The Romance Line (Love and Hockey Book 2)

Max

On Friday morning I’m in my kitchen, making coffee and plotting my secret date with Everly for Sunday…with my dad.

“I think I’ll take her to Theo and Soren’s restaurant,” I say to him on FaceTime, mentioning some of his married friends who run a restaurant an hour or so away. That’s key because I need to make sure we avoid the arena area and, frankly, the city too, where most of the people who work for the team live. Sure, there’s always a risk I could be recognized anywhere, but I won’t touch her in public. I don’t want her to deal with an in-person encounter with a co-worker though, so getting away from here will help. “Think you can get me a res?”

Dad chuckles from a couch in the teachers’ lounge at his school. “I’m pretty sure you could get your own, but I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

“No one answers the phone anymore these days. ”

He clears his throat. “You know you can get reservations online, Max?”

“Really?” I deadpan.

“Technology is an amazing thing.”

“So much sass from such an old man,” I tease.

“And you wonder where you got it from,” he says.

I shake my head. “Nope, I don’t. I know it came from you.”

“I’ll send them a text to get you a good table,” he says, understanding why I asked him for help rather than making one online. I want the best for Everly. Dad pauses, then asks seriously, “So, the woman must be special?”

Easiest answer ever. “She is,” I say, but I don’t tell him anything more. I’m in the convince her stage anyway.

Those two words seem to be enough for him though. A small smile coasts across his weathered face. “I hope it stays that way.”

I hope it becomes that way too, for her.

I say thanks and hang up as Athena saunters into the kitchen, looking ready for some playtime. I pick up her favorite toy from the floor—a ball of tinfoil. Of all the toys in the universe, why do cats dig this one the most? No idea, but that’s the mystery of felines. After I hurl the tinfoil into the living room, my gaze strays to a bag on the tiled floor full of my gear. Gloves, shoulder pads, and helmet…Not the ones I wear in Sea Dogs games, but the ones I use when I coach the kids.

A couple sticks too.

Sticks…Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

That reminds me of Everly’s warning about Elias. We’ll have to be extra careful at work. But maybe there’s a very specific way to do that.

Jerseys .

When Athena rushes under the kitchen table batting her shiny prize, I head over to her, extract the tinfoil from her tiny but mighty paws, then scratch her chin. “You know who’s brilliant?”

Ignoring me, she stares murderously at the silvery ball in my hand, like she’s licensed to kill. Well, she is a cat.

“Me, Athena. Me,” I say, but she has no interest in my self-praise. She’s poised to vanquish tinfoil.

Like I’m going to toss the ball across the kitchen, I lift my hand and fake her out, sending the crushed ball hurtling down the hall and the other way. In a blur of gray fur and the cutest white paws ever she skids out, then spins around to chase after it. My coffee’s brewed, so I pour a cup, head to my room, and grab a couple jerseys from a drawer. I keep extra here since you never know when you might need one.

But now I need two. If Lyra can pull off a distraction ploy, so can I. I text my friends and tell them I need their help. They say yes when I ask them to bring extra jerseys to practice.

Back in the kitchen, I grab a Sharpie and sign both of mine, adding a paw print at the end of my name for fun. Then I toss them into a big canvas bag, snagging a second bag since this will be a double decoy.

But right as I’m about to leave, I get another idea about jerseys. I grin wickedly because this new idea is indeed proof that I’m brilliant. I’ve got a few extra minutes so I flop down on the couch with my tablet and do a little online recon. I’m fast and I know what I want so when I find a store that can do it, I place the order right away, even though it won’t arrive for a couple weeks.

And because I can learn, I send this gift to her house instead of to work.

A couple hours later, I’m in the locker room collecting signed jerseys from Miles, Wesley, Hugo, and Asher—two from each of my friends. “You’re a good man,” I tell Hugo as he drops his into the bag.

“No problem. You got a couple relatives who are hockey fans? That’s what I got my aunt Cindy for Christmas. She lost her mind. Actually, I should have you guys sign some pucks for her next.”

“Happy to do it,” I say, and while I don’t want to give them the details on why I need two sets of signed gear, I don’t want to lie to my friends either. But I have to protect Everly as much as I possibly can. I’ve got to do everything I can for her—including subtly trying to win Elias over. Make him think I’m on the same team as him. “These are actually for Elias. As a thank you. And Everly.”

Miles laughs. “He’s going to be your best friend. Nothing that kid likes better than giving away swag during the intermissions.”

“Seriously,” I say, then frown, which is easy for me to do since I have a master’s degree in glowering, but it helps sell the reason. “And that event earlier in the week was kind of a mess, thanks to my ex. I’m just trying to thank everybody who helped out.”

“Aww, you’re not such a dickhead after all,” Wesley says.

“And if anyone talks shit about you, I’ll say this right here is proof that you’re not a hater,” Miles adds.

As Asher puts on his watch, he looks up and asks, ever so innocently, “Where’s my football tickets, then, for helping? If memory serves, I did kind of save your ass too so I should be included in the gifting. We all should, in fact. ”

Wesley seconds that with a vigorous nod. “We don’t have a game on Sunday. I hear the VIP suite at the Renegades is real nice.”

I owe them big time, so I easily say, “Consider it done.” Doesn’t matter that I won’t be there with them.

As I head to the management level a few minutes later, Asher catches up to me before I reach the stairwell. It’s just the two of us. “So, things are going well?”

I furrow my brow. It’s such a broad question, and I’m not sure which target he’s trying to hit. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

He nods toward the stairwell. “With…”

I scratch my beard. “With the makeover?”

He points at me, like he’s caught me in the act. “Fucking knew you had a tell!”

I roll my eyes. But there’s no real point denying it. He put two and two together last week when we hit the ice before practice. I push open the door to the stairwell, and he follows me in. “One, I scratch my beard at other times too.”

“Be that as it fucking may, you also do it when you’re bluffing.”

“And two, don’t say a fucking word to anyone.”

He gives me a look like c’mon, man. “You don’t have to say that. I know.”

“I do have to say that. I have to protect her however I can,” I whisper.

He claps my shoulder. “I get it. And if you need anything, I’ve got your back. Know that.”

I smile. “I do. Appreciate it, man.”

“And I appreciate those tix.”

“Asshole,” I mutter playfully.

“Dickhead,” he says in the same tone then returns the way he came, and I head up the stairs. As I go, I lob in a call to Garrett. He’s got clients in every sport. “Any chance you can get me four tickets in a VIP suite to the Renegades for Sunday? I need them for a friend. Put them under the name Asher Callahan, please.”

“Happy to do it,” he says, with no questions asked. “And I spoke with Zaire this morning and after everything that went down, we still got some good press from the other day. And everything is on track for The Ice Men. ”

That’s a relief on all fronts. “Great. I hope my likeability quotient is going up,” I say, mostly meaning it. I do hope it’s on the rise. I want this makeover to work. For me, for my family, and for my plans. For my team. I want to stay with the Sea Dogs more than ever since Everly’s here.

But mostly now, I want this makeover to work for her. So she can have all the good things. So she can gain the promotion she deserves. If I’m the path to it, I want to ease the way for her.

“And you’ve got the next community outreach event on Thursday,” he says, reminding me.

“I’ll be there.”

“With a smile on,” he adds importantly.

“With a motherfucking smile,” I say.

But the smile will likely be for her since she’s at the front of my mind.

After I hang up, I stop by her office and hand her a bag of jerseys. She looks up from her desk, quirking a brow as she cautiously asks, “A gift?”

“For Little Friends,” I clarify, and yes, it’s a legit gift, but I also gave them to her in case word got out that I was giving some jerseys to Elias. Don’t want Elias to try to claim to management that he’s tight with the athletes more than she is. They both get the same thank-you gift. “ From my friends and me. For putting up with all the shenanigans the other day. I figure they can auction them off on their website if they want and raise some more money.”

Her smile is bright and genuine. “That is very thoughtful.”

“I can be a nice guy,” I say.

And since I heard her loud and clear the other night, I don’t stick around and flirt. I leave, even though it’s hard as hell and I already miss her. As I’m heading down the hall, I send her a text.

Max: You have no idea how hard it was not to kiss you.

Everly: Actually, I do. I felt the same with you.

My pulse speeds up, and I want to frame her last note. The admission from her. Dear god, the fucking admission.

But instead, I school my expression as I stop by Elias’s cubicle. He gulps when he looks up from his computer. “Hey, man, how’s it going?” he asks, sitting up straighter.

“Just wanted to thank you for your help earlier in the week with Dogs on Ice. It was kind of crazy but I appreciate everything you did,” I say evenly, like I don’t have a single ulterior motive.

He waves a dismissive hand. “No worries, man. That must have been rough. My ex-girlfriend keeps trying to get back together with me too. ”

Oh, wow. He’s really going there, playing the bro-bonding card. But that just makes this visit easier.

“What can you do, right?” I ask, sympathetically, like we’re just two dudes with the same problems.

“It’s tough,” he says.

“Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone who helped out. So I got some of my buddies to sign jerseys. Figured you can give them away at an upcoming game,” I say, then hand him the bag.

When he peers inside, his eyes pop. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “I figured, you know, athlete to athlete, that you’d appreciate it.”

If I’d thought his eyes sparkled before, it’s nothing compared to how they look now. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call a fake-out.

He thinks I’m his friend now.