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Why isn’t he here with Cora? Or some other puck bunny trying to get in his pants?
“The bathroom is right there.” Nick laughs, noticing how uncomfortable I look.
To his right is a closed door that opens to a small bathroom. I duck inside quickly, breathing a sigh of relief, and try to clean myself up.
Getting the beer out is useless.
I used the hand soap on the sink and some water, but it just made it even more wet than it already was, and gave it a mountain spring scent, masking the beer. I wipe it up off my chest and fix my hair.
My face is red and blotchy from dancing and my hair is a frizzy mess of curls besides the amount of hairspray I used earlier. It’ll have to do for the walk out of here to get home. Beer on my shirt is it for me. Night over.
Nick isn’t in front of the door where he was before when I come out.
My shock at being in his or someone else’s bedroom must have scared him off.
I head for the door to the stairs when I hear the bed squeak.
“Feel better?” Nick asks, sitting on the edge of the bed on the right side.
Of course, that’s his bed. Neat and clean, just like him.
“Yeah. My shirt’s still a mess, but at least my hands aren’t sticky.” I hold up my hands to show him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles.
I stand awkwardly, not sure what to do. Leave? Stay?
Does he want me to stay?
“So, this is your room?” I ask, not wanting to end our time together.
I should leave. I really should.
Being in Nick’s room is intimidating, but also intriguing. I’m more curious than anything.
A journalist’s dream to be inside the bedroom of the star goalie. I can really get inside his head.
“This side is, yup. That side is Greg’s. He’s a disaster.” Nick points beyond the sheet.
I laugh. Compared to Nick’s side Greg’s looks like a tornado went through it.
It makes sense with how each of them plays. Nick is meticulous in the net. He’s quick to analyze every play. Every move he makes is with a purpose. Whereas Greg is spontaneous.
His size makes him hard to get pass, but he relies on his gut more than anything. I watch him read players and try to determine their next move, but not like Nick. He’s not calculating them. Nick has it down to a science.
“You can come sit. I won’t bite.” He smirks at me. “Well not too hard.”
My stomach knots, but I walk closer to him. I’m not ready to sit next to him. Instead, I scan the shelves on his wall. He has pictures of him and his family. I grab the one of him and an older man that looks just like him.
“Your dad?” I ask, remembering him talking about his family briefly at the diner.
“Nope, granddad.” He stands and points to another picture of his family.
An older woman, a man, and two girls on either side of him. “My mom, dad, oldest sister Janika, and my older sister, the middle child, Catherina. And of course, me.”
He looks younger in the picture, but he towers over everyone, even then.
“You look so much like your granddad,” I comment while looking at both pictures.
