Page 50 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Maverick

Gabrielle was in her office with the door closed when I picked up Damon to head to Man’s house. Damon said she was working on “lawyer stuff” today, which meant she wasn’t to be disturbed.

Even though I obviously wanted to see her, I knew better than to bother a busy woman. So I just accompanied Damon back to my truck.

“Have you ever met Man before?” I asked as we headed down the road with the rows of grapevines on either side of us.

Damon shook his shaggy brown head. “No. His name is actually ‘Man’?”

“Manpreet. Actually, it’s Dr. Patel. Dr. Manpreet Patel, but he wants everyone to call him Man .”

The kid just nodded and glanced out the window.

Lucky for me, he had all the necessary equipment we would need for the podcast. Microphones, headphones, the recording software.

I honestly thought I’d be able to just record it all on my phone, but Damon schooled me when I picked him up and he hoisted his backpack over his back and said he had all the equipment.

“Why do you have all that recording stuff?” I asked, letting the curiosity get the better of me.

He shrugged his boney shoulder beneath his baggy black hoodie. “I record stuff sometimes.”

“Record? Like what?”

“Music.”

“You play an instrument? I didn’t know that.”

“Aunt Raina is a piano teacher and had taught all of us. I goof around on the keyboard sometimes. Have tried writing a few songs. They’re not very good.”

“Bullshit,” I blurted out, which made him smile but only for a second before his shyness got the better of him and he went stoney faced again. “I bet they’re amazing. Does your mom know?”

“Maybe? I dunno. It’s a keyboard where nobody can hear it if I’m wearing the special headphones. So maybe not?”

“I’d love to hear one of your songs sometime. That’s really cool. I’m not musical at all. I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but my dad said practicing an instrument took time away from practicing for hockey.”

Color filled his cheeks. “They’re not very good. It’s just goofing off stuff. A way to blow off steam or whatever.”

“All brilliance has to start somewhere.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“I appreciate you coming with me and helping me out with the tech side of things. I had no idea it was so complicated.”

“You want good sound and the ability to edit out background noise, or a sneeze or something. The software I have is good. It shouldn’t be too hard. Have you decided on a name for your podcast?”

I turned onto Man’s road. “Everything I come up with sounds lame or is already taken. Do you have any ideas?”

His lips twisted in thought. “What about Man Advantage ? It’s a hockey term for when it’s five on four, but because you’re aiming for positive, woke masculinity, it has a double meaning.

Men need to use their privilege, their advantages in life to lift women up, rather than oppress and knock them down. ”

I nearly drove off the road. I was gaping at him with such shock. “That’s perfect. That’s fucking perfect.” I reached out and gripped his shoulder, giving it a shake as a big smile took over my face, then one grabbed him by the lips as well. “Well done, Damon. You just named my podcast.”

I could tell he was proud, but that rush of color was back in his cheeks as he tried to hide his smile and broke eye contact with me.

But I didn’t care. I was too excited. My podcast had a name, and it was a great name at that.

We pulled into Man’s driveway, but couldn’t get right up in front of the garage because the ducks were having a meeting of the minds and feathers.

As soon as I turned off the ignition, several of them—including Dandelion, the Karen with the bad toupee—came over to stand beside my closed truck door and proceeded to lecture me on my driving. Or so it seemed.

“Is it safe to get out?” Damon asked, glancing down at the ground outside his door. “They don’t look very friendly.”

“Are they on your side too?”

“Yeah, two white ones and three brown ones.”

“I have six white, four brown, and three green-headed ones.”

“They’re not going to try to bite us?”

I shrugged. “They might. Dandelion is apparently quite the Karen.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Which one is Dandelion?”

Just then, Man appeared on the stone footpath, a big glass bowl of cut up green grapes tucked in the crook of his arm.

He waved us in, then tossed handfuls of the grapes into the grass.

The ducks went nuts, quacking and flapping as they waddled—excitedly wagging their little tails—over to where their breakfast was, leaving Damon and me to escape in one piece.

“That’s no way to greet guests,” Man lectured the ducks, who had called in reinforcements, and now there were close to thirty noisy, feathered fowl digging for grapes in the grass. He held out his hand to me and I shook it. “Good to see you again, my friend.”

“And you, Man. This is my friend, Damon Campbell. Damon, this is Man Patel.”

Damon nodded and took Man’s offered hand. They shook, and then we followed Man into his house that overlooked a small, sheltered bay known ironically as Duck Cove.

“Tea? Coffee?” Man asked, shuffling through the entryway into his kitchen.

The woodstove roared bright and orange in the far corner, and while the day was sunny, it was a cold wind.

Family pictures in various shaped black frames took up one of the terracotta-colored walls while a few images of Hindu gods like Ganesha and Vishnu—I Googled them when I got home after I had dinner at Man’s—and other cultural items took up the other wall as well as the television.

“I’d love a tea,” I replied.

“Masala chai?” Man asked.

“That sounds amazing.”

“Me too,” Damon replied, sitting with me on the couch while Man went to work in the kitchen. He must have had them already partially prepared because he joined us shortly, setting down three steaming mugs of heavenly smelling tea. Damon was busy setting up the microphones and his laptop.

“How was woodworking?” Man asked, taking a seat across from us in a whicker chair with thick cushions.

“It was really great. We’re making bat boxes. The girls did awesome and seem super excited.”

“Bat boxes are good. We have several species of bat here on the island, including the Yuma myotis, big brown bats, little brown myotis, Townsend’s big-eared bat, and silver-haired bats.”

“You into bats too, Man?” I asked, picking up my tea and blowing on it before taking a sip. It was delicious and aromatic, but still too hot. “Not just ducks?”

“I enjoy watching them eat bugs in the summer evenings, yes. They are essential to our ecosystem. Bat boxes are a good idea. Many of their habitats have been destroyed.” Maybe it was just early in the morning, but Man was much more relaxed and lively when I had dinner with him.

Right now, he seemed almost nervous, more like when I first met him on our whittling day.

Was he unsure of Damon? Or maybe it was just nerves about the podcast.

“So this is really casual,” I started. “We’ll just chat like we did the other day when we had lunch and dinner.

I’ll ask questions, you answer however you want.

Nothing formal. I just want to know your story, hear your perspective on the growing divide between men and women, and how we as men can help close that gap and better support women.

As well as educate young men and encourage them to get in touch with their emotions rather than ignore them. ”

Man nodded, and his gaze flicked to Damon. “You’re a good young man. Not following your peers, and sticking up for what is right.”

The kid was doing a lot of blushing today. “Uh … thanks,” he croaked.

Man bobbed his head again. “Okay, I’m ready to start.”

Damon cleared his throat, then leaned forward and handed Man a small microphone.

“You can clip this to your shirt.” Man did.

Then Damon handed me one as well, while donning a pair of headphones for himself, and holding a small microphone with a gray fuzzy top, about the size of a flash drive in one hand.

Like a television producer or something, he counted down from five with his hand.

I gave him a curious look. What was going on?

“All right and welcome to the first ever episode of Man Advantage with Maverick Roy, number twelve, center for the Portland Storm. Today we have Dr. Manpreet Patel on with us. Take it away, Mav and Man.”

My jaw dropped and I stared at Damon. Not only did I not recognize that announcer’s voice, but I didn’t even recognize the lively kid beside me. It was a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sort of deal, only Damon didn’t go crazy. He went … charismatic.

He lifted his brows at me. “Your turn.”

“Right. Shit. Uh, sorry about that, folks.”

“Cut,” Damon said with an eye roll. “I can edit all the pauses out. Don’t apologize to anybody. Nobody is listening right now. We’re not live. Just say hi, introduce yourself, then Dr. Patel can do the same.”

“Man. Call me Man,” Man said.

Damon nodded. “Okay.” He hit a button. “Let’s try again. Just say hi and start talking.”

He counted down with his hands from five again, then pointed to me.

“Uh … hi, this … this is Maverick Roy from the Portland Storm and you’re listening to Man Advantage where we’re going to discuss not only how men should use their privilege and advantages in this world to lift up each other, but also women.

No more of this oppression and thinking women need to submit to us.

Let’s get out of the past and into the future, where we celebrate, respect, and appreciate the opposite sex. ”

I glanced over at Damon, who was nodding, but not looking at me. Okay, I guess that meant I could keep going.