And because I’m not very smart, I offered the other two tickets to Scully and Divina, who tended bar at Sportsballs until she and her girlfriend opened up a brunch spot in LoDo.
I’d been positive that Scully would decline, on account of the bar. One of us is always there on a busy weekend night.
But no. “This will give the new guy a chance to prove himself,” Scully had said. “Trix is shaping up to be a good manager, and I’ll leave my phone on just in case.”
So here’s Scully, taking off his coat and eyeing the players on the ice with far too much interest.
“Which one is Forest’s goalie?” Divina asks, cracking her gum.
“Neither of them,” I say tightly, and Scully laughs.
“That one,” he says, pointing at Beck, who’s stretching on the ice. “Do we know yet who’s in goal?”
“Nope. Maybe we can tell by who’s getting the most attention during warmups,” Charlie says, because he’s watched approximately one million hockey games with his old man.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, keeping it casual. But I’m mentally crossing my fingers for Beck.
Charlie unwraps a chocolate bar from his Christmas stash. Or, more probably, from mine. “So where did you meet Beck, anyway? You never said.”
Scully chuckles from beside me.
“Um, at the bar,” I say.
“Makes sense. And you said—let’s go on a date?”
“He’s not a date,” I correct automatically. “He was just a regular customer.”
Charlie gives me a skeptical look. “A regular customer who gives you hockey tickets and comes over to play video games with me? Dad, I’m not stupid.”
More laughter from Scully and Divina, and I sigh. “We met at the bar. He came in once a week for months before we actually talked much.”
“Wait, so he was, like, stalking you?” Charlie’s eyes widen with interest rather than concern.
“No, Charlie. He was just… shy, I guess.” I watch as Beck drops into a butterfly stretch, then pops back up with that fluid grace that’s so mesmerizing to watch.
“But then what? He finally asked you out?”
I rub my temples. “He offered to help out my hockey team one night when we needed a goalie. We became friends after that.”
“Friends,” Charlie repeats with air quotes. “Is that why you got all weird when he showed up at our house? Because you’re ‘friends’?”
My actual friends erupt with laughter.
“I got weird because I wasn’t expecting company.” I give him a pointed look. “And because I knew my son wouldn’t act normal around guests.”
“Bestie, I was the normal one. You were the one who kept finding excuses to go into the kitchen.”
He’s not wrong. I did keep finding reasons to escape that night, needing a moment to collect myself while Beck charmed my son with video game strategies and his theories on why goalies should be encouraged to take more shots on goal.
“And now you’re literally checking out his butt,” Charlie whispers, elbowing me in the ribs.
“Charlie.” I keep my voice low but firm. “Enough.”
“What? It’s not like I’m judging your love life.”
“This isn’t my love life. It’s hockey.”
Scully finally takes mercy on me and changes the subject, asking Charlie about his own hockey team. While I watch the arena fill up around us, pregame music thumps through the speakers. Beck is in the net now, and his teammates are firing on him.
