Page 79 of Her Goal
Hudson catches up to me and keeps pace. “I wanted to think you waited for me.”
My stomach somersaults. “Why would I do that?” My voice is froggy.
“Because you want your very own hockey guy.”
My breathing turns choppy.
Hudson pushes the elevator button. “Since you’re not into me and don’t want to get married?—”
“You do realize you’d have to ask me first …” is not what I meant to say. Why can’t there be a conversational “undo” button?
He’s quiet as if waiting for me to continue or drawing a conclusion, then says, “It pains me to say this, but since I’ve been on three teams, I know loads of single hockey players who’d go crazy for you.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I say as we get on the elevator.
“They’re not ogres.”
The choice of words scratches at my hidden scar, the one Hudson inflicted.
One of the books Gracie had us read for book club involved the love interests being trapped in an elevator together. It was awkward at first, but it turned heated as their attraction ratcheted up in what she called the forced proximity trope. I tell myself that if we were the main characters in a romance novel and got stuck in here, his evergreen scent and lazy half-smile would more than likely drive me mad and readers would place bets on who’d survive the thirty minutes it would take the fire department to arrive.
He shifts his weight and his piney, manly scent wafts my way. I get a heady feeling. The side of his mouth lifts in that wretched grin and the wordswooncomes to mind. No, that can’t be right. What sounds like swoon? Spoon? Tune? Ah, ruin. As in, he’s trying to ruin my sense of well-being. We’ll go with that.
“What if the elevator gets stuck?” I blurt. Maybe I’m not ill but am having a nervous breakdown. Why would I ask that?
“I’d come to your rescue.”
“Elevators didn’t exist during the days of knights in shining armor.”
Smile faltering, he continues, “Our next three home games happen to be against Miami, Boston, and Houston.”
“Are you nervous too?” What has gotten into me? Something is definitely wrong. I grip my stomach as Hudson gives me the side eye or is he checking me out?
“About the elevator getting stuck? No.” He squeezes my hand. “No,” he repeats. “We’re good.”
The elevator shudders to a stop, dings, and the door opens.
Hudson says, “You’re looking for your great hockey romance. I’ll play matchmaker.”
“Sounds like the worst idea ever,” I mutter, distracted by my thoughts … by him.
“What do you have to lose?”
I’m not sure. Now my stomach is in knots. I can’t be hungry because Ella, Jess, and I split a bucket of nachos during the game.
“This way, your parents will be pleased because you’ll meet someone and still get married.”
“Remember? They want me to marry you.”
From beyond the function room door, laughter, chatter, and music filter toward us, but we’re locked in a staring contest. It’s like a game of chicken to see who’ll flinch first. Only, I feel myself leaning in like a moth to flame … or Julius Cheeser to the Dorito crumbs left by my roommates.
With a wink, Hudson says, “In that case, you’ll realize that I’m the one you want.”
Chuck hollers from the other end of the hall, “Sis!”
Concluding this confusing conversation with Hudson, I swat him and say, “Don’t be dumb.”
Then the wordsDumb for youpop into my head.
