Page 37

“Well, yeah,” Danton says, his brow furrowed. “But still. It’s weird.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, looking directly at Danton. I’m thankful. Because it is fine. We’re only getting dinner. There is no need for this to be a big deal.

Ryan rises and walks towards the front of the bus, holding onto Brandon’s hand. They pause when they reach me. Brandon looks completely flabbergasted by this development. But Ryan looks at me with a hint of knowing on his face. “Have fun tonight,” he says. “Feel free to come by our room later.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Brandon asks.

“Because he’s having dinner with your brother, Baby. Maybe the two of you want to talk about that.”

“No, thanks,” Brandon says, voicing the exact thought I’m having.

However, Ryan has left the door open and while I may not want to talk to Brandon about the conflicting feelings I’m developing for his brother, I could possibly be able to talk to Ryan about it. He’s a nice guy. Discreet when he wants to be. And also my closest friend on this team after Danton.

Ander

I’m starving by the time we enter the restaurant. Hopefully getting some food into my system will get my heart rate to finally calm down. I feel like I’ve run a marathon at this point just getting ready for dinner after a long day of traveling.

“I hope this place is well stocked,” I say as we’re seated at our table. “The amount of sushi I’m about to shove down my throat is going to be legendary.”

Nikolai grabs his water and chugs. He must not have hydrated enough after the game. That happens. Even us goalies who don’t skate up and down the ice all game lose a ton of water weight each game. It’s common for us to be dehydrated for a few hours after. I refill his glass with the pitcher the host left on the table.

“I saw you won tonight!” I say as I put the pitcher down. “I didn’t get to watch the game because I was on the plane, but as soon as we landed I checked the score and then listened to what was left of the third period while we rode to the hotel. Sounds like you were dialed in.”

His soft smile grew wider as I talked about his game. He must be feeling pretty good after that win.

“It was easy win,” he says. “Vancouver is not very good team.”

I swallow. “I hope that’s the case for me tomorrow. We could really use a win right now.”

He nods his head and his smile slips. “I saw you lost in Seattle.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “The Squatch are even better this season than they were last. You’ll see when you play them in two days.”

“They are not better than Blizzards,” Nikolai says pointedly and picks up the menu. He opens it and starts to read through the offerings. “What is good here?”

“Everything,” I say, my mouth already watering. “This place is the best. I have to come here every time we play in Vancouver. I usually make Gavin come with me. He bitches and moans about it, but he also eats this place out of salmon. I practically have to stab him with my chopsticks if I want a bite of the spicy salmon roll.”

“Okay, so we will get two of those.” He eyes me over the menu. “I do not want to fight you for it.”

My stomach flips when I catch his gaze. He holds it for a beat, then drops his eyes back down to his menu. But I swear, his cheeks have turned slightly pink. He must have really meant it when he said he didn’t want to fight me.

“But really,” I say, “you can’t go wrong here. Since we’re right on the coast, all the fish is as fresh as you’re gonna get.”

He puts the menu down, takes another drink of water, then looks at me again as he swallows. I watch as his throat bobs up and down. “I admit, I do not know much about sushi. You order. I will try it all.”

“Really?” I ask, suddenly feeling like this is a lot of pressure. What if he doesn’t like what I pick? What if he doesn’t like sushi but didn’t tell me? What if I order something he’s allergic to?

Wait. Why did I suggest this place? This was all a terrible idea. I just wanted to have dinner with him. He’s been such a good friend since we started to get to know each other better and now I’ve taken him to a dinner where I might poison him. This is a disaster.

He reaches across the table and places his hand on my forearm. The weight and warmth of his palm jolts me out of my head and has me focusing back on him.

“You are panicking,” he says, his voice steady and stable. Calm like I need to be. Like I used to be. Why do I keep spiraling like this?

I shake my head and everything about me feels heavy. He’s right. “I’m sorry,” I say, my face flushing from embarrassment. “I think I’m still amped up from our flight.”

“Is okay,” he says, his hand still on my forearm. “There is no need to panic. Maybe you need to eat something.”

“Yeah!” I say, feeling a little brighter. “Like I said, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten much all day.”