Page 59 of Banter & Blushes #1

ETHAN

I couldn’t get home fast enough because I couldn’t wait to talk to Mia again. She’s all I could think about during practice, which didn’t go over great with the guys. They could tell I was totally distracted by the blonde-haired and blue-eyed beauty taking up more and more of my headspace.

Probably didn’t help that we texted practically nonstop over the last three days.

I’m running on fumes because of those late-night chats.

Mostly flirtations intermingled with details about our lives like where we grew up—Mia’s a native Sarabellan—how many siblings we have—she has a brother who lives in LA—and things we like or don’t like when it comes to food, travels, and interests.

The more we shared, the more addicted I became to seeing her next reply.

But today, I’m going to suggest we meet for dinner.

I’ve never felt this way about a woman so fast before, but the true test will come when we’re face to face.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving our texts.

But I want to know if the chemistry is the same in person because she’s one of the most interesting women I’ve ever met, despite her reluctance to tell me what she does for a living.

That one I can’t figure out unless it’s something she’s embarrassed about. Could she be a garbage collector? Nothing wrong with that profession. This world would be a really stinky place without them.

Maybe she’s a waitress at a dive joint? I waited tables through high school and college. Met some pretty interesting and sometimes crazy people doing that. No reason for her to feel embarrassed about earning an honest living .

I grab my phone and type out my message.

Ethan: Hi Mia. I’m finished with practice. Did you miss me?

Mia: What if I said no?

Her quick reply shoots a zing of excitement through me as I chuckle. I love this girl’s flirty sarcasm.

Ethan: I’d be devastated.

Mia: Seriously?

Ethan: Totally. So, put this guy out of his misery. Have dinner with me?

Mia: When?

Ethan: How about tonight?

Those tortuous dots show up, then go away, then appear again.

Still feeling dehydrated from practice, I distract myself by getting a glass of water and chugging it down.

I try not to stare at my phone sitting on the opposite end of the counter and testing my determination to be patient.

But as soon as I hear the ping, I launch over the cold granite to grab it like I’m trying to stop the puck from hitting the net.

Mia: Can’t do weeknights. How about Friday?

Hmm, interesting. She can’t do weeknights? Does she work night shifts or something?

Ethan: That’s technically a weeknight.

Mia: True, but I don’t have to get up early Saturday morning.

More pieces to the puzzle that is Mia, except that most jobs require getting there early.

Ethan: Okay, Friday it is. Ever been to the Turtle Tide?

Mia: Who hasn’t?

Ethan: Hmmm, let’s see. Some tourists, shut-ins, people who hate seafood.

Mia: We should create a help group for those unfortunate souls.

Ethan: I agree. So, Friday @ 6pm?

I avoid saying more so she can let me know if she wants me to pick her up or prefers to meet me there.

Mia: I’ll be there.

Like a celly on the ice after scoring a goal, I go down on one knee and do a fist pump. “Yes!”

Once that’s out of my system, I open the group chat with the guys.

Ethan: Got a date with my dream girl on Friday!

Elias: Finally! Now maybe you’ll be able to concentrate.

Mathéo: With the puck bunny at the rink?

Payton: Blimey, bit brutal, Barbie-man.

Wade: No, he’s just Swiss.

Ethan: She’s NOT a puck bunny.

Mathéo: How do you know?

Ethan: She was helping that reporter interviewing the new owner.

Mathéo: So?

Ethan: Puck bunnies hang around games for the players.

Mathéo: She had an arena of players to herself.

Ethan: Oh, I see. You’re jealous.

Mathéo: Ridiculous!

Wade: Give the man a break, fellas. He’s still wearing his rose-colored glasses. Time will tell soon enough.

Ethan: No glasses here. Never been more sure of anything in my life.

Elias: I’m glad the season is over.

Ethan: Why?

Elias: Because you’d be collecting dust on the bench if it weren’t.