Page 28 of Play Along With Me
The food arrives, momentarily pausing our conversation. The men immediately dive into their steaks with enthusiasm while I pick at my salmon, suddenly self-conscious about eating in front of Jake.
Which is ridiculous. I've been seen by this man with chocolate ice cream smeared down my shirt. Proper salmon-eating etiquette should be the least of my concerns. But I can already feel the juice dripping down my chin. I am the worst, I swear.
"So, Marshall," Kevin says between bites, "you've got some decisions to make. Boston's clearly interested, but Burnham's offer is solid too."
Jake nods thoughtfully. "I'm weighing my options. Boston's system is a better fit for my style, but Burnham might offer a faster track to regular NHL starts."
"What does that mean?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Sorry, hockey ignoramus here."
Jake doesn't seem bothered by the interruption. "Boston already has an established starting goalie—Ambroz—who's signed for three more years. In Burnham, their organization is less settled at the position, so there might be more opportunity to play at the NHL level sooner."
"Ah, so it's like choosing between a prestigious job with limited advancement potential versus a less prestigious position where you could move up faster," I translate into non-hockey terms.
"Exactly," Jake nods, looking pleased that I understand.
"The Saints have more stability though," Ryan argues. "You don't want to rush into a starting role before you're ready."
"I'm ready," Jake says with quiet confidence. "I've been ready."
Something about the certainty in his voice makes me believe him, though I know nothing about hockey goalies or their readiness.
"Well, you've got us in your corner either way," Mike assures him. "We'll make sure you get the best opportunity."
The conversation continues around the pros and cons of various teams and situations, during which I take the opportunity to check my phone again. Still no updates from Daniel. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.
I glance up to find Jake watching me, his expression curious. I quickly put my phone away, feeling inexplicably guilty.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Bad habit."
"No worries," he says. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I say too quickly. "Just checking if my non-diabetic cat left me any urgent messages."
He smiles but doesn't push, which I appreciate.
As dinner winds down, I find myself oddly reluctant for the evening to end. Despite my initial awkwardness and the hockey talk that still mostly sounds like a foreign language to me, I've enjoyed myself. Ryan and Mike are surprisingly funny when they're not in full agent mode, Kevin's hockey wisdom is actually interesting when he gets into the psychological aspects of the game, and Jake...
Well, Jake is intriguing in a way I hadn't expected. He listens. He asks thoughtful questions. He seems genuinely interested in my answers. In my experience as both a bartender and a woman who's dated her fair share of narcissists, those qualities are rarer than unicorns.
Plus, there's something refreshing about his focus and determination. My dating history is littered with "creative types" who talked big about their ambitions but rarely followed through. Jake knows exactly what he wants and is methodically working toward it. That kind of clarity is appealing, even if it comes wrapped in hockey pads and sports jargon.
"Audrey, can we drop you off somewhere?" Kevin asks as we exit the restaurant. "My driver can take you home."
"I'm fine with the T," I say automatically, then register that it's nearly midnight. "But if it's not too much trouble, a ride would be great."
"We're heading to the South End for drinks," Ryan says. "You're welcome to join us."
I hesitate, tempted despite my better judgment. But it's been a long day, and I have an early shift tomorrow.
"I should get home," I decline reluctantly. "Early start tomorrow. But thanks for including me tonight."
"It was our pleasure," Mike says sincerely. "Your hockey commentary alone was worth the price of admission."
"I'll be expecting royalties if any of my metaphors show up in your official scouting reports," I warn him.
"Deal," he laughs.
Kevin arranges for his car to take me home first, then meet them at their next destination. As we wait outside the restaurant for the car to pull around, Jake moves to stand beside me.
