Page 31 of Must Love Hockey
“Um…” It’s hard to know what to say to that.
“If you’re into him, put that boy out of his misery.” He gives me another grin and lopes toward the door.
* * *
Before tonight, I’d never been to the Tavern on Hicks. The bar is not fancy, or particularly interesting, except for the fact that more than half of Brooklyn’s winningest team is drinking here.
What’s more, James’s big moment is playing on repeat on the big screen over the bar. We haven’t paid for a drink all night. The players keep refilling our beer glasses, and I’ve seen James do two or three shots.
And yet he’s still rock solid. His palm is a steady presence on my lower back—warm, but not handsy. His eyes are still bright and easy, as every member of the team—and a dozen strangers—offer congratulations one by one.
“What a night you’re having.” I set down my beer glass because I don’t want anyone to refill it again. “How does it feel to be suddenly famous?”
“It feelslate,” he says, checking the time. “Do you have school tomorrow? I should get you home.”
“It’s Saturday?”
“Sorry.” He laughs. “This job will make you forget what day of the week it is. Hockey is 24/7.”
“I’ve had enough to drink, though. I should probably get home. But you don’t have to go if you’re having fun.”
“No, I’m good.” He puts his glass on the bar next to mine, and my stomach flutters. “Let’s ride.”
He says good night to a few guys, and then I follow him outside, my heart thumping. He strolls up to the curb, puts two fingers into his mouth and whistles. Two seconds later, a taxi slides up to the curb in front of him. He opens the rear door, then turns around, waiting for me.
I slide into the backseat, as if it’s preordained that we should share a cab.
He gets in and then speaks to the driver. “We’re heading to Bensonhurst. Thanks, man.”
“You don’t have to go all the way out there,” I say in an unsteady voice. “If it’s out of the way for you.”
“There’s something you don’t know about me,” he says, relaxing against the headrest. “I live on East Nineteenth in Midwood.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “Really?” That’s so close to me.
“Hand to God,” he says, holding up a palm. “So it’s not out of the way.”
The cab slides away from the curb, and then it's just James and me together in the backseat, alone with my thumping heart.
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he says quietly.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to,” I admit. “But I feel like I met you at exactly the wrong time.”
“That's funny,” he says. “Because I feel like I met you at exactly the right time.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugs. “Because any time with you is the right time.”
Those smooth words make me take a slow blink. I’m not used to hearing romantic notions like that. And I’mdefinitelynot used to the way this man reaches across, takes my hand in his, and kisses my knuckles.
“James?” I squeak.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I broke up with the banker. I’ve been meaning to for a while, now. But it took me a long time to get the courage to actually do it.”
He turns his body so he can look me in the eye. “I was wondering if you were going to bring that up.”
