Page 21 of Love of the Game
That look… yeah, that was interest, though it was pretty obvious he was trying to downplay that, too. While we ate, I fished around for something to say, and skittered over everything that had been churning around in my head all day. “You talk about your dad a lot… what about your mom?”
His eyebrows rose, though not in any defensive way. “Oh, well, most people know my dad and of course he had a huge impact on me skating in the first place, then all the noise about me… but Mom… Mom is…” He seemed to search around for words. “She’s so strong. Put up with a lot from the media because she wasn’t a typical hockey wife. Had her own career. Kept her own career. Hell, kept her name. But like Papa, maybe more than Papa, she wanted us happy and fulfilled in whatever way we chose.” He paused. “She cried the day I got my first NAPH goal. She also encouraged me to buy the bar when I told her I was thinking about it. Helped me with the financial planning and all that. Thought it was a good investment and also good for the community. It’s a little conservative out here, so she thought having a safe space for queer people was important, for both me and others.” He gave another one of those shrugs.
“It was only my mom and me,” I said. “She’s the only one on my birth certificate. Got pregnant in college with a hookup, and the dude wanted nothing to do with her or a kid. When she chose to continue the pregnancy, he signed over all his rights, then vanished.” Which was ironic, I thought, given those DMs I’d gotten. I pushed some of the salad around. “But it was good, growing up. Hard—we didn’t have huge amounts of things. She was an accountant, and her firm was really flexible, so when I wanted to keep playing hockey, she made it work.”
Jon somehow knew when not to fill silences, too. We both ate a little more before I added, “I think that’s why I sometimes think it’s a fluke I even made it to the NAPH. I’m not typical. I had a lot of used or hand-me-down gear as a kid. We could only donate so much to the teams… all that.”
He made a sour face. “That’s one of the things I wish were different. It’s expensive. It’s hard on kids who are disadvantaged or minorities.” He met my gaze. “Sorry you ran into that.”
“I mean, there are more and more programs to try hockey for free. Scholarships. All that. I was better off than some other kids, so I shouldn’t complain that much. But—I guess it sank into me. And this season…” I shook my head. “My rookie season was unexpected. Everyone, including me, thought I’d slow down the next season.”
“But you didn’t.”
I’d scored fifteen goals my rookie season. Twenty the next. “No. And this year, everyone thought I could score thirty, you know? Get fifty points. But obviously…” I gestured dismissively. “I had, what, five points and a single goal? Then they waived me. Then no one claimed me.”
There was that sour face again. “Being claimed or not isabout timing and cap and roster space. Really good players pass through all the time.”
“Yeah, I know that. Except I don’t, you know?” I shook my head. “I guess— When I first joined the Lions, the team put me in touch with a sports psychologist. It helped the transition. I keep thinking I should call her, I guess.”
He gave a small nod, then added with a gentle voice, “It might help. Don’t think it’ll hurt.” His cheeks ruddied, and he looked down at his plate. “I studied sports psychology a bit, when I became captain, because I didn’t want to screw people up and I figured it might help.” He nodded again. “Yeah, that’s a good idea to call her.”
“’Cause I’m messed up in the head?” I tried to sound playful.
He huffed a laugh. “We’re all messed up in the head, Dragon.”
I don’t know why hearing him use his nickname for me warmed my heart so damn much, but I couldn’t help smiling back at him. “I guess.”
He got that fox look again. “Want to cheat and have dessert?”
I laughed. “Sure. Can I clear the table?”
We both got moving. Dessert, it turned out, were these brownie bars with raspberries and chocolate chips. Rich, but not as sweet as I’d expected. “Don’t tell me you bake.”
“I don’t bake,” Jon replied. “I leave baking to the pros. I stalk bakeries and figure out their best treats, then I give them money.”
“See, that’s the way to do it.” I raised my wineglass in a mock toast.
After we’d finished everything, I helped Jon clean up. “How’d you get into riding?” I gestured toward a ceramic jar he had in the shape of a motorcycle.
“Tried it once and loved the freedom of it. Reminded me a lot of hockey, strangely. I think that was the only time Papa ever grilled me about anything I’d done… buying a bike. I mean, I had to get a license to ride and all that. I took some classes at a local community college. And I’m as careful as I can be.”
But it was still a dangerous pass time. This time, I was the one to give him room to continue.
“I don’t ride in bad weather. Avoid highways. All that. Red Dog scoffs at me sometimes for that, but he’s a far better biker. I know my limitations. I still love it, though.”
I didn’t ask who Red Dog was. I suspected he was someone from the bar. “Yeah, that’s what keeps me from thinking about it. Just—I wouldn’t trust myself. At least with a car or truck, something bad happens and there’s airbags and stuff.”
“Exactly,” Jon said. “It’s fun, but it’s absolutely okay to be that person who only goes out on a nice day and sticks to familiar roads, you know?”
“Well, you do look hot in the leathers.”
That got me a smile that set my heart racing. “I know.”
Well, fuck. Suddenly, I was very warm and I’m sure my sweats weren’t hiding my interest at all. “Was that a date?” I flailed my hand at the dining table.
That got me a cackle. “Do you want it to be?” Before I could answer, Jon turned his three thousand lumen smile down to something less blinding. “It’s been an eventful day, and we have a couple hour bus ride to Harrisburg tomorrow. Let’s come back to that later.”
Probably the best plan. I wanted Jon. A whole lot. He was—well, basically a walking wet dream. He was also nice, and sweet. And the captain of the team I was on. Still… “I want that dinner date,” I murmured.
