonizing over punctuation.”

Wade slings a towel around his neck. “He’s probably trying to figure out how not to sound desperate. Too late, bud.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not desperate.”

Gaping at me, Elias holds his hands out. “Bro, you shaved after practice. Voluntarily. You never do that.”

Mathéo pretends to gasp. “Did he trim his beard for love? La romance! ”

“This is better than telly.” Payton pantomimes a headline. “‘Love on Ice: The Text That Changed Everything.’”

“I hate all of you,” I grumble.

Wade snorts. “You love us. Now ask her out already before Payton starts reciting Shakespeare.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day—” Payton feigns.

I shake my phone in front of me. “Okay! Okay, I’m texting her.”

Grinning, Elias claps me on the back. “There you go. Just remember, confidence. You’ve faced a five-on-three. You can handle a date.”

I take a deep breath and go for it. Either she’ll reply or ghost me.

Ethan: Hi, Mia. This is Ethan McKennan. Sure enjoyed “meeting” you today.

After hitting send, I stare at my phone, waiting for those three pulsing dots to show up .

Shaking his head, Wade chuckles. “You haven’t even officially met her yet, and you have it bad, my friend.”

“McKennan!” Coach’s voice blasts into the locker room. He stands inside the doorway, one hand on his hip and a bottle of cleaner and a rag in the other. “I believe you have something to take care of.”

The rest of the guys razz me as I get up and take the bottle of cleaner from Coach. “Yes, Coach. Sorry.”

One side of his mouth ticks up in a grin, and he lowers his voice. “Just make sure you keep your head in the game, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

I leave the dressing room and head toward the arena. Mia’s number brandished across the plexiglass makes me smile all over again.

Did I plan on cleaning windows today? Not on your life.

But it’s totally worth it.