Page 58 of Goalie Lessons

Those legs.

Obviously, I know that hockey players have big legs. Sloane has shared, on more than one occasion, the difficulties of finding pants for NHL players, how none of the dimensions are right, and tailoring is almost always necessary.

But I’ve truly never noticed—not on Luca, when he came to one of Sloane’s games in college, and not on Callum, whom I see every day now. Those men drift in and out of my life in the way I imagine lesbians see them—just people, not anything special to look at.

Grayson’s legs, though, are different. His must hold a different quality from Luca and Callum’s, because I can’t stop letting my eyes wander down to them. I can’t stop thinking about him in his goalie gear. Can’t stop thinking about that strong, firm thigh, the way he so confidently had it pressed to the very center of me.

“Astrid?”

I jolt, sucking in a breath of the cool air and finding Grayson’s eyes again. The world comes rushing back to me—the sounds of the birds singing outside, the gentle breeze, the man on the other side of the park who’s given up, sitting in the grass beside his dog.

Grayson’s eyes are on me, amused, that smooth deep brown, and I drown in them.

“What?” I manage, knowing I sound breathy and not knowing how to regulate that. What the hell is happening to me? This is like the wedding all over again.

He grins, leans against my car. “I know you’re a California girl, but you have to know better than a jacket like that on a morning like this. You have to be freezing. It’sOctober, Astrid. In the Midwest.”

I glance down at myself, then back up at him, ignoring the shiver that runs the length of my body. That’s definitely from the way he’s looking at me. Not the cold air pushing right through my leggings. “It’s supposed to warm up.”

Only one of his eyebrows raises, and I wonder how in the world he does that.

“Is that blanket for you?” he asks, eying it. “You might be okay with a blanket.”

“No,” I hug it to my chest, feeling another chill with a gust of wind, but not wanting to admit to him that he’s right. “It’s for the ground.”

“Cool. Early morning, freeze-your-balls-off picnic.”

“Come on,” I laugh, turning and gesturing for him to follow me. “You’re mouthy this morning.”

“You gonna write that in my case study?”

I glance over my shoulder at him, loving this version of him, wondering what in the world brought it out of him. Wondering how it is, that the banter flows so effortlessly between us.

“Participant exhibits verbally aggressive behavior toward researcher,” I say, legs burning with the effort to stay out in front of him.

“Aggressive?” Grayson asks, the word popping out of him like a laugh. When I turn to look at him, I catch his eyes swooping up, like they were fixed on my ass before.

If my cheeks get any hotter, I won’t have to worry about the cold.

We finally reach a good spot, and the guy with the dog is walking out of the clearing, back toward a pickup truck. I lay out the blanket, gesture for Grayson to take a seat. Sitting crisscross-applesauce, I clear my throat and face him.

“Okay, last week was the hiking. This week, we’re doing meditation in nature to see how it regulates your symptoms.”

Grayson arches an eyebrow. “Meditation?”

“Yes. Studies have shown that meditation and mindfulness are helpful in reducing feelings of anxiety across many subjects. I’d like to collect some information on how it works for a professional athlete.”

“Alright.” Grayson shifts, and I’m surprised when he pulls his legs in, sitting crisscross just like me. He must register the look on my face, because he gives me one of those lopsided grins. “What?”

“I just—I didn’t think hockey players were very flexible.”

“Most aren’t,” he relents. “But I had a coach in high school who said being flexibility would reduce my chance of injury. Especially as goalie, going down to my knees all the time—there’s enough of a chance for an injury from play. I don’t need my body betraying me.”

I don’t know why, but I jot that down in my notes—Body betraying me. It seems relevant.

“What did you write?”

“Hey.” I pull my tablet up so he can’t see it, unable to keep myself from laughing. “Youare not on the research team. Now pay attention. I’m going to collect some answers from you.”

---