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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marissa

Dozer’s true to his word, and I end up at hockey games more than I’d ever be able to go on my own—sometimes multiple times a week. Usually, though, I just go to the weekend games that are in Seattle.

The weeks where Dozer’s on the road feel strangely empty. I make an effort to find friends other than Dozer, but it’s difficult. People here are nice enough—happy to give a recommendation for a coffee shop or a place to get good brisket—but no one extends invites to hang out. And no one here knows what good brisket is. I’ve tried so many barbecue places based on people’s recommendations for something good, but these people have clearly never had good barbecue in their lives.

I’ve finally found my footing at work, though. It’s taken nearly all of the three months I’ve been here, but my team members have developed a grudging respect for me. I’ll take it. I don’t need them to be my friends—and I wouldn’t expect them to be, though being friend- ly would be nice—I just need them to respect me enough that we can all work together. Since I’m good at my job and treat them fairly, in my experience, hostile coworkers eventually come around. Mostly.

Fortunately, despite the initial hostility, it all settled pretty quickly, and we’re keeping both the clients and the central office happy with our performance.

Which is the other reason making new friends is difficult—I work a ton, and when I’m not at work, I’m either spending time with Dozer—he’s even come with me to the garage to hang out while I work on my car—texting with Dozer, or watching Dozer’s hockey games. Even when he’s away, I like to have the hockey game playing while I’m at home, once or twice even missing most of a Cowboys game so I could watch him play.

For someone who’s just my friend, I really should rein that in.

It’s just … I don’t want to.

I like Dozer. I like hanging out with him. He’s fun and funny and sweet. He doesn’t pressure me or expect things from me other than to also be fun and funny and kind. If I were in the market for a boyfriend, he’d be the perfect candidate.

But that would probably ruin everything. Because things are always great in the early days of a relationship, right? When you’re getting to know each other and focused on having fun and not letting people see your crazy side.

Once those early stages turn into a relationship, though? That’s where it all goes sideways. The expectations, the demands, the need for constant contact, the refusal to give as much as he takes …

What we have right now is perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that it makes it hard to want to spend time even trying to find other people to hang out with, even though I know I should.

Where, though? Where would I even find these elusive people? I could try going back to the Salty Salmon on my own, but since I go there so often with Dozer, I don’t want to spoil it by using it to find other friends. Plus, there’s the whole, a woman in a bar chatting with a man is obviously trolling for a date or a hookup mentality that so many seem to have. And I’m not. I wouldn’t be. I just want friends!

Women friends would be nice. But I have no idea where or how to find adult women to be friends with in a new city. My friends back home are women I went to school with, either in high school or college, when it’s easier to make friends in general.

I’ve thought about joining a group or class of some kind, but I haven’t found any that sound really appealing—not that I’ve looked very hard.

But maybe this is fine. Maybe having one friend and spending the rest of my time at work or working on my car is enough. At least for now.

“Marissa!” Mom says when I pick up her call. “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in ages!”

Grinning, I shake my head. “I talked to you the other day, Mom.”

“Well, sure. But I haven’t seen you in months, and I’m still adjusting. Have you thought any more about what you’re doing for Thanksgiving?”

I put the hanger in my hand in my closet—Mom caught me in the middle of putting away laundry—then pause, staring at the wall with my hand on my hip, my mouth hooked to one side as I think about Thanksgiving again. “Not really,” I say on a sigh. Mom’s been badgering me since the beginning of the month to come home for Thanksgiving.

“It’s right around the corner,” she reminds me. “Less than two weeks away. If you’re going to fly home, it’s going to be expensive at this point.”

On another sigh, I shake my head. “I don’t think going back to Texas is in the cards right now, Mom.”

She’s quiet for a second, then her sigh comes through the phone as well. “I kind of guessed. I was hoping …”

“I know, Mom,” I say when she trails off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. I understand.”

“It’s just, I’m still getting settled, and?—”

“Marissa,” Mom cuts in. “I understand. I really do. I just miss you, is all. You were the child I always expected to stay. I’m just being selfish, really. All my babies are grown and gone and busy with their own lives. I wish I could have you all here again, and I’m just trying to get what I can, when I can.” She sucks in a deep breath, and I’m tempted to apologize again, but when Mom tells me not to apologize, she gets annoyed if I do it again. So I bite my lips and keep the words from jumping out. “Could you go visit Lance, maybe?” she continues. “They’re coming here for Christmas, but I’m sure they’d be happy to have you visit for Thanksgiving for a day or two. That way you won’t be alone for the holiday.”

The reflexive no dies on my lips as I consider it. “I’ll text him,” I say instead.

“I’m glad,” she says, then changes the subject, updating me on friends and family and what’s been going on in their lives.

Our conversation is winding down when my phone alerts with another incoming call. I pull the phone away from my face to see that Dozer’s calling me. Which is unusual. He normally texts. “I’m gonna let you go, Mom. I have another call coming in.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon, honey! Love you!”

“Love you too!” Then I quickly switch to Dozer’s call, wanting to catch him before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Marissa!” his jovial, almost frat-boy-like voice greets me, and I can’t help smiling. “Are you busy? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nope. Just tidying up at home.”

“Look at you, being all adult and stuff.”

I laugh. “Because you live in a sty?” I’ve been up to his place on the seventh floor a couple times on his nights off. It’s definitely the kind of place you’d imagine a single guy living alone would live—all dark leather and not much attention to aesthetics. His place is all comfort with a beaten up leather sofa, a non-matching recliner that’s so comfortable that when I sat in it, I almost didn’t want to get up again, no rug, only hockey paraphernalia on the walls, and dishes that it looks like he got in a thrift store when he first moved out on his own and has never bothered to replace. Given that I know him to be both practical and sentimental, that doesn’t really surprise me, though.

He grunts. “I hire a cleaner to come three times a week. The only reason my place isn’t a sty is because of Miss Kim. She keeps me shipshape and ready for company. And the woman is a miracle worker with getting smells out of laundry. I’m not sure how she does it, but I’m convinced it must be magic. Because hockey gear stiiiinks . My mom complained about it all the time when I was a kid, and by the time I was about thirteen, she told me I had to wash my own hockey gear and I had to do it separately from any other laundry so the stink didn’t transfer. I don’t know how Miss Kim does it, but I’m more than happy to pay for her magical services.”

The thought of hiring someone to keep my place clean is weird to me, but I keep that to myself. He’s gone a lot, after all, so it’s not like he has tons of time to clean, right? And if that’s how he wants to spend his money, who am I to judge?

I clear my throat. “Well, that’s, uh, cool.”

He laughs. “I know. I grew up working class, too. It’s definitely been an adjustment not only having the money to pay for someone to come clean my house, but also an adjustment in feeling like the type of person who’d do that.”

“No, well, I mean?—”

“Anyway. I didn’t call to debate the relative merits of hiring domestic help—though, for what it’s worth, I pay Miss Kim extremely well, we have a fantastic relationship, and she works for several of my other teammates. I like to make sure she’s happy and doesn’t feel the need to overwork herself just to get by.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He sniffs. “Right. The real reason I called, though, was for two reasons—to see if you want to hang out tonight, and to see what your plans for Thanksgiving are. I know I left this kinda late, so if you’ve already got plans, I get it. But we don’t have a game that day, so my teammate Nick and his wife have invited a few of us over for Thanksgiving dinner. I know you’re new in town and far from your family, so I wanted to extend the invite if you were staying in town. And don’t worry, I already cleared it with Tina.”

“Oh, wow. Um …” The invitation catches me off guard. And it’s a little funny coming on the heels of my conversation with my mom about my Thanksgiving plans.

“You don’t have to,” Dozer puts in quickly, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I won’t be upset if you already have other plans, hell, even if your other plans are to stay home, watch movies, and eat ice cream by yourself. Honestly, that doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend a day off.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “That’s because you’ve just spent a week and a half on the road.”

“True. I’d probably get bored halfway through the day and need to go for a run or something.”

“Knowing you, yeah, you would. But yeah, I’d love to come with you to your Thanksgiving dinner with your teammate’s family. That sounds fun. Should I bring anything?”

“Just your gorgeous smile.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I laugh off the compliment. “Right. Well, I can’t exactly leave it at home. I’ll grab a bottle of wine, though. Unless … do they have kids? Would something else be more appropriate?”

“Honestly, you don’t have to bring anything. But I’m sure they’d be happy with a bottle of wine if you insist on bringing something.”

“Okay, thanks.” My mind’s already whirring with dessert options. I don’t know Tina, so it’s possible she’s the type who turns up her nose at other people’s contributions, but my mom raised me to always bring something to a meal, especially a big meal like this. So a bottle of wine and some kind of pie, probably. My mom has a recipe for a chocolate chip pie that’s delicious. I’m assuming Tina’ll have all the traditional desserts covered, so I don’t want to duplicate anything. Best to go with something different but tasty.

“I’ve got your favorite beer in the fridge, and the pregame show is on for the Cowboys game,” Dozer says in an enticing voice.

“Gimme five minutes.”

He laughs. “Deal.”