Page 3 of Something Like That

The girl looked up and opened her mouth, probably to say thank you, but nothing came out. She blinked a couple of times, and then her hazel eyes widened to comical proportions. “You’re Nick Sadler.”

“That’s what it says on my driver’s license.”

His attempt at humor sailed right over her head. She stared at him, letting the cold, wet outside air swirl through the doorway. He waited a few seconds, wondering if she’d give him her name or say something else. She didn’t.

“Here.” He grabbed the stick with one hand and the door with the other. “Let me help you.”

That seemed to snap her back to reality, and she ducked her head and came inside. The tips of her ears were red, but he didn’t know if it was because of the cold or because she was embarrassed. Maybe a bit of both.

She dropped her bags by the chairs. The hockey bag hit with a thud, the backpack a little quieter. She flung herself into one of the chairs and sighed.

The receptionist looked up and smiled. “Hey, Em.”

“Hey, Sabrina,” the girl said, grabbing the backpack and rifling through it.

“Here you go.” He walked over and held the stick out for her.

She looked up and gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” She placed the roll of tape she’d found in her bag on her knee and grabbed the stick. The pink in her cheeks darkened. Definitely embarrassment.

He sat down, leaving an empty seat between them, and glanced at his watch. Only quarter to three. One of the problems with being eager—and early. He picked up the MMA magazine again and flipped it open.

She leaned the stick against her knee so the blade stuck up toward the ceiling, balanced against her cast, and picked up the roll of tape with her free hand. She juggled the tape for a second, seemingly trying to get a grip on the end of the roll. Was she seriously going to try and re-tape that stick one handed?

He tossed the magazine on the table. “May I?”

She shrugged one shoulder, clearly aiming for casual, but her eyes gave her away. They were as round as pucks. “Sure.” She thrust the roll of tape out. The stick teetered for a second and then tipped over.

She gasped and scrambled to grab it with her injured hand, which didn’t work because she clearly didn’t have full range of motion in her fingers.

He grabbed the stick just before it clocked him in the head. That’s all he’d need. To get brained and sidelined by a teenage girl and her errant stick. Wouldn’t Trent and Mark have a field day with that?

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry.” She leaped up and tripped over the backpack at her feet. She pitched forward with a flail and a squeal.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her before she fell into his lap.

She got her footing and pulled herself up, ducking her head. Her cheeks were the same shade of red as her ears. She flopped back into the seat and rubbed her fingers over a patch of writing on her cast. “Sorry.” It was more a mumble than anything else, but he heard it.

“No worries. It’s fine.” Not wanting to embarrass her further, he laid the stick across his lap and started re-taping the blade. “You might want to look into giving your blade a slightly deeper mid curve. Not only will it give you a better wrist shot from the heel, but it’ll also make stick handling easier. Of course, if you’re looking for a better slapshot, you’ll want more of a heel curve.”

He glanced up. She’d obviously gotten over her embarrassment because she was staring at him with her mouth open again. Did she do that a lot?

“It was just a suggestion.” He didn’t know what else to say. Talking to teenage girls was far from his normal.

“How do you know the stick is mine?”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be yours?”

She shrugged again. “I’m a girl. Most people assume it’s, you know, like my b-boyfriend’s, or something.” She ducked her head again and scratched at her cheek.

He snorted. “Yeah, I’ve never had a girlfriend willing to cart around my funky gear.” He finished wrapping the blade and held the stick out to her. “Besides, it’s cut to your height.”

“Thanks.” She took the stick with her good hand.

“Mr. Sadler?”

Nick looked over. A tall blonde woman stood in front of the door next to the reception desk. She wore a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue, form-fitting hoodie with the clinic name and logo emblazoned on the left chest. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Casual, but professional.

“Hey, Mom.” Em bounded from her chair, jumping over her bags this time, and making a beeline for the woman.