Page 9 of Offside and Off-Limits
“Maybe?” I say elusively as I place my phone down on the table.
“What does that mean?”
I shrug. “It’s been done before.”
“Because they can be so good! Look at these.” It’s Bailey’s turn to get out her phone, and she pulls up a bunch of videos of hockey players dancing to different degrees of synchronized success. “See? You’ve got to do some with the team. People will go crazy for them.”
Neesha delivers our coffee and cupcakes, and we thank her. “Let me know what you think of the key lime flavor,” she says.
“We will,” Bailey and I chant, and she makes her way back to the counter where Mary-Ellen McCluskey is waiting.
I shoot her a quick wave before I return my attention to my friend.
“Do you really have a non-fraternization clause in your employment contract?” Bailey asks as she takes a sip of her coffee.
“Sure do. And besides, after the drama that is my ex, I’ve got zero interest in meeting some new guy.”
“Even if he’s a hot hockey player?”
“Especiallyif he’s a hot hockey player,” I say with a laugh. “They’re not exactly known to be one-woman men.”
“There are a couple players from the New York City Blades in this year’s team, including the Ice Breakers’ new captain.”
“Jamie Hayes. I’ve been studying up. I’ve got a spreadsheet with stats on all the guys, including photos of them all so I know who they are when I meet them Monday, as well as the sorts of things they’ve done on social media before. One of the guys on the team got pranked in one of those ‘snake in the cooler’ things last season. The video went viral.”
“Is that when someone places a fake snake in a cooler and someone videos the player’s reaction when they open it up to get a drink?” she asks, and I nod. “You’ve got to admit that sounds a lot more fun than spreadsheets and monitoring analytics.”
I shrug as I lift my coffee to my lips and take a sip. “It’s all part of the job.”
“What does Mystery Man think?”
I mentioned the guy I've been chatting with online for the last few months to Bailey when we were messaging once, and she asks after him every time, always calling him Mystery Man, even though I’ve pointed out more than once his name is Warrior.
Well, not his real name. I don't know who he is exactly because we both use pseudonyms—mine isL_Hillafter author Laura Hillenbrand, who is a total CFS warrior like me, and his isChronicWarrior88, although he hasn’t said why. Was he born in ’88? Is it his favorite number? I’ve no clue.
What I do know is the man. His essence. His soul. We've connected on everything from the music we like to listen to, to our shared passion for the showThe WhiteLotusand all its truly horrible characters, to how many marshmallows you should add to your hot chocolate. Three is the answer, by the way, because two is too few and four is way too many.
And Warrior agrees.
So really, as far as I'm concerned, we know everything about each other that matters—marshmallows in hot chocolate included. What his actual name is and what he looks like feels immaterial at this point.
“Warrior thinks it's fantastic that I'm taking the job. He says he’s a hockey fan and went to some of the Ice Breaker games here in town.”
Her eyebrows ping up to meet her hairline. “He's local?”
“He lives in Portland.”
“You know, Portland isn’t that far away. You could go for a visit,” she leads.
The thought has my heart beating harder in my chest, which of course my friend picks up on immediately.
“Clara, what's the point of this guy if you're not going to actually meet him?”
I shrug, feeling ridiculous. “I don't know.”
The fact of the matter is I’m not ready to meet Warrior, even if he might turn out to be my dream guy. Chatting online, enjoying our easy companionship, sharing parts of my life with him, feels easy. Safe. I’ve only ever loved one man in my life, and when he left me and the kids, I felt like my world had ended.
The idea of opening myself up fully and completely again after all this time is terrifying.
