I laugh, maybe a little too loudly. “That’s good. Dedication.”
“Definitely dedicated.” She closes her laptop slightly. “He talks about hockey constantly. And you. You’ve made quite an impression.”
The comment makes something warm spread in my chest, followed immediately by the memory of last night’s audiobook session and her voice saying, “He traced his fingers along her collarbone, memorizing the silk of her skin.”
Fuck. Focus.
“He’s a great kid,” I manage. “Really coachable. You should be proud.”
“I am.” There’s something soft in her expression that makes my chest tight. “Thank you for being so patient with him. It means a lot.”
“Of course. That’s... that’s what coaches do.”
She nods, and we fall into awkward silence. This is where I should skate away, get back to practice. Instead, I hear myself asking, “So, you mentioned voice-over work. That day at the coffee shop.”
“Voice-over work?” She tilts her head slightly.
“Yeah, you said you do... voices. For things.” Great. Already making this weird. “Commercials and... other things.”
“Right.” There’s something almost amused in her expression. “I do voice-over work.”
“That’s...” I scramble for something intelligent to say, remembering Elliot’s lecture about actually getting to know her. “That must be interesting. The... process.”
“The process?”
“Of doing voices. For different... projects.” Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? “Like, do you have to practice? The voices?”
“Practice?”
“I mean, not practice like hockey practice. Different kind of practice. Voice practice.” I’m definitely sweating inside my gear now. “For the... voice things.”
She’s definitely trying not to smile now. “The voice things.”
“Your work. I meant your work.” I grip my stick tighter. “Do you enjoy it? The work part?”
“Most of the time. It pays the bills.”
“Right. Bills. That’s... practical.” This is going terribly. Elliot made it sound so easy—just ask about her life, her work. She didn’t mention it would require actual conversation skills. “Do you work from home? For the voice work?”
“I have a home studio, yes.”
“A studio. That’s professional.” I nod like this is fascinating information instead of me desperately trying to think of follow-up questions. “With equipment and... studio things.”
“Studio things,” she repeats, and now she’s definitely fighting back laughter.
“Microphones,” I clarify, as if this helps. “And probably... other equipment. For recording the voices.”
“Yes, there are microphones involved.”
Another silence stretches between us, and I realize I’m just standing here like an idiot while practice continues behind me. Elliot’s advice echoes in my head: Show interest in her life, her work. Ask follow-up questions. Have actual conversations.
This is not what she meant.
“That’s really... cool,” I say finally, because apparently my vocabulary has been reduced to words a kindergartner would use. “The voice work thing. Very... skilled.”
“Thank you?”
“I should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the ice where kids are running drills without their coach. “Hockey. Coaching. The thing I’m supposed to be doing.”
