It’s not the whole truth. But it’s enough truth for a first coffee with someone who’s been persistently asking me out for three months straight.
“His loss,” Rodriguez says simply.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you get up at six in the morning to skate alone. I knowyou’re patient with kids but you don’t take shit from anyone. I know you land triples like it’s nothing. That’s enough to know he was an idiot.”
My face heats up. “So you have been watching me.”
“Yeah, guilty.” He takes a drink of his coffee, and I watch his throat move as he swallows. Then I realize I’m watching and look away. “So. Now that I finally have you sitting in front of me without you running away—tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Favorite food? Worst date you’ve ever been on? Weird talent you have that no one knows about?”
“Those are three very different questions.”
“Pick one. Any one. I’m easy.”
I consider this, my fingers still wrapped around the warm cup. “Worst date was when a guy took me to a hockey game and spent the entire time explaining the rules to me even though I told him I already understood them.”
Rodriguez winces. “Ouch. Mansplaining at a hockey game. That’s rough.”
“He kept saying things like ‘so that’s called icing’ and ‘now they’re going to have a faceoff’ like I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me.”
“Did you murder him?”
“No, but I wanted to.”
“I promise never to explain hockey to you. Even if you ask me to.”
“What if I genuinely don’t understand something?”
“Then I’ll explain it condescendingly and slowly, exactly how you want it.”
I laugh because he’s so ridiculous, the sound surprising even me. “Your turn. Worst date.”
“Easy. Took a girl to a nice restaurant, thought everything was going great. She excused herself to the bathroom and never came back.”
“She ditched you?”
“Completely. Left me sitting there for like twenty minutes before I realized what happened. I even paid for her meal.”
“That’s terrible.”
“The worst part? She’d driven us there. I had to call Almardon to pick me up. He’s never let me live it down.”
“The goalie?”
“Yep. Backup goalie. Also my best friend and the person who gives me the most shit about literally everything.” He’s grinning again, leaning back in his chair. “He told me for weeks that my face must have been really offensive.”
“It’s not that offensive.”
“Wow. High praise.”
“I didn’t say it was good. Just not that offensive.”
“I’m going to take that as a win.” He leans forward slightly, his elbows coming to rest on the table, and suddenly the space between us feels smaller. “Okay, next question. Weird talent.”
