Page 2 of Slap Shot
"Neither do your conversations with Charlie," Dmitri added helpfully. "Dog is very good listener, but he cannot buy you dinner."
"Charlie's better company than most of the women you guys date," Oliver shot back, earning a round of laughter.
"That's probably true," Jax admitted. "Charlie doesn't steal your hoodies or post cryptic Instagram stories about 'knowing your worth.'"
"What the hell does that even mean?" Mateo asked. "Knowing your worth? It's not like we're cryptocurrency."
"Speak for yourself," Kane said. "I know exactly what I'm worth. It's printed on my contract."
The conversation devolved into increasingly creative insults about each other, but Oliver caught Noah watching him with the sharp attention that came from years of reading people's moods. The other left wing on the team had appointed himself unofficial team dad, and his radar for when someone was struggling rarely missed its mark.
"You sure you're good?" Noah asked when the others were distracted by Dmitri's story about his cousin's neighbor'sdaughter who may or may not have been trying to seduce him through ballet and figure skating.
"Yeah, just got a meeting tomorrow morning. It’s nothing."
"Nothing that's got you wound tighter than a two-dollar watch?"
Oliver glanced around the room, at teammates who'd become family, at the chaos that somehow felt like home, at the life he'd built that was more fragile than anyone realized.
"It's complicated."
"Most good things are." Noah's voice carried the wisdom of someone who'd seen teammates weather everything from career-ending injuries to messy divorces. "You need anything, and I mean anything, you call. Team takes care of team."
The simple declaration hit Oliver harder than it should have. These guys had no idea about his past, about the secrets that could destroy everything if they came to light. But they'd still go to war for him without question.
"I know," Oliver said. "Thanks."
"Besides," Matteo called out, apparently having overheard, "if you're finally ready to get back out there, I know some very nice, very normal women who would love to meet a shy, emotionally unavailable hockey player with trust issues."
"That's your type, not mine," Oliver replied, standing to gather his gear.
"What is your type?" Ethan asked with genuine curiosity.
Oliver thought about it for a moment, really thought about it. What kind of woman could handle the complexity of his life? The anxiety, the service dog, the carefully managed public image that hid so much?
"Smart," he said finally. "Like, really smart. Someone who sees problems other people miss and fixes them without making a big deal about it. Someone who..." He trailed off, realizing hewas describing someone he'd never met but somehow knew he needed.
"Someone who can put up with your shit," Jax translated helpfully.
"Someone who challenges him," Noah corrected. "Smart women are dangerous, Chenny. They see right through your bullshit."
"Maybe that's not a bad thing," Oliver said.
The room went quiet for a moment, the kind of rare silence that fell when someone accidentally revealed something real.
"Damn," Kane said finally. "Chenny's ready to fall in love."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," Dmitri grinned. "Is written all over face. You want woman who understand you, yes? Who see all parts and choose to stay anyway?"
The accuracy of the observation made Oliver's chest tighten. "When did you become a relationship expert?"
"Always have been,” Dmitri said to a round of scoffing and guffaws.
"So you think I should put myself out there?" Oliver asked.
"I think you should be open to possibility," Dmitri replied. "Universe has funny way of bringing right person when you are ready to receive them."
