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“You’d work under a woman?” she asks.
I lean in a little closer and lock my eyes with her.
“I would happily work under you for the rest of my days if you’d let me.”
A pink flush hits her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“I have your food,” Mary says, walking up to our table, breaking the moment.
Damn it, now I wish I hadn’t ordered anything, even though my stomach is starting to protest, and the smell of the food Mary has is making my mouth water.
“Thank you, Mary,” Penelope says, watching her breakfast sandwich get lowered in front of her, along with her Chai latte.
After all of our food is laid out, mine taking up most of the table, Penelope pulls her sandwich up to her mouth and then asks the question I’ve been dreading before taking a bite.
“So tell me about your childhood. Where did you grow up?”
I squeeze a dollop of ketchup on my plate for my hashbrowns and then take a quick bite of the potatoes before answering.
“My dad is a surgeon, my mom is a trophy wife, and I moved more times than a military brat. Hockey was the only constant thing in my life. The rules never change; the rink looks identical from one state to the next, and I’ve always been better than most of my peers because I wanted it more. And that’s about it.”
She blinks twice, her eyebrows downturned, as she takes a sip of her drink.
“That’s it?” she says finally with a chuckle and then licks her bottom lips from the foam of her drink.
Fuck, do I wish I could be her lip right now.
I swallow my last bite and then pull my eyes from her perfect heart-shaped lips.
“It’s a quick rundown, but there’s nothing more important to share. My dad and I don’t get along. He thinks I’m wasting my life playing the game I love, and my mom is his shadow—my life in a nutshell.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”
I pull up my phone and show her the last text my dad sent me… last night after we won our first round in the Western Conference.
Penelope leans forward to read it.
Dad: Enjoy it while you can. Your hockey lifespan is about up by now. You can’t outrun it. You should have been a doctor.
I see the minute she finishes the text. Her eyes lose their crystal blue when she reads my father’s inspirational congratulations.
She pushes back into her chair and there’s a short moment of silence that falls between us.
“He’s wrong, you know. You’re a talented hockey player and you have a lot of playing years ahead. Your career just started,” she says.
“Maybe.”
I take a bite of my food not wanting to further the conversation about my father any longer. I don’t want to waste a second on him when I have Penelope giving me the time of day for once.
“When do you want to start practice tomorrow?”
“Same time? But in the gym?” she asks.
“Sounds good. I have to meet Seven in twenty minutes for weights.”
“Do you need to leave now? We can get to-go boxes,” she says, eyeing the small table by the register where to-go boxes sit.
“No, I still have time. Tell me about how you got into ice skating.”
