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“I packed a sandwich,” she said in her defense. “I just didn’t have time to eat it.”
Blake scoffed. “Yeah. Like that makes it better. You’re allowed meal breaks, Dr. Nelson.”
She shrugged but didn’t reply because him giving her a lecture wasn’t going to change the fact she would always work through her breaks if she knew someone was suffering in the waiting room. Blake knew that too, but it didn’t stop him from trying anyway. He was a good friend that way.
He took a left at the next light, the two of them heading toward one of the local pubs near their neighborhood. They drove in a companionable silence, comfortable enough with each other to get lost in their own thoughts.
After parallel parking in a spot near the pub, Blake circled the car, offering her a hand to help her out of his Audi. He chuckled at her exaggerated groan as she got out.
“It’s not that low,” he said, replying to her unspoken complaint.
“It’s like I’m sitting on the ground.”
They walked into the pub together, Blake’s hand resting at the small of her back.
“Blake, Erika,” Padraig, the bartender, called out from behind the bar, offering a wave.
Blake had introduced her to Pat’s Pub a few months after she’d moved into their building, the local watering hole a favorite of the team. Blake and his teammates did a lot of celebrating in the place, as Padraig and his dad, Tristan, two of the biggest Stingrays fans on the planet, always rolled out the red carpet after big wins.
“Hey, Padraig,” Blake called out. “Good to see you, man. It’s been a while.”
The bartender walked out from behind the counter to join them, shaking Blake’s hand. “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. Tank said you’d opted out on the ‘drowning your sorrows’ portion of the evening. Tough loss, by the way.”
“Thanks. Not our finest moment.” She watched as Blake glanced around the pub. “I actually forgot a few of the guys were planning to come by. Tank insisted he needed to drink away the agony of defeat.”
“Well, he’s putting a dent in it,” Padraig joked.
Glancing toward the back of the pub, she spotted Tank, Coulton, and a couple other Rays players holding court with a bunch of puck bunnies—including Mindy.
“Want to go say hello?” Erika offered half-heartedly. She’d been looking forward to a quiet meal. Hanging out with a bunch of his teammates and the giggly groupies who seemed to follow them everywhere they went would classify as anything but.
Blake shook his head. “No. I just left those guys. Besides, Mindy would probably latch on, and I don’t have the energy for her tonight. We’ll say goodbye on our way out.”
She smiled, relieved, though somewhat surprised he was trying to avoid Mindy.
“Erika had a busy night at the hospital, so we thought we’d stop in for a pint and a bite,” Blake explained as he let Padraig guide them to a booth in a quiet corner near the front of the bar, well away from the group in the back, who mercifully hadn’t noticed their arrival.
“How’s this?” Padraig asked about the table.
“Perfect,” Erika said, taking the menu Padraig handed her. “Did you eat dinner yet?” she asked Blake.
“Had something a few hours before the game, but nothing since. So, I’m starving.” Blake typically ate three hours before the puck drop, and usually the same thing—chicken breast or some other lean protein, rice, and green veggies. He took his pre-game routines very seriously.
Blake ordered them each a pint of Guinness, and Padraig headed back to the bar to get their drinks while they perused the menus.
“What looks good?” Blake asked, looking up from the menu.
“I’m going for the grilled chicken sandwich and a salad. Hate to eat anything too heavy this close to bedtime.”
Blake tossed his menu on the table. “Good idea. That sounds perfect. I’ll get the same.”
When Padraig returned with their beers, they placed their orders. Erika leaned back in the booth, lifting her feet to rest next to Blake on his bench seat. He grinned, reaching beneath her sock to tickle her ankle playfully, making her laugh.
For the next hour, he filled her in on the highlights of the game as they ate, going into so much detail, she felt like she’d been there.
She loved listening to Blake talk hockey. She hadn’t been a fan of the sport prior to moving in across the hall from him. Her father’s sports of choice had been the big three—football, basketball, and baseball. So that was what she’d been subjected to while growing up, forced to endure endless fall Sundays of him monopolizing the TV to watch his beloved Ravens.
Dad had also dragged her to countless Orioles games, the two of them attending at least three or four every summer for as long as she could remember.
