Page 5 of The Lucky One
It takes me a couple minutes to calm down. But after a while I realize that the jerk did me a favor. He put on his arrogant little show before I actually made a fool of myself by asking her out.
At least there’s that.
When she returns with my pizza, she asks, “I’m sorry. What were you asking me? About sports?”
“I do not remember,” I say. “Sorry.”
She looks disappointed, or maybe it is my imagination.
When she brings me the almond cookies at the end of my meal, they don’t taste as good as usual, either.
THREE
November
When I leavemy new apartment and get into the elevator, I meet our goalie, Silas.
“Hey, man,” he says. “Good game last night.”
“Thank you.” Itwasa great game, too. I played well against Minnesota, my old team. So well that afterwards, a journalist stuck a microphone in my face and asked me how I felt about the game. “Good” is all I managed to say.
My hockey is coming along, but speaking English to strangers still makes me nervous.
The elevator drops us both in the lobby, and we head for the front door. “Do you like pizza?” Silas asks suddenly.
“I love pizza.” It’s like he read my mind.
“Then come to dinner with me. My girlfriend is out of town, so I’m looking for a date.” He grins.
I hesitate. On one hand, I shouldn’t keep turning down requests to socialize. After all, I moved into this building to be nearer to my teammates.
But it’s Wednesday night, and Chiara is working the dinner shift. I’ve never made it in there for dinner before, and that’s where I’m headed now. “Can we go to my…” I search for the word. “…Favorite pizza place?”
“You have a favorite? You've only lived here for a few months!” Silas pats his chest. “You should let the master show you where the best Brooklyn pizza is.”
“Sorry. That is the drill.” It’s one of the few English phrases I know. “I am in the mood for their special.”
“Okay, man.” He slaps my back. “I hope you have good taste. How’s the pizza in Finland?”
“I thought it was good. And then I moved here.”
Silas cracks up.
I raise my hand for a taxi.
* * *
When we reach Romano& Bianchi, I search out Chiara immediately. When I give her a wave, she points at a table near the back. So I grab a menu off the podium for Silas, and head right back there.
“Wouldn't you rather sit up front?” Silas asks as we take our seats.
“No. I need to be in her section.”
“Okay, this does look good,” Silas says after we sit down, and he has a chance to peruse the menu. “Did you say something about a special?”
“It’s just the pizza I always order,” I tell him. “They make me what I like.”
“Ah,” he says. “I think I’ll try the pesto primavera. Have you had that one?”
