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My ear continued to tingle long after Davis disappeared. I don’t really expect him to call me later. It ended up being a crazy game. He was going to need to help assess the seriousness of TJ’s injury. Logan was thrown out of the game. Levi stepped to the helm for the rest of the game, which was easy for him. But Brady will need to calm Logan down, or possibly vice versa.
The day had been great. Despite the events of the third period, the game had been great, too. What little of it I paid attention to. Way too preoccupied with the man seated next to me and relishing the fact that he was seated next to me. We were smiling and laughing. Having fun. Fun.
I appreciate the sentiment behind him saying I’ll call you later. And I really appreciated the touch of his lips against my ear, the whisper of his breath heating my ear lobe. But I won’t be upset at all if my phone doesn’t ring.
But it does.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” It sounds like he might still be in his car.
“Nope,” I say. “How is everyone? How is TJ?”
“Everyone is pissed off,” he says, anger still resonating in his tone too. “TJ is okay, but I bet he’ll miss at least a few games. I’ve taken that kind of shot to the kneecap, and it takes a minute to heal. He says he is fine, of course.”
We chat some more about everyone’s moods and how ridiculous that Dallas team is. Rivalries are all fun and games until it turns into shit like it did tonight. Hard-hitting, aggressive play is one thing. Cheap shots are another.
The other end of the phone turns silent, and I hear the soft clink of a car door. He had been driving and is just getting home. Part of me—all of me—wishes he had ended his night on my doorstep.
“I’m really glad you were there tonight,” he says.
“Me too.”
I’ll take that. I’ll take the warmth in his voice. I’ll take the smile that I know is there even though I can’t see him. I’ll take the laughs we shared, the closeness I felt to him all night and not just because of our proximity to each other. I’ll take all of that and the tingling I still feel on my ear and allow myself to dream about DFG tonight.
Chapter seventeen
There is someone different playing the piano tonight.
Someone who can actually play. That’s what makes me turn my head, but that’s not why I walk in. Not the only reason, anyway.
I look into the dimly lit hotel bar. It’s the bar I’ve walked past en route to my room more times than I can count now. How long have I been living here? It’s been more than a few months. I should probably think about living somewhere other than a hotel, but for now, this works well enough.
There are a few guests sprinkled along the bar. The tables lining the window are all occupied. I shake the cold off my shoulders and an unfamiliar feeling comes over me.
Davey and the guys are in Calgary. Davey and I kissed the other day. We had exploded onto each other as a result of that kiss. We’d had a sort of lunch date and laughed together. I’d gone to a game at his request. He said he’d call me when he gets back from Calgary. We’ll do dinner, he said. And I find myself ridiculously excited about that.
This feeling coming over me, this unfamiliar feeling swirling around in my veins. The one that put the grin on my face that I’m pretty sure has been there since Davey and I made out in that field.
I’m happy.
I feel good.
Life feels good.
I step up to the bar, letting the sounds of the piano, the tinkling of glasses and low hum of conversations settle in me, joining the feeling of happiness.
The bartender slides a napkin in front of me. This is also someone I’ve not seen before, someone who won’t know this is the first time I’ve actually sat at this bar. I’ve played around on the piano in the early afternoons several times now, but that was while a different bartender set up for the evening service. That bartender brought me a sparkling water while I played. That bartender would know this was different for me. He might have just instantly handed me that glass of water.
But this is someone different. Someone who doesn’t know.
“Evening,” he says.
“Evening.”
“What can I get you for you?”
I look at the brightly colored draft beer pulls. Beer is not usually my drink of choice. It isn’t what I drank just to get drunk back in the days when I got drunk. Drunks don’t drink beer to get drunk.
I spot a name I recognize as a local brewery among the decorative draft pulls.
