Page 6 of Date With Skates

“Connor McVoy. I play on the Diamonds with Roman.”

“And that is in which state?”

“Colorado,” Roman and I say together.”

“Which is how far from California? That’s the only state I can comfortably point out on a map.”

“Uh…” I scratch my head because that’s a weird question. “By plane or car?”

He doesn’t answer me. Just laughs and wishes us luck on our game tomorrow.

He walks off, and Roman finally looks at me.

“He knows we have a game tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I say carefully. “And so do a lot of other people.”

“You think he’ll be there?” he asks.

“If this is how you’ll act in front of him, I sure as fuck hope not.”

Roman shakes his head, completely ignoring what I said. We leave the arena and walk to the bus stop. I’m thankful Nico isn’t there, because I can’t handle this lovestruck version of Roman. I’ve never seen him act this way over anyone before, and I’ve known the guy a long time. What the hell is going on with him?

Despite us sharing a room, we aren’t always together. We each have our own things to do in the middle of the day. It’s not all practice and rest. We have media stuff, fittings, equipment checks, meetings with our coaches, and sometimes we just want to take some time to decompress. Because this is a lot and mental health is important. Roman is better at it than me. I’m good at overwhelming myself until I feel my skin vibrating and I know it’s time to take a break.

At dinner, I make my way to the dining hall where most of the guys already are. I spot Roman from a mile away because it’s hard to miss him. He’s so big. One of the biggest players in the league. And he’s standing out because he’s talking to a few people from one of the Canadian teams. As I get closer, I realize it’s Nico.

Wow. I think he’s obsessed.

I’m halfway to him when he turns, a love-drunk smile on his face. He doesn’t even see me walking right at him.

“You’ve got it bad, bro,” I say.

He shakes out of it.

“Who, me?”

“Don’t play stupid, Callahan. What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing is going on.” He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting like that badger from the Looney Tunes who was obsessed with that poor cat.”

“Badger?” he asks, then barks out a laugh. “He was a skunk.”

“No way.” I shake my head. “That thing was a badger, and I will die on that hill.”

“His name is Pepé Le Pew. Le Pew. You know, because he smells? Because he’s a skunk?”

“You’re missing the point,” I say, when I find nothing to argue with him about. That sounds right, but I don’t want to admit it. “The point is,” I say before he can add anything. “You’re blindsided by this guy. You’re head better be in the game. We’re here to win the gold, not flirt with figure skaters.”

“It is,” he says firmly. “Stop worrying about me. Did you eat yet?”

“No. Did you?”

“Yes, but I was going to stay.”

Probably for the wrong reasons, but whatever.