AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So we joined the Tuesday night curling league. Dax revealed he’s an ice shark who enjoys crushing senior citizens. I discovered I enjoy participating in Canada’s third-favorite winter pastime more than I ever imagined.
“Great caboose on that one, eh?”
A gray-haired woman pokes me with her elbow, her eyes locked on Dax as he crouches in an attempt to better see the angle of his line.
“If I was fifty years younger, I’d be all over that. Hell, twenty years younger, and I’d probably at least see if he was in the market for a paramour.”
She chuckles. It’s a deep smoker’s laugh and is immediately followed by an obvious up-and-down.
“You’re not half-bad either. I’d introduce myself if I were you. Take it from an old bat; the good ones get snatched up quickly.”
I get a second elbow poke. My companion continues to laugh until another elderly woman emerges from the locker room, and the pair leave, laughing together.
My gaze drifts back to the ice, where Dax is still contemplating his shot but standing now. Whether it’s that horny woman’s words still lingering like smoke in the air or the fact that I’m still orienting myself in this strange new world, I take a moment to check him out.Reallycheck him out.
Dax looks exactly the same. He’s wearing his “curling uniform,” black sweatpants that sit low on his hips and cling to a butt that I guess—objectively—most women would consider attractive. His faded black henley hugs him in all the places that make it evident that he still makes good use of the YMCA membership he’s had since he was sixteen.
His lips are pressed into a firm line, and his dark brows are pulled low as he examines the angles of the rocks. An earnest expression highlights the sharp angles of his face and strong jaw only half-hidden by his signature dark stubble.
As much as I love to rip into Dax when he gets all serious about his shots, I secretly love how much he loves to curl. I love the way I can always tell that he’s rehearsed his pregame pep talks and the way he wraps me in the biggest, warmest bear hugs any time I do anything that even remotely resembles a well-executed curling skill. And although I complain about having to drag my ass off the couch every single Tuesday to a cold, damp arena, I wish I was out there with him tonight.
Who is out there with him tonight?
With me off the roster, there’s an open vice-skip position on the Ice Ice Babies.
My eyes scan the length of the sheet. On the ice is Dougie, who is Dax’s cousin, and Dougie’s husband, Brandon. But it’s unclear who their fourth is until she slides over to Dax like aSouth Asian Tessa Virtue and crouches beside him, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh. They bump fists, then complete this complicated handshake that makes my blood bubble under my skin because since when does Dax do weird bro-like handshakes? We never had one.
Sunny Khatri. In my timeline, she plays for the Hammer Curls. She’s arguably the best curler in the entire league. She’s also painfully beautiful with her long, glossy black hair and big brown baby-deer eyes. I’ve caught my Dax admiring more than her curling form on more than one occasion. In my world, they’re rivals. Here, they look to be friends. Close friends.
This could be a complication.
I turn away from the window to gather my thoughts and pull together some sort of a game plan.
Tonight needs to go well. Not only do I have to recover from a less-than-stellar first impression this morning, but I also have to start our friendship over from scratch. Usually, when I meet someone new, there’s no pressure. If we click—we click. If we don’t—well, then I say a politethank you, nextand move on with my life. But if I screw this up with Dax, I won’t be able to get back to my reality, which means I will lose the person who knows me best in the world. Even holding the idea of that happening in my head for a single moment makes my stomach feel like someone’s wringing it out like a dishcloth.
I need booze. Something to steady my nerves. Clearly not having learned a lesson from our margarita party last night, I make my way to the bar. Sliding onto a maroon cracked-leather barstool, I greet the bartender, Larry, with my sexy wink that Dax has informed me, on more than one occasion, is not the least bit sexy.
“Evening, Lawrence.” I nod at the television mounted to the wall behind him. “Your Jays are looking pretty decent this year.It’s just a shame Joe Nintendo broke his toe. Won’t be rounding the bases like he did last year.” I rest my chin between my two hands and wait for Larry to argue with me. It’s our shtick. We do it every Tuesday night. I say something about sports that’s completely ignorant or entirely made up. He gets all riled and red, arguing with me until he realizes I’m joking. Then he pulls his bar towel from his back pocket and pretends to swat me with it. I run away, yelling,Free beer!He puts it on my Visa card at the end of the night.
However, this Larry just squints at me and scratches his balding head.
Right. I’m still in curse country. And since I’m not friends with Dax, I don’t frequent the Grand Victoria’s bar, so this poor guy doesn’t know who I am.
“Uh, yeah,” he finally says. “Looking like it’s going to be an interesting season. What can I get for ya?”
There’s no need to think hard about this answer.
“Pitcher of Hurry Hard, please and thank you.” It’s what Dax and I drink every week. We split a pitcher of beer and a Rock On party platter. Dax eats the wings. I get the potato wedges. We order two dipping sauces for the mozzarella sticks because we both refuse to share. And although Dax in this timeline doesn’t know me, it’s never a bad idea to approach someone with free beer. I figure I can use it as a peace offering.
With the pitcher in one hand and a stack of glasses in the other, I turn in time to see a group of players exit the ice. Half of them head to the changing rooms to shower or change or grab belongings from lockers. The rest head straight for the bar.
Dax skips the shower and heads straight to our usual table, next to the window but far enough from the DJ table that you can hold a conversation. I intercept him just as he’s about to sit down.
“It’s you.” His eyes widen as they meet mine. “What are you doing here?”
My stomach instantly fills with a hundred fluttering yet very confused butterflies. Fluttering because I haven’t had my beer yet, and I’m nervous. Confused because this is Dax I’m talking to, and there’s no reason to be nervous. I should be good at this by now.
He doesn’t sit. But he grips the back of the chair with enough force that his knuckles turn white. I wonder if he’s considering throwing it in my path and seeking out the nearest exit. After this morning, I don’t blame him.
