Page 12 of Goalie Secrets

“I’ll try.”

“It’s hockey season, honey,” Ken interjects. “We’ll see him regularly in the summer.”

“How is your mom? Is she visiting any time soon?”

“The holidays, maybe. She’s busier than I am.”

Ken shakes his head and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Instead of following them out, I stay at the aisle and watch Dr. Kapur approach, brows so lifted they’re almost touching her hairline.

“Are you following me, Dr. Kapur?”

She blinks quickly, taken aback by my playful greeting. Before I can apologize for the tenth time today, she quips, “Yes, that’sexactly what I’m doing here. Following you around town is a more likely activity than enjoying a film, just as stripping is more likely to happen than a medical exam. Your logic is flawless.”

Maybe I shouldn’t find that funny, but I can’t help my smirk. In response, she tilts her chin to signal me to get moving.

“After you, doc,” I say. “Haven’t you had enough of my backside? After all, you’ve been stalking me all day.”

Her disgruntled “ha!” is followed by an exaggerated eye roll. The doctor steps into the aisle like she got pushed from behind. In a blink, she’s by the exit.

“Hey, I didn’t mean for you to run off. Wait up.”

She stops so abruptly, I nearly crash my front to her back.

“Where are you off to?” I ask.

“Home. I walked here and stumbled into the show. You?”

“I come every chance I get.”

Going to Musical Mondays is, for me, like going to church on Sundays for most people. In other words, it’s a weekly ceremony drilled into my psyche since childhood that I rarely have the time to attend now that I’m an adult.

“Didn’t think you were a musical kind of guy.”

“Why not? What would a musical guy look like?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “Smaller.”

It’s my turn to sound indignant. “That’s very superficial, Dr. Kapur. I didn’t realize you were so judgmental. Actually, wait…”

The corner of her lips twitches up before she says, “Have a good night, Mr. Lopez.”

“Jeremy.”

“Good night, Jeremy.”

“Did you say you walked here? How far is your house? I know the neighborhood.”

Depending on where she’s heading, she might need an escort. Westside is the residential area where people like Ken and Rosehave lived for decades, but northbound is closer to the rowdy college housing.

“I’m happy to walk on my own. Thank you.”

“Got time for a drink?” The words tumble out before my brain catches up. Why not take the opportunity to fix my shitty first impression?

“I don’t drink.”

“Ever?”