Page 26 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

I turn a bit so we’re facing each other.

“I can’t remember the exact story, but the legend is about two people from opposing Native American tribes who fall in love.

They’d meet up secretly in the mountains so no one would see them.

Then a war starts between the tribes. The dude knows that, eventually, he’s going to have to choose between his duty to his tribe and his love for her, but he couldn’t do it.

” I pause. “So he jumped off the cliff.”

Bree gasps and sets her hand on my thigh. “What?”

“But don’t worry,” I say in a rush to make sure she knows there’s a happy ending.

“She prayed to the wind gods to work their magic, and they lifted him up and gave him back to her. Then the two of them traveled their lands talking about the power of love. They ended up bringing peace and kumbaya-type shit to both nations. The winds still blow pretty hard at Blowing Rock, which is supposed to be their spirits.”

“Wow. They’re like the indigenous Romeo and Juliet without the tragic outcome.”

“It’s sad, right? That the different tribe was even an issue. Just love who you love, right?” I ask.

“I agree. Let the power of love—and kumbaya-type shit—prevail.” Bree catches my eye while hiding a smile behind her beer glass. This girl is so fucking sweet even when she’s teasing me.

“It’s the moral of the story. So, if you remember nothing else, you’ll always remember that line.”

“That I will, Mr. Daniels.” She tilts her glass to me before taking a sip. After setting her drink down, she leans over, reaching into the wide, bamboo tote bag she’d set on the floor. A pale-purple journal lands on the table with a thud. She pulls out a pen next.

“What’s that place called again?” she asks, poised to take notes.

“Blowing Rock.” As she scribbles quickly, an idea pops into my head. “Maybe we can take a drive up there and explore it together sometime. Is asking that breaking any of your temporary-arrangement rules?”

Bree’s hand halts, and she lifts her head. “I’d like that.”

Score! Despite having a great job in the Monarchs organization, I’ve been having a rough time figuring out where I belong and what I want to do with my life.

I’ve felt lost within my own world. Moving back to Vancouver isn’t an option, and Charlotte just doesn’t feel like home.

I can’t pinpoint the reason. I have it all here: great job, friends, nice condo. Still, something’s missing.

Making future plans with Bree feels a bit like digging a hole in the ground and planting a tree.

“What does your work schedule look like?” I ask. “Do you have days open to travel?”

“On four days, and off three. I usually work weekends, but I can try to switch shifts with someone.”

“I work a lot of weekends, too. It’s better to check out the touristy places during the week, anyway. Less crowded.”

“I’ve always been amazed at the crazy travel schedule of a professional athlete. How can you possibly stay at the top level with all the travel back and forth?”

My first thought is to answer as a player because that was my life for over twenty years. The mental game off the ice is just as important as the mental game on the ice. But Bree’s all about honesty, so I decide to reveal my current schedule, not the past.

“I don’t play anymore,” I admit. “I work with guys coming up through the Monarchs organization. My official title is Director of Player Development.”

“Sounds like an important position,” she says without missing a beat.

I can breathe easier after that’s on the table.

“It is, I guess.” I shrug. “It’s not as important as first-line center or captain, but I’m responsible for making sure our draft picks are ready when they get here.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Bree touches my arm. “Are you coaching them?”

“More like mentoring. Some of them are still kids. They’ve still got a year or two left in Juniors before they can get to us.”

“You go to the different cities they play in now to assess them and make sure they’re adjusting well.” Bree nods.

“Exactly.” I’m surprised at how easy it was for her to figure out the basic concept of my job. “For someone with a love-hate relationship with hockey, you sure understand—” Before I can finish my sentence, I’m interrupted by a porter with plates in each hand.

“Cucumber avocado roll?” he asks.

“Right here.” Bree raises her hand and leans back so he can place the plate in front of her. “And the All-American Bacon Double Cheeseburger Roll for you.” He slides the plate toward me.

“Thanks.”

“You guys need anything else right now?”

I glance at Bree. “Is that one roll going to be enough for you?”

She shakes her head. “Maybe we should get another one to split?”

“Lemme grab your server,” the guy says before spinning around. Within seconds, our server is at our table.

“Need another roll?” he asks.

I nod. “Do you eat shrimp?” I ask Bree.

“No animal meat or seafood for me.”

“We’re going to build our own, if that’s cool?

” I ask though I know it is. I’ve been here so many times I could pull a black, collared shirt over my head and start picking up tables and no one would think anything of it.

“Avocado, beets, scallions, and cream cheese wrapped in soy paper with white rice.” I glance at Bree to make sure she’s okay with everything I ordered.

Her smile is radiant, and she gives me two thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. I’ll put that right in,” our server says. “Another round of Captain Jack?”

“Please,” Bree answers before I have the chance.

I’m relieved she gave the next round the green light. That must mean she’s having a good time with me and doesn’t feel the need to use the escape car yet.

I reach over and grab two sets of chopsticks from a small, glass milk bottle in the center of the caddy, then hand one to Bree.

“I’m excited to see what you think,” I tell her as I rip the paper off and pull the sticks apart.

She lifts a piece of her roll expertly and dips it in the soy sauce before popping it into her mouth. Without being too creepy, I watch to gauge her reaction. The smile that spreads across her face as she chews is all the answer I need, but she follows it up by saying, “It’s amazing. How’s yours?”

Bree enjoying the food is more important to me since I already know I’ll like what I ordered.

“Perfect,” I tell her before I’ve taken a bite of my dinner.

While we’re eating, the server brings the third plate we ordered.

“Have you had this one before?” Bree uses her chopsticks to point to the concoction I created.

“Nope,” I admit. “I’ve gotten something similar. I usually add tempura shrimp. But I created this one on the fly after you said?—”

“I don’t eat shrimp,” Bree says, finishing my sentence as the realization that I ordered it for her kicks in. “Did you order all the veggies because of me?”

“Well, yeah,” I tell her with complete honesty. “I wanted to make you happy.”

“You’re so sweet, Luke. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did, or I would have ordered shrimp and meat. Might’ve told them to stuff some fries in there. And then deep fry it after that.”

She laughs, but I’m only half kidding. I’m a healthy eater, but I embrace the crazy combinations The Cowfish comes up with.

“The best roll I’ve ever had comes out in the fall, around the holidays,” I say, lifting a piece of burgushi.

“What is it?”

“The Gobble Gobble-ooshi.”

“The what ?” Bree covers her mouth with her napkin. I’m pretty sure she just laughed so hard she spit food into it.

“You don’t eat meat, so it’s probably going to sound disgusting to you. It’s an entire Thanksgiving dinner in one roll.”

“Stop,” she says, wiping her mouth before replacing her napkin on her lap.

“Picture it: roasted turkey and fried green beans wrapped with soy paper and these crispy, little sweet potato strings. Then they flash-fry it and top it with cranberry sauce and more fried green beans and serve it over gravy. It’s Heaven on Earth.”

“It actually sounds good, except for the turkey and gravy.”

“You don’t like gravy?” I ask, appalled. “Who doesn’t like gravy? It’s like frosting for food.”

“It’s made from the turkey,” she says, defending herself.

“Oh, yeah, well, that’s cool, then.”

“You really do eat here a lot, don’t you?”

“Can you tell?” I ask, leaning back and patting my stomach, which I know for a fact is tight due to all the hours I’ve spent in the gym over the last year.

Bree tilts her head. “Whatever, Luke. You’re in great shape.”

“Glad you noticed.” I take a sip of my beer. “I’ll eat pretty much anything—except raw fish.”

“Cheers to that.” Bree raises her beer, and we click glasses. “Where are you from originally?”

“Vancouver,” I say, then quickly add, “The Canadian one.”

“So that’s your accent. I wondered where it was from. I’ve been to British Columbia but never Vancouver.”

“It’s a great city,” I say though the words make me feel like I’m lying.

I quickly dismiss the thought. Most of Vancouver is nice, beautiful even—just not the section of town I grew up in.

No reason to get into that with Bree right now. She doesn’t need to hear the sad story of my childhood.

“How long have you been in Charlotte?”

“About six years, give or take. During the first year and a half, I was up and down between the Monarchs’ minor league team in Detroit and here. But I’ve been in Charlotte since then.”

Bree is silent, so I glance sideways to see if she’s busy chewing. She seems to be contemplating something.

“Honesty,” I remind her.

She smiles. There’s a slight hesitation before she speaks, but finally, she lets it out. “You’re young and fit, so why aren’t you still playing?” There’s curiosity and caution in her soft tone.

“Injury,” I answer quickly. “Remember the surgery I told you about?”

She nods.

“My doctors haven’t cleared me to play again yet.”

Bree cocks her head, giving me her full attention. “Really?”