Page 51 of Hockey Bois
…ifBrady wanted it.
“I’ll take your word for it. Your Grandpa Max was an idiot, too, before I whipped him into shape. If you find a good one that needs some work, they’re usually worth the effort.”
A large sedan pulled up, the driver popping out and opening the door for Grandma Pauline. Guess Nick would have to tip him well.
“I’ll see you soon,” his grandma said as she kissed his cheek and gave him a one-armed hug. “Keep me informed if we should reserve an extra chair the next time we do one of these dinners.”
“Not likely, Grandma, but thanks. Night.”
“Night, hon.” The Uber driver helped her climb into the car and was ready to close the door for her, except she shooed him away. “Think positive, Nick. If he’s a good one, be patient. And if he’s not… chuck him and move on.”
She closed the door and waved through the tinted windows, then she was off to her warm hotel, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts.
With his grandma’s blessing, Nick resolved to putMission: Flirt with Bradyinto action.
Step One: Get the fuck to my car and warm up. Can’t text to flirt if my fingers get frostbite and fall off.
Right. Put the flirting on hold until he a.) was not in literal freezing weather and b.) had time to actually think through a plan.
Hockey, Nick decided as he speed-walked to the parking garage.He loves hockey. I love hockey. We’ve bonded over that already. He literally put himself in my phone as “Jensie from Hockey.” We see each other several times a week to play, practice, and/or watch hockey.
The way to Brady Derek Jensen’s heart was through hockey. That was Nick’s “in,” his way to show Brady that he could have more from Nick if he wanted it.
Nick laughed to himself, sure he had a few exes who would say the same about him.
They really were a good match.
Now he just needed to convince Brady.
*
Krazy Dan’s was more crowded than the last few times he’d been here, but it was Thursday night and the Redskins were playing; football games always drew in a crowd. A group huddled around the bar, dressed in jerseys or other burgundy gear, shouting a mix of profanity and inarticulate complaints at the TV as the quarterback was sacked. Again, from the sound of it.
Nick gave a silent “thanks” to the sports gods that he wasn’t much of a football fan (and certainly not a Redskins fan, because yikes), and made a beeline for the little high top in the corner. It had its own TV tuned to a random hockey game—Bruins and Flyers—and there, with his back turned to the football fans’ ruckus, Brady was nursing a beer.
What a view… and one notably devoid of a Pens jersey. Looked like Brady had taken his advice to heart.
Or it’s a coincidence. You could totally be reading too much into it and it hasnothingto do with you.
Nah, a growing spark of confidence said.It was me.
Nick grabbed the empty seat, stole a nacho, and said, “Winning the Stanley Cup, underrated or overrated?”
Brady squinted at him. “What?”
“Winning the Cup. Do you think that’s underrated or overrated?”
“By whom?”
He made a mental note of thatwhomand kept going. “People in general. If you looked at the general population, do you think they would think it’s underrated or overrated? I swear, you are overthinking this. Just answer, gut reaction, go.”
Brady crossed his hands over his chest. He chewed it over for a minute before saying, “Underrated.”
“Okay, why?” Nick prompted.
Brady eyed him skeptically.
“There’s no right or wrong answer here—”
