Page 92 of Break Points and Face Offs

“Because he got a penalty. That’s the penalty box. Or some people called it the sin bin in juniors.”

He nods, a serious expression on his face like he’s expecting to be quizzed on the answers later.

“How long does he have to sit in there?”

I enjoy the inquisitive look on his face as he keeps asking questions.

“Two minutes for a minor like slashing.”

“What’s slashing?”

He asks me about a million and one questions and I answer them all in as much detail as I can.

“Thank you.”

I smile. He doesn’t have to thank me. Hockey fans love explaining the game to newbies, or at least, I do. I’d love to take him to an actual game. We could go see a Devil’s game, or take George Wilkes up on his offer of a Rangers game at MSG, but every time I try to take Priestley somewhere other than the library or the diner, he balks. I decide not to push him. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I like it and I don’t want it to stop.

In the second period, a fight breaks out. I’ve finished my food and scooted back up onto the couch next to Priestley. When I look over at him, his eyes are wide and his face doesn’t know whether to be horrified or excited.

“I still can’t believe they’re actually allowed to do this,” he says. “It’s barbaric.”

“You’re smiling, Rosie.”

He tries to wipe the smile off his face but fails.

After the game, we clean up our take-out boxes, wash anything that can be recycled and sort it all into the proper places.

“I never thought Priestley Rosenthal would be an avid recycler,” I joke, watching him meticulously clean a plastic tub.

“What? Did you think I was some criminal mastermind hellbent on destroying the planet, one plastic container at a time?”

I laugh and shake my head. “I love it when you’re witty, Rosie. It’s sexy as fuck.”

He dips his head, looking shy. “It makes economic sense to maintain the planet’s natural resources,” he mumbles.

“Come here, you fucking dork.”

I pull him closer, finally getting to kiss him like I’ve wanted to all day. All the stress shucks off my shoulders and I just relax into it, feeling him relax, too.

I lead him over to the couch and start undressing us.

“The condoms are in the bedroom,” he reminds me.

“I know that. Let me play with you out here first.”

He closes his eyes and dives back into the kiss. By the time we fall back onto the couch, my hoodie is on the floor and Priestley’s pants are open.

“Why don’t you wear sweatpants as much anymore?” he asks as he unzips me from my jeans.

“Because you laid into me that day.”

He stops kissing me. “Really?”

I smile to let him know I’m not ribbing him for once. “It was good. You were right. I should be dressing smarter. Preparing myself for the office. You challenge me, in a good way.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flush and his eyes get brighter. “Like Björn Borg and John McEnroe.”

“Who?”