Page 61 of Offside

Maren: It’s entirely possible.

Maren: I’ll see you there later.

Ryan: okej vackra

Maren: What does that mean?

Ryan: Look it up.

It meant okay, beautiful.

The Rusty Nail that evening was lower-key than a postgame night. Players who wanted a beer and somewhere that wasn’t home, nothing more than that, and half the time most of us didn’t drink, we just needed to get out. Dee had the patio misters running and someone had claimed the big corner table, and Maren arrived fourteen minutes after I did, which I knew because I’d been watching the door in a way I couldn’t deny.

She came in with her hair down and clothes she’d changed into after work, said something to Dee at the bar that made Dee almost smile, and folded herself into the open seat three down from me without making anything of it. The tank top she wore revealed just enough skin to make my mouth water and I’d caught just a glimpse of her perfect ass before she sat.

After she ordered a drink, she was listening to Eli explain something about ice resurfacing schedules with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hand, asking follow-up questions. Eli, who did not as a rule expand on topics when a nod would suffice, had been talking for four minutes.

I watched her for exactly as long as was reasonable. Which was not long.

I pulled my attention back to Griffin, who was explaining a new goalie stick model with the focus he usually saved for defusing actual problems. Down the table I was peripherally aware of Maren turning to talk to Cole, and heard Cole’s laugh, but did not look up.

I was good at this. I’d had practice managing her proximity in public, and this morning hadn’t changed any of the rules. Just the stakes.

What I was less good at was the moment, forty minutes later ,when Cole replied low and quick that made Maren laugh hard enough, she grabbed my arm without thinking. Her hand landed on my forearm and stayed there while she finished laughing. Three, maybe four seconds, warm and completely unselfconscious, the way she touched people she was at ease with. We’d all moved around as conversations shifted, and people mingled, and it wasn’t a coincidence we’d ended up next to each other.

She pulled her hand back. The slight recalibration was there and gone in a flash.

I returned to my drink schooling my expression while my heart raced briefly.

Across the table, Cole’s eyebrows had made a quiet migration upward. I met his eyes for one second and glanced away.

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed against my thigh.

Maren: This is either the most or least interesting conversation I’ve ever had about Zambonis. Jury’s still out.

I didn’t look up from the conversation I was having with Theo about our next opponent’s penalty kill. I typed back under the table.

Ryan: Wanna get out of here?

She glanced my way casually, her eyes a little wider than necessary.

Ryan: My place?

I watched Theo make a point about left-wing coverage and nodded in the right places.

Maren: …Okay

I put my phone away and finished my beer and did not smile even though I could sense the one ready to explode across my face.

Ten minutes later Maren pushed back from the table and stretched. “I’m going to head out,” she said, easy, not explaining herself, already moving. “Early morning.” She touched Griffin’s shoulder, stopping him from rising. “Stay, I’ll grab a rideshare.”

I set down my beer. “I’m heading out anyway. I’ll drive you.”

Griffin glanced between us not fully tracking, his third beer doing its work. “Yeah? You sure?”

“It’s on the way.”

“That’s not even a little true,” Griffin said, turning to Maren. “But if you’re leaving, she’s not totally out of the way, and I’d feel better about it. That work for you?” He didn’t seem suspicious, so I just went with it.