Page 14

R emi waited for Max at the corner of 14th Street and Pacific Coast Highway. She stood outside her favorite pasta place; the lingering scent of the night's dinner rush still surrounded the small restaurant, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since her hangover cheeseburger around noon.

Max pulled up to the curb and the locks clicked open for her to get in. Climbing into his Jeep, she instantly felt flushed at the sight of him. Max was still wearing most of his game-day suit, and something about him dressed like this made the depths of her stomach flutter. His white button-up shirt was tight around his biceps, and somewhere between the game ending and now, he had lost his tie. Where the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone, Remi found a dusting of red chest hair that she thought was extremely sexy. She buckled up and immediately crossed her legs, trying to dull the ache between them. It was this man and his goalie thighs, massive hands, chest hair, and his perfectly groomed facial hair and…

“Should I put the address in the GPS?” he asked, pulling her from her spiral.

She laughed. “Sorry, yeah, that might be the easiest option.”

He pushed the screen on his dash. “You can just type it here.”

She punched in Donut Palace and hit enter.

Max pulled off onto PCH, making an illegal U-turn to get them heading in the right direction.

“Seal Beach?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she affirmed and watched as his posture stiffened. “Is that okay?”

“For a donut?”

She leaned over and gave his massive thigh a playful pat. “For the best donut.”

She could feel the muscles in his leg tense under her touch, and for a second, she wondered if she had gotten this wrong. This thing between her and Max. Sure, he was shy, sure he was weird, and sure he was kind of awful at conversations, but she was almost positive she had felt something more happening between them on Halloween. Maybe it was the alcohol and wishful thinking, but the way he looked at her with his drunken smile that night felt like the prelude to an epic romance.

But this was Max Miller.

And he was an enigma.

She pulled her hand away hesitantly.

“Hi, by the way,” she said, causing him to look over for just a split second to give her one of his soul-crushing shy boy smiles. “Thanks for coming with me and for driving.”

“No problem. But I have to warn you, I drive slow at night,” he mentioned.

She noticed his tense hands on the wheel and smiled over at him, only he didn’t smile back. He kept his eyes intent on the road with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

Was he still nervous to be around her? Had they not gotten past that part? Or was he just an anxious driver?

“Thanks for coming with me after a long day, you must be exhausted,” she said.

“I’m fine. All I did was sit on a bench. Besides, you did say they were the best donuts.”

“Do you even like donuts?” she asked.

“I haven’t had one in a long time,” he admitted.

“Diet restrictions?”

He put his blinker on, and changed lanes very slowly, very cautiously, then he seemed to relax a bit. Resting his arm on the armrest between them felt like an invite to hold his hand, but she remembered the feeling of his leg tensing at her touch only moments ago, so she couldn’t be sure, and she was usually pretty damn sure about things. His hands were huge, with light freckles scattered across the tops of them. She desperately wanted to touch them, to run her fingers over each little dot just to say she had, just to know that she could.

“I never think to get donuts,” he said. “We weren't allowed food like that as kids, then growing up as an athlete I was always training, and that called for me to eat a restricted diet. So, I just don’t think to indulge often, it’s not part of my routine.”

“Do you ever indulge?”

“Sure. I’m doing it right now,” he said, and she didn't miss the smile on his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the road.

“So, you fly out to New York tomorrow?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yes. East Coast road trip, then back home before the holiday break.”

“Any chance you'll get the start?”

“No,” he said with certainty. His answer was short and clipped.

It honestly felt like a hint for her to shut the fuck up about hockey, but she wasn’t done yet, and he was all out of passes. It was time to push, just a little. It was time to challenge Max, and ease him out of his comfort zone.

“With you not getting the start, do you think it will encourage you to go see a doctor sooner? You can get the help you need for whatever it is that’s going and get back to being in the starting lineup.”

He slowly hit the brakes as they rolled to a stop at a red light. Looking over at her, his eyes were pleading with her to understand. “Remi, if I go see a team doctor, it might be the end of the season for me.”

“Would that be so bad? You could take the time off, figure out what's wrong, and come back stronger than ever,” she offered, wishing she knew more about the situation, hoping that he might open up and tell her the details, so she could better understand how to help him.

He shook his head and looked away, bringing both hands up to grip the steering wheel tightly. “If I go out on a medical leave, there’s a good chance I’ll never be relevant again,” he said as the light turned green, “especially with the Condors having an amazing young backup goalie.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?” she pried.

“Eat donuts, of course,” he said, looking back over at her, and she knew it was a cop-out answer, but it was also so much more. The smile he gave her in that moment told her she wasn't crazy. Max felt something for her, and maybe it was just a friendship, but that smile hinted at it being something better, something she desperately wanted. It might be the start of him opening up and letting her in. And with Max, that felt like a rite of passage.

***

Pulling up, the donut shop looked like your typical run-of-the-mill place. There wasn't anything special about it. It was an older building; the windows were grimy with old grease and beach film. In fact, the only thing remarkable about the place was that Remi was standing in front of it. She managed to somehow make everything more beautiful. Each time he saw her he noticed something new he liked about her. Like the way she had perfect ears, or the way her long fingers looked so elegant compared to his rough hands, or the way she always scrunched up her nose when she stopped laughing. But aside from the physical things, it was also the way she made him feel truly seen by someone and liked by someone enough for them to stay—for him to stay.

“What should I order?” he asked as they stepped up to the counter to be greeted by a tired-looking older woman who leaned forward and tapped the sign that read: Cash only.

Max began to panic; he didn’t carry cash. Who even used cash anymore? He instinctually patted his pockets, the universal pantomime for, oh shit, I don't have money on me. He felt her soft hands on him, calming his frantic movements before she tangled her fingers in his, looking up at him with a calming, all-knowing smile.

He felt relieved.

He felt the panic roll away, like a wave that was there and then gone.

He felt her tiny thumb brush over the top of his.

She confidently began to order for both of them before moving her hand away to pull a folded twenty-dollar bill from her pocket to pay for the donuts.

This was new; being with someone who wanted to care for him, pay for him, comfort him. His head began to spin, overwhelmed with the idea of it all. His brain said men take care of women , but his heart said who made up that stupid ideology to begin with anyway , people should just care for one another no matter what.

He wanted to push her away and tell her no, stop, he was a mess, and she had enough messes in her life to clean up in her line of work. But he didn't. Instead, he took the box of donuts and followed Remi down to the beach, each step uncertain as the night's darkness engulfed him.

They sat in the sand, side by side, closer than he intended. As if there were a gravitational pull between them, they ended up hip to hip, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder. Max shuddered, his body unfamiliar with this kind of physical connection, it had been so long for him.

“So, I have an idea,” Remi said while kicking off her battered checkered Vans. He noticed this time her toenails were painted neon green before she dug them into the sand.

“Okay. What’s your plan?” he asked.

“I got a half dozen. All different donuts. I say we take one bite of each, and then we have to guess which one was each other’s favorite. And if we get it right, the other person has to run into the water.”

“How will you know I’m not lying about my favorite to save myself from the plunge?” he asked, a skeptic if nothing else.

“Because I trust you,” she said simply.

“And how will I know you're not lying to me?”

“Because I think you trust me too,” she said, opening the pink donut box. She reached in and pulled out the powdered jelly-filled donut. Taking the first bite, she covered her mouth to laugh as a drop of jelly covered the corner of her lips.

He took the donut from her and took a massive bite. Raspberry jelly oozed out from the other end and he pulled his legs apart just in time for it to miss his suit pants. Instinctively, he buried the jam in the sand. He wished he could move as quickly and be as alert with the puck as he had been with the guts of the raspberry donut.

“Next up, a classic: glazed twist,” Remi said, taking a bite before she handed it to him. He watched as she happily chewed, doing a little celebratory dance, and he wondered if she might have just given herself away. He would hang on to the memory of her little dance, and the way her lips curled up in a smile when it came time to guess her favorite donut.

“You pick the next one,” she said, pushing the box at him.

“I feel like this is a trick.”

“What kind of person do you think I am?” she asked with a dubious grin on her face.

“I think you probably don't want to end up in that water just as much as I don't. So, you might have me pick the next donut to get some kind of idea of what my favorite might be.”

This made Remi laugh, her head falling back, the moonlight hitting her collarbone and causing the tiny sun charm that hung from the golden necklace she always wore to shine. He wanted to lean in and kiss it. Not her skin, not her neck, but the charm. He wanted to press his lips against the golden sun just to see if the warmth of her body heated it enough to burn his lips, because Remi was fire, yet everything about her cooled him to his core.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his, “I just wanted you to get the first bite.”

Max looked at the box. One had coconut, and he hated coconut. He grabbed it and took the first bite. Because Sherlock or not, he was going to try like hell to avoid getting into that water. He smiled a bit, chewing up what felt like dehydrated suntan lotion strips, pretending to like it.

“Ah, a bold move,” she said, taking her bite. “Not a fan favorite, but I like your enthusiasm.”

He just shook his head, trying to hide his smile.

“Go again,” she encouraged.

This time he took the real donut he was excited about, the maple bar. He loved syrup and any kind of food you could add syrup to. He even loved the movie Elf because of Buddy’s childlike love for syrup. He took a bite and before he even finished chewing, Remi grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Get in the water, Mr. Miller,” she demanded.

“What?”

She pointed to the ocean firmly. “Go.”

“But we still have two more to try.”

Remi looked down at his feet and kicked a bit of sand at the nice dress loafers he was still wearing from the game. “It doesn't matter, because I know, right now, in this moment, that you loved that maple bar more than maybe anything you've ever eaten.”

She wasn't wrong.

Was he that obvious?

They say gingers give everything away with how easily they blush, so could people also see when they fell in love too? Because he absolutely loved this donut.

He dropped his head. She had won. No chocolate round or crumb donut would compare. “And what about you? Was it the twisty glazed one?” he asked.

“How’d you know?”

“The happy dance gave you away.”

“It always does.” She grinned, and before he was ready, Remi lifted the loose-fitting tank top over her head and pushed her jean shorts from her hips.

She wasn't wearing much less than her jellyfish costume, but the very idea of this being her underwear—her bra and panties—caused his body to betray him, as he felt all the blood in his head rush instantly to his lower regions.

Cold water he thought.

Cold water would put a stop to that. He removed his shirt, kicked off his loafers, and before he had a chance to remove his pants Remi bolted to the water. This left him an ounce of privacy as he pulled his slacks down and bound for the ocean wearing only what he wore the day he met her—black briefs.

Remi screamed as she dove into the waves, and he knew that was the scream of someone taking a cold plunge. The beaches were never that warm in California, not like Florida beaches. She watched him run towards the water, and then before he could talk himself out of it, Remi yelled, “Do it!” and he crashed into the next wave.

Coming up for air, he was greeted by the sight of her bobbing in the water next to him, her hair slicked down to her face and her smile one of regret. She still managed to look beautiful like this, wet, cold, and filled with bad choices in the name of donuts.

“This was an awful idea.” She laughed.

“Your worst idea yet,” he agreed, through chattering teeth. The vast ocean in the dark was nothing more than a blank space to him.

“It’s kind of scary, huh?” she asked, looking out at the blackness that surrounded them as waves rolled into pillows of white foam closer to the shore.

“The ocean? It’s terrifying,” Max admitted.

“And yet here we are.”

“Pretty stupid of us.”

Remi swam closer, and Max thought this was it. She was going to kiss him.

“A bet is a bet,” she said, her face close enough that he could make out droplets of water clinging to her long dark eyelashes.

“A bet is a bet,” he agreed, his voice sounding heavier than usual.

“And besides,” she said, her face a little more serious than it had been just a second earlier, “it’s good to do things that scare us.”

Remi was right. Maybe this was her trying to convince him to tell his team about his health issues, and maybe it was her hinting at him to see the doctor, but maybe it was her letting him know that it was okay to kiss her, because that was scary too.

He was going to do it.

He was going to do one more scary thing tonight.

When he closed his eyes, before he had time to process what was happening, Remi flung her body onto his, dunking him underwater playfully. He let her weight overpower his strength—strength that he could’ve very easily used to toss her like a wet puppy. But he didn't. He went along with her game, dunking her back and allowing her to wrap her arms around him from behind to dunk him again.

It wasn't a kiss.

It wasn't even close.

But in the moment, it might have been better.

They got back to Remi’s house after another slow drive down PCH, sticky with salt water and wrapped up in two blankets Max had in an emergency kit in the back of his Jeep.

“Why are we always wet by the time we get back to my house?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but at this rate, I might need to keep an extra set of clothes here,” Max said, instantly going red.

Remi smiled as if she liked the idea of that. He wondered if nights like this could eventually lead to his things showing up in her laundry. His favorite drinks in her fridge. His personal toothbrush on her sink counter. The scent of him on her sheets… the scent of her on his skin.

“I’m sorry we got your car wet,” she said, drying her hair with a towel she grabbed from the laundry room.

“It’s fine. It’s just a car.”

Just a car? This made Remi roll her eyes sarcastically, causing Max to blush an even deeper shade of pink. He didn’t do it often, but sometimes it was easy to forget not everyone had the same privileges in life he did being an NHL goalie.

“I have to go. I have an early morning, and I haven't even packed.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, reluctance lining her every word.

“I could text you,” he offered shyly, “while I’m on the road.”

Remi beamed, and Max took that as a yes.

“Good luck on your road trip,” she said, her words gentle and inviting, and he thought she might really kiss him this time. He thought of kissing her, yet again. He thought of how the last time he considered this he ended up with salt water up his nose.

Before he could work up the courage, Remi added, “Do scary things, Max… on your road trip.” And there it was. Do scary things , like talk to your team, talk to your coach, talk to your doctor.

He had gotten it wrong. This wasn’t an invitation to a kiss; it was a pep talk for a career-changing conversation.

Disappointment and resentment flooded through his body at the realization.

“I’ll try,” he said.