Page 52 of Pucking Grey

He changes the music until it lands on a song. He takes his phone and tries to connect to it, but the car is moving so it refuses. He turns down the volume, so I say, “My dad used to wind down after a game by turning on the disco ball, pouring a drink, and dancing.”

He laughs. “Sounds like my kind of man.”

“Yeah, he’s hard on the ice. But he’s a good man. He knows how to have a good time. Sometimes he’s intense, and he was strict, but he’s my favorite person.” I’m mentioning my dad to warm him up to the idea of him. If Grey comes to the party this weekend, which I’m now obligated to bring him –thanks Ryan, my dad will be there. And I have no idea how Greyson feels towards my dad, the NHL coach for the Seven Devils. I’d imagine a bit intimidated given that Matt didn’t want to meet him for a few weeks. I ask, “Do you want to meet him?”

He mutters, “Coach Wilder?”

“Or just my dad.” I shrug.

He’s starting to backpedal in his mind, and I can tell because of the complete utter silence. Great, it’s just as awkward for him as it is for me.

I reassure him, “This is all fake, okay, but maybe if I introduce you to him –” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to offend him, but I owe him in some sort of way.

He leans his head over to me. “You know I’m already on a contract right?”

I jump in my seat, swerving the car by accident. Greyson is on contract to play in the NHL? “What!” I gasp. “That’s huge, Greyson!” I awkwardly pat his knee and then hold my hand up to give him a high five. He takes my hand.

“Who are you playing for?”

“The Saints.”

“That’s insane, Greyson! You’re going to play for the Saints! The freaking Saints!? And you didn’t bother to mention it?”

He shrugs. “It never came up.”

“That’s huge, Greyson. Like HUGE!”

He is smiling from ear to ear.

“Congratulations. We should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

He’s still smiling when I look over. He probably shouldn’t be though because I’m starting to think differently of him. Yeah, his eyes when he smiles lighten in color. And he has this dimple on the side of his left eye that should be illegal because it’s really cute. His teeth glimmer and he’s stunning when he’s happy. He has one of those smiles that light up the world. Now I know why it’s always gray.

“Yes, celebrate you. I can’t believe my boyfriend is a future Saint hockey player. They’re one of the best in the league.”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, and I think I hear a hint of doubt in his voice. He’s no longer smiling now that my enthusiasm of congratulating him is done.

“Hey, you can live up to that hype, you know? You’re Grey fucking Cress. They’re lucky to have you. Not the other way around.”

He leans his head on the headrest. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.” I push his knee. “So, how can we celebrate? I can take you out to dinner. I can reserve a party bus for the team.” I imagine a decked out party bus with stripper poles and disco lights. It sounds like it would be really fun actually.

“Please don’t. Something with just us if you insist on celebrating. I don’t think there’s a need to.”

“Of course, we need to. Okay. Do you not celebrate things?

He shakes his head.

“What about your birthday?”

He shakes his head again.

“Well, I do. And I want to celebrate your big win. It’s huge, Grey. I don’t know if we’ll be friends, or even speaking to each other, at that point in life but trust me, it’s worth celebrating with your friends.”

“Just us,” he says.

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