“Good. Good.” He drums his fingers against his knee, and I get the distinct impression he’s working up to something. “So, you probably saw about the exhibition game next week.”
“I did.”
“Should be fun. We’re playing the fire department for charity.” He pauses, and I can practically feel him waiting for me to be impressed. “Local news will probably cover it.”
“That’s nice.”
“Nice?” He laughs. “Come on, Golda. Professional hockey players versus weekend warriors? It’s going to be a show.”
“I’m sure it will be very entertaining.”
“You’re really not giving me much to work with here.”
“Work with for what?”
“Conversation. Banter. The normal back-and-forth people do when they’re getting to know each other.”
I study his face, trying to determine what game we’re playing. “Are we getting to know each other?”
“I’d like to. You seem interesting.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that you’re the only person I’ve met in months who doesn’t seem impressed by anything I say.”
“Maybe I’m just not easily impressed.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you think professional athletes are all ego and no substance.”
“Are you?”
He considers this seriously. “Some days. But I’m working on it.”
The honest answer surprises me. “Why?”
“Needed a change.” He shrugs. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who clearly thinks I’m full of shit.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. “I don’t think you’re full of shit.”
“No?”
“I think you’re used to getting what you want.”
“And what do I want, Golda?”
There’s something in his tone that makes me glance at him sideways, but his attention is focused on the ice and I can’t come up with a response that won’t sound breathless or boring.
“So,” he says after another moment. “I have a confession.”
“Oh good. I love confessions from men I barely know.”
“I heard your commercial work. The team hired you for the new campaign.”
That explains the sudden interest. “Congratulations. You can connect voices to faces.”
“You sound different in the booth than you do in person.”
“Most people do. That’s kind of the point of voice acting.”
