Page 32 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“No, dude, you can’t have this shot; it’s for Lola.”

I come to a quick halt behind our table.

“Can’t you just pour her a new one?” his teammate asks. I clear my throat, not needing to hear more of the bickering to confirm that I am ready to try something new.

“This for me?”

“You really had to come back now?” The large hockey player huffs before he calls over a bottle girl and hands her his card, asking her to bring some more tequila.

“Thanks for protecting this.” The shot drowns away thoughts of Byron in bed…without a shirt and has me focusing on the present.

“Want to dance?”

Dalton takes my hand and doesn’t let go until we are in the middle of the dance floor.

“This way, we can have some time to ourselves.”

I look around at the dozens of dancing bodies surrounding us, but none of them belong to the people we came here with. That does make this feel a little more intimate.

I turn so my back is to his front and start moving my body against his. One strong hand is placed on my hip. The other is lying flat on my stomach. The beat starts to pick up and my body starts to move. His hand on my stomach starts to move lower and I know I said I’m doing tonight differently, but I didn’t mean that much differently. I turn to face him and make a game-time decision.

“Are you guys going to be home tomorrow?”

He rests his hand on my ass before answering. “Yeah, we will be. Why?”

“My friend is having a party. Why don’t you and a couple of the guys stop by?”

Dalton pulls back so he is looking me in the eyes. He leans down and presses a light kiss on my lips but pulls away far too quickly.

“We’ll be there.”

I go up on my tip-toes and give the kind of kiss I’m craving. This preppy-looking kid, someone my parents would love, is making me feel things. I guess sometimes your parents really do know better. Don’t tell my mom I said that.

13

Byron

There is nowhere I feel more at peace than an empty hockey rink. The euphoric high you get as your skates cut through the glass like ice. The scenarios you can act out, where you’re the hero who never misses the game winning goal. Perfection is obtainable here because no one can say for sure that you missed that one goal wide left.

The Riley Center has been out of commission for the first couple of months of the school year. Construction began once school ended in May. The rink’s cooling system needed to be updated and since the arena was already going to be closed under construction they decided to update the seating as well.

Thirty minutes into my workout I’m rounding up pucks after a shooting drill, pushing them all back to the center of the rink. I’m admiring the haphazard pile I made, noting that it is that accuracy that made me the conference’s second-leading scorer last year when a door slams, drawing my attention to the locker room.

Oliver is suited in his goalie equipment, and I’m hoping he wants to get some rounds in.

“Hey, are you going to be here for a while?” Oliver’s voice echoes through the empty arena.

I nod, pushing the puck between my legs before pushing up the rink to an imaginary teammate. I give Oliver a few minutes to work through his warmups. He’s an agile goalie for his size. I still don’t understand how this mountain of man can be related to a pipsqueak like Lola. It proves that genes are a crapshoot.

I’ve only been able to see Oliver’s athleticism through work in the weightroom and player-led track workouts. If the way he’s moving right now translates to games, he has a chance to be one of the best goalies in the country.

“You ready?” Oliver asks me as he tucks his water bottle back behind the net.

I nod firing off the first shot before he is in position.

“What the fuck man?”

I flash him my most innocent smile while he settles into position. Oliver nearly gets the best of me the rest of the session. It’s easy to forget that he hasn’t played a game in college yet. I think a year sitting behind Eric is going to add to his game. He’llbe able to fine tune his game without the pressure of being the starting goalie.

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