"Ah, of course." Jordan turned and put his hand on the small of her back, the way he did that night at her place. It had the same effect on her too, sending chills up her spine and she couldn't help but smile. "Not to rush you, but the team's esteemed Zamboni driver is getting impatient with us."
Sure enough, Charlotte saw the crew by the opened doors at the end of the rink, waiting to start the Zamboni. She slowed herself down and hopped off the ice by the visitors' bench, turning when she realized that Jordan was still on the rink.
"Don't you have to leave too?"
He looked like he was disgusted by the idea of following her. "I avoid that whole visitors' part of the arena."
"Right," she replied. "Hockey player superstition or something."
"I prefer, 'hockey player ritual.'"
"Ah, because that makes it better," she said with a teasing smile. "I guess this is good night then."
Jordan took her hand and looked up at her with his blue eyes. "Good night, Charlotte." He gave her a wink and headed towards his bench, letting her hand slowly slip from his.
"Good night," she said.
She could barely feel her feet touch the ground as she headed back to the visitors' locker room. It was all so sweet and romantic but as Charlotte began to unlace her skates, she realized she had no idea what to do next. Were they just going to have these clandestine meetings at team events? Or could she actually call him? Because she still didn't have his phone number. The dinner party was planned through the Pirates' press office. So then was she supposed to call the office? And what kind of excuse would she make up? "Jordan forgot something at my house," or "I wanted to send him a thank you note... over the phone." Charlotte thought leaving New York would mean she would leave all these stupid games with men behind. And yet here she was doing some of the same things she had always done. Why was it that all of the characters in her books were so smooth and had it together, and she was a romantic mess?
Charlotte sighed and shoved her sweaty hockey socks into a bag in her purse. She put on her blade guards and tied the laces together, swinging them over her shoulder.
Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps her confusion was a sign that she should forget Jordan King.
He could hear the clicking of her high-heeled shoes against the concrete before he even saw her, imagining what her legs looked like with them on. When she finally made her way into his line of sight, he easily verified that he was right.
"I have to tell you those heels look much better than your skates."
Charlotte jumped, clutching at her chest as she turned to see Jordan leaning up against the wall near the Pirates' locker room.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said.
"Not a problem."
"I just couldn't let you go that easily again."
"Excuse me?" she asked.
Jordan pushed off the wall and walked over to her. "I was about to let you walk away without asking you for your phone number." He stopped a little too close to her, but he didn't want to back away now. "I didn't want to make the same mistake twice," he murmured.
He could tell she was staring at him, trying to figure out what to do next. His own mind was racing with some idea on what he could do to make her stay just a little bit longer in his presence.
"Since you're here, do you want to take a quick tour of the locker room?" he offered.
Then he realizing what he had said. The locker room was a sacred space to him. He never took a woman in there — ever! It would just taint the place when he stopped talking to her. So why did he even suggest it?
"You can't call yourself a real hockey fan if you turn down my offer."
He cringed inwardly. Why was he even pushing something he shouldn't have suggested in the first place?
"Okay."
The voice in Jordan's head quieted and he smiled before quickly regaining control of his emotions. He nodded his head, wordlessly inviting her to follow him down the hallway covered with the team's history. Their Hall of Fame players were listed on one side, the retired numbers on the other. Row after row of the team's records like who scored the most goals or the league's MVP award recipients.
Through a set of dark wood doors were photos the wall, starting with a black and white one of some older women surrounded by bottles and bottles of liquor.
"What is this about?" Charlotte said as she stared at the photo.
Jordan couldn't help but smile as he stood next to her. "Those are the river pirates."
