Page 80 of Pipe Dreams
“You are a cocky bastard.”
“But I’m your cocky bastard.”
•••
As it happened, he did shut out Detroit. The team flew home with 2–0 on the series so far, and a two-game home ice advantage coming their way.
“Detroit Crumbles under the Pressure” the sports pages had all screamed.
It felt pretty damn good, too. The Bruisers had already exceeded the media’s expectations. And Lauren told him that season ticket sales were already up for next year, so Nate was feeling great.
The only bad news was that Coach Worthington called a working dinner for Friday night. One of his old friends used to work with several key Detroit players, so Coach had the man in for a long strategy session and video viewing.
He had to cancel his first date with Lauren in two years. “Sunday?” he begged. “Swear to god I’ll call in sick if they schedule anything else.”
“Don’t call in sick, you’ll give Silas a heart attack,” she teased. “Sunday is fine. As long as you win tomorrow night.”
They didn’t, though. Game three was beset by bad luck and some bad calls from the ref. They lost it in overtime, 2–1.
Luckily, Lauren was willing to dine with him anyway.
“Dad?” Elsa asked, coming down the stairs as he straightened up the living room that night.
“Yeah?” Mike gathered some old issues ofSports Illustratedinto a stack and straightened the corners.
“Are you cleaning up the house or something?”
Busted. “A little. Sure.”
“Why?”
“It’s gotten a little sloppy since the play-offs started.” Hans had found someone reliable to come in to clean once a week, but she wasn’t due for three more days. “And...”Truth time. “Lauren is coming over for a minute before we step out to get some dinner.” He stood up and faced his daughter. “You want to join us?”
Elsa wrinkled her nose the same way she used to do when Shelly served brussels sprouts. “No.”
“You mean ‘no, thank you?’”
“No, thank you,” she droned.
He picked up an empty water bottle and a crumpled napkin. “Aren’t you even going to ask where we’re going?”
“Nope.” She turned around and beat feet toward the stairs. “Dibs on the leftover Indian food in the fridge.”
“It’s all yours,” he said slowly, wondering if he should try harder to include her this evening. They’d hung out for a couple hours yesterday, watching a movie together during the resting hours before his game. And since today was Sunday, they’d had brunch before he’d had to go to the practice facility for a quick goal-coaching session. But he’d been home for hours now.
He’d have to fly back to Detroit on Wednesday, though that was still three days away. During the play-offs, he was always an absent father. But when Elsa got out of school he’d have a month of free time with her. How many dads had that?
Dinner with Lauren would take an hour, tops. And an hour alone with Lauren was something they both needed. It had now been ten days since they’d been together in Tampa. Ten days of only texts and phone calls. He was dying to hold her.
So here he was, straightening the living room and then heading into the kitchen to sweep crumbs off the countertops. When the doorbell rang at six thirty, his heart leapt like a school boy’s. He trotted over to the front door and opened it to reveal Lauren standing on his stoop in a bright pink trench coat and pearls, wearing a shy expression on her face.
“Hi,” he said, his smile spreading.
“Hi,” she said, her own smile tentative.
“Come on in.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “Can I take your coat? I thought we’d have a beer before we went out for dinner.” He sounded oddly formal to his own ears.
So after she handed over her raincoat, he tossed it over the arm of the sofa. Then he backed her up against the front door and kissed her hungrily. Her lips were warm, and her body was soft beneath his.
