Page 19 of Cold Shoulder, Hot Take (Seattle Puckaneers #2)
DEX
“ S he definitely isn’t as unaffected by you as she’s pretending to be.”
Elliot’s voice cuts through the noise of Brody’s kitchen where I’m nursing my second beer and wondering why I let myself get talked into another intervention session.
“What does that mean?” I ask, though my pulse kicks up despite myself.
“It means,” Elliot says, settling into her chair with the satisfaction of someone about to deliver crucial intelligence, “that I spent an hour talking to your hockey mom yesterday, and she is not nearly as immune to you as you think.”
“You talked to her?” I sit up straighter. “How? When?”
“Saturday practice. Casual conversation.” Elliot waves a hand dismissively. “And before you ask, she has no idea it was anything other than hockey parent small talk.”
Brody appears with takeout bags, dropping them on the counter. “Please tell me you didn’t terrify the poor woman.”
“I was charming,” Elliot protests. “Subtle. Professional-level reconnaissance.”
“Nothing about you is subtle,” I point out.
“True. But I’m very good at getting information.” She leans forward, eyes bright with the thrill of successful espionage. “Want to know what I learned?”
“Yes.”
“Her pulse jumped every time I mentioned your name. Every. Single. Time.” Elliot ticks off on her fingers. “She felt guilty about the charity game, worried her singing somehow caused your meltdown. And when I mentioned you’d been asking about her work, she got flustered.”
“That doesn’t mean?—”
“Plus,” Elliot continues, ignoring my interruption, “she’s not what I expected. She’s funny, sharp, completely unimpressed by the hockey world. No wonder you’re obsessed.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
Brody snorts, unpacking Chinese food. “Right. That’s why you’ve been moping around like a kicked puppy for two weeks.”
“I haven’t been moping.”
“You’ve been moping,” Elliot confirms. “Brody says you barely talk during practice, you’ve been avoiding team events, and yesterday you spent twenty minutes staring at the learn-to-skate schedule.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I was just checking the roster.”
“For two weeks straight?”
“It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” Elliot asks. “You like her. She’s clearly not indifferent to you. Ask her out.”
“I can’t just ask her out. She’s made it clear she’s not interested.”
“Has she though?” Elliot tilts her head. “Because from what I observed, she seems more confused than uninterested. Like she can’t figure out why you’re paying attention to her.”
“Because she’s smart enough to know I’m not worth her time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Brody mutters, opening containers. “You really are pathetic.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No, seriously. Listen to yourself.” Brody turns to face me fully. “You’ve convinced yourself this woman is too good for you, so you’re not even trying. Meanwhile, she’s probably wondering why you disappeared after flirting with her for months.”
“I wasn’t flirting?—”
“You absolutely were flirting,” Elliot interrupts. “Coffee, dinner, breakfast? That’s the full-court press.”
“And it didn’t work.”
“Because you gave up after two weeks!” Brody throws his hands up. “Most relationships take longer than that to develop, you know.”
“This isn’t a relationship. This is me being an idiot over someone who’s way out of my league.”
Elliot and Brody exchange a look that makes me immediately suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Elliot says innocently. “Just... what exactly have you been doing for the past two weeks? Besides avoiding her and feeling sorry for yourself?”
I take a long pull from my beer, buying time. Because the honest answer is humiliating, and I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it out loud.
“Dex?” Brody prompts.
“I’ve been... working on myself,” I say finally.
“Working on yourself how?”
Another long pause. Another sip of beer. Another moment of wishing I’d stayed home.
“I may have... purchased some of her audiobook work.”
Elliot blinks. “Some?”
“A few.”
“How many is a few?” Brody asks, though he’s already grinning like he knows this is going to be good.
“Seventeen.”
The silence stretches for exactly three seconds before Brody loses it. Not just laughing—full-body, doubled-over, can’t-breathe hysterics that have him literally rolling on the kitchen floor.
“Seventeen?” Elliot’s voice climbs an octave. “Seventeen audiobooks?”
“They were on sale,” I say weakly.
“What kind of audiobooks?” she asks, though her grin suggests she already knows.
“Various genres. Historical fiction. Mystery. Some... romance.”
Brody makes a sound that might be dying or might be laughing harder. It’s hard to tell from where he’s writhing on the floor.
“Romance novels,” Elliot repeats slowly. “You’ve been listening to Golda Adler read romance novels.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“I just... I wanted to hear her voice, okay? And those were the only recordings I could find where she sounds like herself instead of trying to sell me breakfast cereal.”
Brody has progressed to making wheezing sounds.
“So you bought seventeen romance novels,” Elliot continues, “to listen to her voice.”
“Yes.”
“And how’s that going?”
The question hangs in the air while I contemplate the various ways I could die of embarrassment right here in Brody’s kitchen.
“It’s... problematic.”
“Problematic how?”
“Do I really have to spell this out?”
“Oh my god,” Elliot breathes, understanding dawning on her face. “Oh my GOD.”
“What?” Brody manages to ask from the floor.
“He’s getting turned on by bedtime stories,” Elliot announces with gleeful horror.
The silence that follows is broken only by Brody’s renewed cackling.
“It’s not bedtime stories,” I protest. “It’s... look, have you heard her voice? Really listened to it?”
“I talked to her for an hour yesterday,” Elliot points out.
“Not talking. Reading. When she’s reading, it’s... fuck, it’s hard to explain it. She gets this tone, this rhythm, like she’s telling secrets.”
“Sexy secrets,” Brody adds helpfully from the floor.
“They’re not all sexy. Some of them are about dukes and ballrooms and proper courtship.”
“But some of them are sexy,” Elliot presses.
“Some of them are... explicit, yes.”
“And you listen to Golda Adler’s voice reading explicit romance novels.”
“Yes.”
“Before bed.”
“Usually, yes.”
“And then?”
I drain my beer. “And then I take very cold showers.”
Brody’s laughter reaches a pitch that’s probably damaging to his vocal cords.
“Every night?” Elliot asks with scientific curiosity.
“Not every night. Sometimes I fall asleep before...” I trail off, realizing I’m only making this worse.
“Before what?”
“Before the cold shower becomes necessary.”
“Oh my god,” Elliot says again. “You’re in love with her voice.”
“I’m not in love with her voice. I’m... attracted to her voice. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Love would be emotional. This is just...” I gesture vaguely. “Physical.”
“You’re getting off to audiobooks,” Brody manages to say between gasps. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m not getting off to them,” I protest. “I’m just... affected by them.”
“Affected how?”
“Do we really need to discuss the details?”
“Yes,” they say in unison.
I put my head in my hands. “I hate you both.”
“Come on,” Elliot coaxes. “We’re trying to help.”
“This is helping?”
“Information is power,” she says sagely. “The more I know about your pathetic situation, the better I can fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix. I’m a grown man who bought romance novels to listen to a woman’s voice. That’s the situation.”
“And?” Brody prompts, finally sitting up.
“And I probably need therapy.”
“You need to ask her out,” Elliot corrects. “Again. Properly this time.”
“She said no to coffee, dinner, and breakfast. What else is there?”
“Maybe something that doesn’t involve food,” Brody suggests. “Something that shows you actually know her as a person.”
“I don’t know her as a person. That’s the problem.”
“Then get to know her,” Elliot says with the patience of someone explaining basic concepts to a toddler. “Have actual conversations. Show interest in her life, her work, her kids.”
“I do show interest in her kids. I coach her kid.”
“Right, but what about her? When’s the last time you asked her about something that wasn’t hockey-related?”
I think about it. Really think about it.
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.” Elliot leans back with satisfaction. “You’ve been so focused on getting her to say yes to a date that you never bothered to learn who she actually is.”
“I know who she is.”
“You know she’s a single mom who does voice work and looks good in yoga pants,” Brody points out. “That’s not the same thing.”
“What else do you want me to know?”
“Everything,” Elliot says simply. “What makes her laugh. What makes her worry. What she dreams about. What she’s afraid of.”
“How am I supposed to learn that if she won’t go to dinner with me?”
“By being her friend first,” Elliot says like it’s obvious. “Novel concept, I know.”
The idea is so foreign that I actually consider it for a moment. Being friends with a woman I’m attracted to, without any agenda beyond actually knowing her.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Lucky for you,” Elliot grins, “I do. And I’m going to help you.”
“Help me how?”
“Leave that to me. Just... try not to have any more audiobook emergencies before I figure out how to get you two in the same room.”
“They’re not emergencies,” I mutter.
“Cold showers are definitely emergencies,” Brody disagrees, finally getting off the floor. “Emergency interventions by your plumbing.”
“I hate both of you.”
“We love you too,” Elliot says cheerfully. “Now eat some food and tell me everything you know about this woman’s life. It’s time for Operation: Get Dex a Real Relationship.”
As they start plotting my romantic future over Chinese takeout, I can’t help but think that letting Elliot Carter take control of my love life might be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.