Page 5

five

Noah

I was over the photo, but I had a lingering residue of Paisley’s fiery eyes imprinted on my brain. It had me wandering down the hall of the arena, hoping for a glimpse of her. When I found her in need of help, I didn’t hesitate because it gave me every excuse to be near her.Now, I steer out of the parking lot, rolling through the stop sign while I toss a glance over my left shoulder and check my blind spot. “Where do you like to eat?”

“I’m not picky.” She offers a lazy shrug as her feet shuffle in front of her as if she can’t get comfortable, and I roll my bottom lip in, hoping she’s nervous because she feels this magnetism too.

“Red Barn Kabobs?” I offer a team-favorite place right on the edge of town. I risk another glance in her direction and suck back a hard breath as I catch her looking back at me with those fierce blue eyes firing all the light. There’s no color equivalent on the planet, and it’s hard to not study them.

“They have the best barbecue chicken. Tender and juicy inside. Crisp and not too flaky on the outside.” Her automatic reply hints she’s done some heavy analytics on her food reviews. Most likely she’s a foodie.

“Or what about The Grove?” I throw out another place to make sure she isn’t being agreeable to be nice. This place is also super inexpensive. I try to watch my budget, since I live off my AHL salary like the rest of the guys. And, I’ll say it aloud for the people in the nosebleed sections, it’s almost nothing.

“They have the best curly fries.”She nods, pursing her lips.“Crunchy and the right amount of salt.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” I slow my speed, since I’m coming up on the turn to Red Barn’s, and I don’t know if I should take it yet.

“Neither. It’s just fact. You can pick what you want.”

I sigh in relief that she doesn’t seem too high maintenance. I can work with this. “Since you like the chicken from Red Barn and the fries from The Grove, we’ll go to both places. Now the question is, who has the best desserts?” I hold my grin in while I wait to see her reaction as I already feel like I’m going to get a weighted response.

“JD’s Cheesecakes.” The inflection in her voice mirrors that of someone cracking a life-saving code.“They have the cheesecake.” Her voice lowers into a secret-sharing volume. “You know the one. It’s cheesecake with a brownie crust, and that should be enough to make a perfect dessert, but then when you bite in, it explodes your mind because it has coconut hidden in the center.”

“Brownie explosion.” A chuckle moves up my throat, as that’s the cake that made JD’s famous in the New England states. “I guess we are going to three places.”

“If we are doing all three, we should start with Red Barn first,” she instructs, the conviction in her tone confirming she’s a serious foodie. “I have all the apps so I’ll order ahead. That way we can just pick everything up.”Her gaze is already locked on Red Barn’s website.“What do you want?”

I study her face, not wanting to miss her animated expressions. “A number four.”

“We have one thing in common.” Her fingers dart over her phone screen, adding things to our virtual takeout bag. “Ordered.” She confirms and drops her phone to her lap.

“Perfect plan.”

She smiles a coy smile that lights up her whole face. “Planning is sort of my thing.”

“I’m starting to see that about you.”

“What about you?” Her expression turns a tad sour. “What’s your thing?”

“My th ing . . .” I drag the word out, placing emphasis on the last half of the word. “I just play hockey and procrastinate everything else.”

“So, procrastination?” She tucks a long strand of her dark hair behind her ear, and it contrasts with her pale skin so much that it’s strikingly beautiful.She continues, “I’m a planner, and you’re a procrastinator. Not sure we can be friends.”

“It might be rough.” With a slight smirk on my face, I put my blinker on, take a sharp left, and slow the vehicle to a stop in the pickup lane. I roll down my window. When the server hands me the drinks, I pass the first one to Paisley and wait for her to take the first sip.

“Yep, they still have the best soft drinks in town,” she quips as she finds the cup holder in the center console.

“All right, let’s get the fries next.” I pull out of the drive-through and turn back onto the main road, steering toward The Grove.

A comical grin pulls on the edges of her lips. “I’ve never had three places to eat for one meal.”

I make a right turn into The Grove as their parking lot is adjacent. I find their drive-through empty and go right to the window. We only wait another minute for the bag, the fumes of grease wafting in my car, and we both steal a glance at the bag. “We are eating those now, right?”

“I was hoping.” She chuckles, unrolling the bag with extreme determination laced on her face and grabbing a few fries before tipping the bag toward me. I dig in, not shy about grabbing a handful.

“Best fries,” I speak with my mouth full.

“So good.” She hums with her eyes closed. There’s nothing mindful or demure about the way she attacks her food. She’s a hundred percent on that.

“One more stop but this one requires a bit of driving for the cake. Should we eat this stuff first?” Since we already established we have no boundary with food, I reach across the center console and steal a fry from the bag that is still on her lap. Then I circle the parking lot, parking in the back.She’s not hesitant as she snacks, adding another fry as she chews the first one down.“So, I know you lost your camera, but other than that, how do you like your internship?”

She finished her fry before saying, “I like photography.”

“Is that all?”

“And hockey.”

“Fair enough.” I reach into the bag from Red Barn and pullout a foil-wrapped kabob. I take a bite before I ask, “Do you have any questions for me?”

She pauses, not rushing her question, giving me just enough time to wonder whether I should have opened the floor for questions. “Why did you ask me to get food with you?”

“I was hungry.” Easy question. Even if it’s not the whole truth. I’m not going to say that ever since I first saw her, I can’t stop thinking about her. That would be weird to say.

“Is that all?”

“Maybe I wanted to talk to you.” I risk another side-eye, pulling my lips into a smirk.

We help ourselves to handfuls of fries. A pleased smile forms on her lips. “So, you say you procrastinate everything but hockey. What else do you do to procrastinate?”

“Good question.” I scratch the top of my head, wondering if I should acknowledge the single biggest weight of pressure I feel every day. The pressure I get from Bill to do everything perfectly. “At the moment, basically anything but hockey.”

“This is so good.” She bleeps out a chuckle as she unwraps her own kabob. I struggle not to stare at how her lips turn up as if we’d just done something masterful.I keep my gaze locked on her as she smiles through each bite. With her hair over the shoulder like that, she looks like a model posing for a food commercial. It’s the kind of beauty that exists only when a girl doesn’t know she’s pretty. I can’t stop watching her. Before she catches me gazing at her, I say, “So, three restaurants; that’s going to be our thing.”

“Right,” she says, her tone drenched in sarcasm. “Because we need a thing.”

I raise an inquiring brow at her while I wad my empty wrapper into a ball and stuff it into the sack. “You just never know.”

She follows my lead, rolling up her empty wrapper and stuffing it into the sack. “I’m full but we still have cheesecake waiting for us at the next place. Should I call to cancel it?”

“Oh no.” I shift my car into gear and drive out. “We are in this together. No quitters.”

“You’re kidding.” Her hand drops to her stomach. “I can’t eat another bite. You have to remember I’m half your size. Maybe three restaurants works for you, but I’m going to be sick.”

She’s all talk.

There’s no way anybody can resist the brownie explosion cheesecake when they see it.

When I get the final sack from JD’s, I don’t open it, and she holds it at bay, refusing to look at it, citing a belly ache. I exit the parking lot. “So, serious question. Since this cake has both brownie and cheesecake, if you could only have one, which one would it be?”

“You can’t ask me that.” She playfully frowns at me. “That’s like asking who my favorite child is.”

“It’s not even close to the same thing. Plus, you don’t have kids.” A smirk tugs at the corners of my mouth, but I hold it back, pretending to be serious. “Cheesecake and brownies are renewables. Children are not. They are irreplaceable.”

Surprise edges in her facial expression, and I can tell by the way her lips pinch together that she’s holding back a rebuttal.

Or maybe I stumped her.

I arrive at the arena parking lot, and since there’s only one car, I assume it’s hers. She doesn’t say it isn’t when I pull up beside it and park. She starts to open her door, but I hand her the sack, and say, “Good thing it’s both cheesecake and brownies. I won’t make you choose.”

“Nah.” She pushes the bag back at me. “It’s yours. You paid for it.”

I hold a firm hand out toward her. “Save it for later when you are thinking about me.”

“I would never—” She cuts herself off with an annoyed huff, but I push the sack farther out and she takes it, flashing a seriously flirty smile back at me. It’s a smile she hasn’t showed me yet, but I’m instantly addicted to it. I smile ear to ear when she shuts the door, thinking about how fun it is to make her smile.

At home, I find my mom’s bedroom light on as I pass down the hall. Per the usual, I wait for her to call out, but to my surprise it’s Bill’s voice that breaks the silence first. “Noah, did practice run late?”

I stop and turn to their bedroom door. “Nope.” I stare forward, not daring to make eye contact. This living arrangement is so complicated. My mom married Bill a day before I turned seventeen, after living as a single mom for my entire childhood. If I had it my way, I would have moved out on my own back then, but I’m not making enough. It’s been a weird transition for me, but overall, it’s been a relief to see my mom finally happy, finding someone who loves her. Oddly enough, I was the source that unknowingly brought them together. When Bill was scouting me, he accidentally—as he puts it—scouted my mom.

Maybe it’s a dream come true to see my struggling mother marry a billionaire, but it’s not without its issues. Bill offered me a spot on his hockey team, but he barely pays anything. I vowed to save what I made by staying here, but every day I regret this decision. It’s too much of my professional life blending with my private life, and I’m going to need to find another source of income soon so I can move out or I’m going to end up leaving this team. Leaving the team would be ideal, especially if I can move up to the NHL, but it’s not like I have offers waiting for me.

I wait, as I already know what Bill’s getting at. He’s an expert at meddling, and not just interfering, but negotiations where he ends up getting exactly what he wants. He’s not a bad guy. That’s not his deal at all. I appreciate everything he does for me. But sometimes I think he cares too much and doesn’t know when he’s overstepping a boundary. I’ve learned to refuse to offer any more information than what he asks for.

The news program they watch every night blares from the wall TV, but he speaks over the theme song. “Why are you home so late?”

“I, ah, stayed to help someone.” I don’t dare tell him another detail.I don’t have a curfew, and I’m certainly not accountable to him.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” my mom adds, her voice sleepy as if she’s been fighting going to sleep. Her blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she fidgets with the end of it. She always looks happy when she’s snuggled up to Bill, and I’m glad she has him. I don’t have to worry about her anymore, but it’s still so weird to see my mom married to my boss.I don’t like to tell people I’m technically related to Bill, because I would hate the guys to think I receive favoritism, because trust me, I’m far from his favorite player.

“Say, about the charity banquet next week.” Bill’s overgrown salt-and-pepper eyebrows wag at me. “I was thinking you should ask Kaylee Bradworth.”

I blink, recalling how this is how he gaslit me into asking Haileigh Goberson to the gala. I don’t even like Haileigh, nor did I want to go to the gala. I find her high-pitched laugh to be the most annoying sound on the planet. Bill had insisted it was a great “connection” to make since her dad is a Mapleton city commissioner. “Ah, no thanks. I wasn’t going to bring a date. It’s just deep-fried turkey. I don’t think any of the guys are bringing dates unless they have girlfriends or wives.”

“Kaylee’s dad is running for the Park and Recreation Board this year. He’d be a great connection to have.” I am not one bit surprised this is his speech, and I struggle not to roll my eyes as he drones on. “Especially if you want to do any coaching or perhaps go into personal training after your AHL career ends. Really, anything with athletics.”

Bill is all about working connections. I call it using people, but he says everyone uses everyone, which I think is disgusting. “I’m not bringing a date.” I stride away from their door, calling back, “Night.”

I didn’t care either way about the date situation or Kaylee. She’s a nice lady. We actually went to high school together. I’m sure we’d get along fine, but this is about me not wanting to be controlled by Bill. He’s the kind of guy that once you give an inch, he takes a mile, and he always has these little schemes he’s cooking up.

I want nothing to do with them.

No, thank you.

I pad down the hall, right as Bill’s elderly bulldog wobbles out of my room with something in his mouth. You have to watch Puck because he makes a hobby out of exposing your most private possessions. Like the time he found Bill’s private journal and decided to announce its existence to both our extended families right in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. I laughed at that one. However, he then turned his detective skills on me and drug out my super-strength athlete’s foot cream. I stopped laughing.

“What do you have?” I reach my hand below his mouth and wedge my fingers between his jaws. There’s something trapped in there, and his jaw is clamped as tight as it will go. “Drop it,” I demand, but he lifts a nostril toward me and growls.

Out of patience, I jab my finger further inside his mouth and proceed to yank out the object. Once I see what it is, I’m glad I did. I could have just saved his life.

My prescription anxiety meds.

“Don’t steal these again.” I pat his head in more of a disciplinary than friendly way. “You could have died if you ate these.”

I swear he rolls his eyes and plods away, and I inhale a deep breath and clench the bottle in my fist. The only thing worse than a meddling Bill Baker is Bill Baker’s meddling bulldog.

I seriously can’t make up this drama.