Page 51 of Hockey Halloween

Felix

Felix Owens was on his way to the gym at his apartment complex when he saw his elderly neighbor Dolores coming his way. He melted at the sight of her—she was the absolute sweetest woman on Earth—and pulled her in for a hug.

“You’re not headed to the gym, are you?” he teased.

Dolores chuckled. “No way! I’m headed to the sauna.”

“You’re making me jealous,” he said. “You get to relax, and I have to go work out.”

Dolores grinned up at him. “That’s my reward for being retired, sweetie.

And I don’t think you can complain too much.

I just saw Mr. Hunk head into the locker room from the gym.

He looked extra sweaty today.” She winked at him, and Felix nearly choked on a laugh.

He really shouldn't have mentioned his crush on the hottie on their floor, but oh well. Her teasing was all in good fun. He’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed giggling with his friends back in high school over cute boys.

“Well, then I better hurry up. Wouldn’t want to miss my chance to say hi and wow him with an actual coherent sentence this time.”

“It was pretty bad the last time,” Dolores said, patting his arm sympathetically.

The last time was the disastrous conversation when Mr. Hunk (God, they needed a better nickname for him) held the door open for Felix.

The less said the better, but involved Thai food and an embarrassing amount of talk about gas and bodily functions for anyone’s comfort.

He was never going to live that one down.

“No place to go but up,” Felix said with more confidence than he actually felt, but hey, he was more of a glass half full kind of guy, anyway. “I'll tell you if there's any hot guys your age at the pool.”

“Please do,” she said very seriously. “Plus or minus a decade is fine.”

When Felix arrived in the locker room, Mr. Hunk was indeed there and as sweaty as promised.

He was glad Dolores had warned him ahead of time, because even knowing, Felix stood at the door staring with his jaw-dropped.

Mr. Hunk’s nickname, silly as it was, was well-earned.

He was tall, very tall, with sculpted features and steely blue eyes.

He kept his chestnut hair trimmed short, and had a beard to match.

Though he couldn’t be much more than thirty, maybe thirty-five at the most, there were little patches of gray in his beard that made him look distinguished.

And the real gem, the thing that made Felix’s legs go weak, was how fit he was.

The guy was built . He wore shorts and a sleeveless running shirt that displayed miles and miles of muscle.

The hard lines of his biceps were on full display as he toweled off, sweat glistening on his brow.

When he turned to grab his gym bag out of his locker, Felix tried not to ogle his ass and thighs, but good lord!

Those thighs should be illegal. His muscles had muscles.

If the guy wasn’t a pro-athlete, then there was no justice in the world.

…and if he was, what the hell sport caused someone to look like that ? Because Felix needed to be watching it ASAP.

“Hey,” Felix said and smiled his brightest smile. Mr. Hunk looked up, his perpetual frown smoothing a fraction when he saw Felix. “How've you been?”

“Good,” Mr. Hunk said. For a few seconds, that seemed like all Felix would get, but then he added, “You?”

Felix tried not to laugh. A man of few words.

He could work with that. Besides, Felix could talk enough for two.

“Pretty good. I managed to go a whole day without anyone spilling anything on me, so a total win.” When he saw Mr. Hunk’s confusion, he added, “I work at a daycare.

Between meals and art time, it's a miracle if I go a week without a new stain.”

Mr. Hunk nodded seriously, looking at Felix with more consideration than a conversation about laundry warranted. “No wonder you own the biggest travel mug I’ve ever seen. Working with kids seems like it'd be exhausting.”

Look at that! Two whole sentences! A new record.

Felix laughed and blushed, pleased Mr. Hunk had noticed and remembered anything about him.

“When your day starts at 6 a.m. and you’re greeted by four-year-olds who don’t know that it's illegal to be energetic in the morning, the caffeine is definitely a necessity. If I could just inject it intravenously, that’d probably be easiest, but alas, coffee it is.

” He took his usual locker and steadied himself with getting out his goggles and swim cap before asking, “What about you? What do you do?”

“Hockey player,” he said, like it wasn’t possibly the sexiest answer he could’ve given. “I play for the Gliders.”

Felix didn’t follow any sports—he was usually exhausted by 7 p.m. and the prospect of staying up to watch a game was never as appealing as falling asleep to Netflix in bed—but he knew the gist of hockey: ice, puck, really strong men fighting each other while thousands of people cheered them on.

“You look like you’d be a…” He sifted through his limited sports vocabulary.

Goalie? Maybe. Quarterback? No, wrong sport. Uhm… “...defense…person.”

Nailed it.

“Yep.” Still no smile, but he looked pleased despite Felix’s fumbling. “I play defense.”

“What’s your last name?” Felix asked, as if he even knew the guy’s first name. “I'll try to catch a game and look for you.”

“Warner,” he said with a hint of pride. He didn't smile—Felix had never seen him smile, but he was determined to—but his eyes lit up and the corner of his lips curled. Like he wanted to smile but maybe had forgotten how. Adorable. “Number Nine.”

“Well, Warner Number Nine,” Felix said, “I’ll be looking for you next game.” And yep, Mr. Hunk—Warner, he corrected, though he’d have to look him up on social media later to get a first name—definitely blushed. “I’m Felix, by the way,” he offered.

“I know,” Warner blurted out, then went red. “Sorry...that sounded—Our apartment numbers are similar. Sometimes I get your mail.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. His apartment was 309, and sometimes he did get mail for 306, but he’d never paid attention to the name before. Hell, he hadn’t even considered it might’ve been Warner’s mail.

“I just...leave it outside your door,” Warner mumbled. “Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary,” Felix said. “I do the same thing. I just wish I’d been paying more attention.

” Then a yawn interrupted him, and he remembered it was already the evening.

If he stood a chance of making this swim happen before he got too tired, he had to move.

“Well, I’ll see you around, Number Nine. ”

“We play tomorrow night,” Warner said. “Against Baltimore.”

“Tomorrow night, then.” Not quite a date, but hey, it was a start.