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What’s it like? To do something and have hundreds of people jump up and cheer for you?

As I ask, I realize that this is the first time I’ve actually put myself in an athlete’s shoes.

Maybe part of me did think I was too good for this job.

I’ll have to change that mindset to be a really good sports editor.

Jack leans closer again, like he’s going to tell me a secret. It feels amazing . Like you’re doing what you were put on the planet to do. The only bad part is that it’s addicting. You want that high over and over.

He literally beams as he leans back. Jack’s nickname is Sinc, but it could just as easily be Sunshine. He may be the most genuinely positive person I’ve ever met, and his sunny optimism seems to be rubbing off on me.

What could be wrong with wanting to score over and over? I wonder. A split second later I realize how suggestive that sounds and want to rewind my words.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at me, so he didn’t miss the innuendo. Because you can’t score if you grip the stick too hard.

I snort with laughter, then realize he’s not making a rude joke. Sorry, can you translate that into English?

It means that the more you want to score, the tougher it is. Hockey is easier when you’re relaxed out there.

The more I consider his words, the more I realize they’re a good metaphor for life. Like when I interviewed for a summer newspaper job and was so nervous that I completely bombed. Revelation number two: Jack is not just a dumb jock. In fact, I’m the dummy for stereotyping him.

I refocus on Jack only to find him staring at me. No—actually, he’s waiting for me to respond to his philosophical revelation. Instead, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Are all your teeth real?

Gah, can I back out of this gym and create an alternate reality in which I ignore his siren call and avoid asking him if his teeth are real?

But the relaxed Jack just rolls with it. His pink tongue runs over his perfect incisors, and my breath catches. What is happening? Why is everything Jack does attractive?

Yeah, they are. My mom is a dentist, and she laid down the law about mouthguards when I started playing. Plus, I didn’t play rep hockey as early as most guys, so it wasn’t as intense.

Oh, that’s good, I say lamely. I’ll have to look up rep hockey. It can’t be like repertory theatre.

Feel free to ask me anything. Anytime, he offers.

Anytime? Like a booty call in the middle of night—oh, wait, we’ve already done that. But right now, I feel that if we had a do-over, maybe things might turn out differently. Andy, stop. Act normal. I take in a deep, calming breath.

Okay. Why are you exercising after you just played a whole game of hockey? If I played an entire game of hockey, I’d be lying on a cot complaining and getting one of those electrolyte infusions.

Jack chuckles. This flushes the lactic acid out of my muscles so I don’t get cramping later.

I sigh. Again, words I know, just not together. He can’t mean milk. I’ll have to google this later. That’s what I do whenever I feel like I’m asking too many dumb questions.

You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? he asks.

Not really, I admit.

It’s a way of training. Our bodies are already warmed up, so we can do weight training.

He motions towards guys who are lifting.

Or cardio training, like I’m doing now. But exercise also speeds up our recovery.

Because of the stop-and-go nature of games, lactic acid can build up in our muscles and cause soreness later. This helps clear it out.

He hops off the bike and stands beside me. Am I just accustomed to the air in here now or does Jack somehow smell…good? He gestures towards a corner with mats. I’m going to stretch now.

He towels sweat off his neck, and his biceps bulge with the movement.

His hair is slicked back with moisture. He looks ridiculously hot.

His clothes are plastered to his sculpted body, and I’m sure that his stretching routine will involve spreading those powerful legs and displaying the only part of his body I haven’t seen yet…

That’s my cue to leave, I croak.

Did you want to come to the pub again? he asks.

I hesitate, but duty calls. Sorry. I still have to edit tonight’s story.

He smiles. No problem. Look, I’ve got a great idea. We should watch a game together. I bet you’d learn a lot.

How can that happen? You’re either playing, or away during the women’s games.

Jack grins confidently, like he’s got all the angles covered. We can watch a Minnesota Wild game together. We get the games at our house. I’ll figure out a good game and you can come over.

To the infamous hockey house? Well, it would be good for my reporting. And definitely not for any other reason, of course. And certainly not because I’d like to sit on a sofa beside that sculpted body.

I manage a weak smile. Okay, that would be great. Let’s do it.

Jack beams and holds out his hand. Deal.

His hand is sweaty and warm, and mine is enveloped in his larger one. That tingle must be some kind of static electricity, right?

Oh, who am I kidding? The more I get to know Jack, the more appealing he becomes.