Page 4 of Pucking Strong

“My coffee,” I correct. “It spilled. I think we’re sitting in it.”

He shrugs. “It’s just coffee. Your life is more important, no?” Then he stands, unbothered by the coffee soaking the side of his shirt. “Can you stand?”

I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet before quickly dropping his hand away. I feel the loss of his touch like the ripping ofa bandage from my skin. I want to step closer. I want him to hold me again. But that would be crazy, right? I don’t even know this guy. I’m just a chaotic double Pisces who gets his life saved by a beautiful man and immediately fights the toxic urge to ask, “Your place or mine?”

I look him over now that he’s standing. He’s taller than me, but I might be a little broader in the shoulders. He has a runner’s build, long and lean. Except for his thighs. They’re like tree trunks.

Fuck, stop looking at his legs.

Andsaysomething, Teddy.

Desperate not to scare him away, I opt for a very casual, “Hey, thanks, man.”

He nods and turns to leave.

Oh god, I can’t bear it. Someone crazy—totally not me—grabs his arm. “Wait.”

He pauses.

“I—don’t …”Want you to leave, I finish inside my head.I don’t want to be parted from you. Not yet. It’s too soon. We’ve only just met.Instead, I find the will to blurt out, “I don’t even know your name.”

He relaxes a little and smiles. I love how the smile touches his eyes more than his mouth. “It’s Henrik.” His voice is softer now, like he’s talking to a friend.

Henrik.

He’s looking at me, waiting. Oh fuck, I’m still holding on to him. “My name is Teddy,” I manage to say.

“Teddy,” he repeats. “Well … have a good day, Teddy.”

I let Henrik go, watching as he walks away, lost to me forever.

Iremember nothing of the rest of my walk to the Rays’ practice center. I’m definitely late, but now I have an ironclad excuse. The intern coordinator’s frown disappears the moment I regale her with the harrowing tale. I even earn enough sympathy from HR to be gifted a Rays T-shirt to replace my coffee-stained polo shirt.

Before I know it, I’m in the gym with Doctor Avery, head ofphysical therapy. He introduces me to some of the players. There’s Jean-Luc Gerard, a big, toothless Canadian everyone affectionately calls “J-Lo.” Then there are several young guys. Paulie, maybe? Sam, who is also Flash. Westie. Patrick. Woody—no, Woodson, I think.

Fuck, doallthese guys have three fucking names? Between learning all their names, nicknames, numbers, and positions, my head is already spinning.

“And this is Josh O’Sullivan,” says Doctor Avery. “He’s a forward and team captain. The guys all call him Sully.”

O’Sullivan offers me his hand. “Great to meet you, bud. You a big fan of hockey?”

“Umm …” I don’t want to lie to these guys, but the truth is that I don’t know the first thing about hockey. We don’t get a lot of hockey in Atlanta. I grew up watching football and basketball. In school, I swam and ran track. The only time I watch hockey is during the Winter Olympics.

O’Sullivan sees right through me. “That’s okay. We’ll make a fan out of you before the season ends.”

“Thanks.” I flash him a relieved smile. “I’m definitely ready to learn.”

Before I can say another word, my breath catches in my chest. Oh my god …

“Hey, Karlsson!” O’Sullivan calls with a wave. “Get over here. Meet the new intern.”

I can hardly believe it as my sidewalk savior locks eyes with me across the gym. He recognizes me immediately. His gaze dips past my face to my new T-shirt. He’s wearing a different shirt too. He crosses the gym over to us.

“Karlsson, meet the new PT intern,” says O’Sullivan. “This is—”

“Teddy,” Henrik finishes for him. Then he holds out his hand. “We’ve met.”

I take his hand like a greedy, lovestruck fool. Am I smiling? What is my face doing? Fuck, I don’t even know. “Henrik,” I say on a breath.

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