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“How did you like the game?”
He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, you know. It was cool.” His smile takes on a devious edge, and he shakes his head sadly. “Even though my team lost.”
I laugh.
“You’ll pay for that,” I say.
“Did I say something wrong?” He widens his eyes innocently. “That wasn’t the plan. Luckily, I’m really good at begging for forgiveness.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah. I’ll do it on my knees.”
Getting hard in the parking lot wasn’t the plan. Then again, neither was Lake.
“I do feel insulted,” I say in my gravest tone, tapping my palm against my chest. “Wounded, even. It really cut deep.”
“In that case, we better get out of here as quickly as possible, so we can make out.” He narrows his eyes. “Did I say make out? I meant make up. My bad. Freudian slip.”
I laugh, and we get in the car.
“It really was a good game,” he says once I pull out of the parking lot. “I don’t know if I should say it because you might get all cocky, but I’m pretty damn impressed with you right now.”
“That’s a first.”
He pinches my side and laughs when I yelp.
I catch his hand in mine and keep it still for a moment. Keep it trapped against my chest. I miss it when I’m forced to let go to change gear.
“Think you’ll come to another one?” I ask.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind? Plus, you come to your first game, and we win 6-1? Let’s face it, you’re basically a good luck charm now.”
He snorts. “Is that how it works?”
“Hockey players are a pretty superstitious lot,” I say.
He turns his body so he’s angled toward me in his seat. “Are you superstitious?”
“What?” I scoff. “It’s scientifically irrational.”
My mistake is I refuse to look at him. And he catches on immediately.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I’m not superstitious,” I say slowly while I try to figure out whether I’m jinxing myself by lying.
“But do you have superstitions?” he asks. I still refuse to look at him, and he starts to laugh. “Come on. What are they?”
“You hungry?”
“Ooh! That means it’s something embarrassing,” he says, eyes alight with barely restrained glee.
“I wouldn’t call it a superstition. It’s really more of a habit.”
“Spill the beans, James.”
