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Where did you go to college?Cornell(which gets a surprised, but I think impressed, arch of her brows).
When did I first start playing hockey?Got my first skates when I was five.
Just as she starts on the fan questions, the guy in the headset cuts in.
“Sorry, we’re having an issue with the audio. Give us just a second.”
He and the sound guy turn away to have a chat, which leaves Hattie and I standing alone together in a bit of an awkward silence.
“So, uh, how long have you been in Seattle?” She gives me a questioning look. “The accent,” I say by way of explanation.
“Only a couple of weeks, actually,” she admits. “I moved for the job.” She doesn’t offer more, so we lapse into another bout of silence. She seems a bit…stiff. Not standoffish or rude, exactly, but like she’s just reluctant to do the whole small talk thing. Again, totally understandable. Ninety percent of the time, small talk is the worst.
While we’re waiting, the facilities guys drive a giant crane onto the middle of the ice and start hoisting a huge wreath up onto the jumbotron hanging in the center of the arena. She huffs out an annoyed breath, staring daggers at the decoration.
I huff out a laugh. “Are you against wreaths, or just decorating early?”
“Christmas in general,” she responds.
“What?!” I ask incredulously. She gives me a challenging look and my brows draw down. “Is it like a religious thing?”
“Nope. I just hate Christmas.”
“How can you hate Christmas?”
“Red and green aren’t my colors,” she says with a wry smirk, the word coming out likecuh-lersand I don’t know why it’s so attractive, but fuck me, it really is.
“I find it hard to believe that any colors aren’t your colors,” I say honestly, not even trying to flirt. Ok, maybe a little. “But seriously, how can you hate it? It’s the best.” She stares at me, looking like she’s trying to decide if I’m yanking her chain. “Seriously, I fucking love it. Oh, sorry,” I wince, then shrug. “Well, we aren’t filming right now, so I get a pass.” Her lips curl upward, one dimple peeking out.Damn her. “I love Christmas. The lights and the music and the food. Ah, God, is there anything better than a Christmas cookie fresh out of the oven?”
“You know you can make those cookies anytime, right? They aren’t regulated to Christmas time only.”
I shake my head. “Nope, they don’t taste the same any other time of year. It’s science." She laughs lightly, seemingly despite herself. "So, you seriously hate Christmas?”
“Christmas and I…have bad blood,” she hedges and though I’m keenly interested in whatever the hell that could possibly mean, I don’t push. That seems like something you share with someone you’ve known for more than five minutes.
“Well, I love it,” I say again. I really do, always have. Christmas was a huge thing for our family and I have the absolute best memories of spending time together around the tree every year, skating, sledding, decorating cookies. All of it. It kind of makes me sad that Hattie doesn’t share my love for the holiday, that maybe she doesn’t have the cherished memories of it that I do. She studies me.
“What?”
“You just don’t seem like the Christmas-lovin’ type, I guess.”
“And what type do I seem like?” I ask, leaning my forearms on the top of the wall.
“A playboy-hockey star-biker?” she says with a hike of one shoulder.
I huff out a laugh. “Well, I do ride, and I am admittedly a star,” I say with a wink. For some reason, I feel the need to add, “But I’m not a playboy.” I’m not sure why I want her to know that. It’s what most people assume about all of us, and it usually doesn’t bother me. It’s just kind of how it is. Plus, I used to be almost as big of one as Rizzo, but I’ve changed over the past few years. The random hook ups, the one-night stands on the road, all of that isn’t really my deal anymore.
And I want her to know it. Not that it matters, really. I’m not trying to get in her pants or anything right now, but, I don’t know, maybe we could be friends. She’s new in town. Maybe she’s lonely without her friends or family around—though of course she could have a significant other that moved here with her for all I know. But maybe she could still use someone to show her around. Maybe I should offer? Would that be too much? I mean we are kind of co-workers in a round about way, so that wouldn’t be too weird of a thing to offer, would it? Or maybe that’s precisely why itwouldbe weird.
Fuck, my head is starting to hurt. I don’t think I’ve over thought anything like this in…well, basically ever. And it’s not even a real thing. It’s a hypothetical situation.Get a fucking grip, Shep.
She gives me a dry look. “I’ve heard quite the opposite, actually.”
“Iusedto be, but I’m reformed,” I tell her with a grin, and her lips curl again. Our gazes lock and I get one of those instant connection feelings. Not love at first sight or anything like that, I’m not an idiot, but just when you know you mesh with someone on some weird cosmic level. Like you know in an instant you’re going to be friends. I had it when I first met Rizzo almost twenty years ago, and a handful of other times in my life. I’m just about to ask if I can show her around town, but headset guy cuts back in.
“Ok, sorry about that. We’re all good.”
Hattie gives that tight smile again and shifts back into her more rigid persona from before. Is that her work face? I totally get that. Off the ice, I’m mostly easy going and a teddy bear—only in one real area does thatnotapply—but on the ice? I’m a completely different person. Ruthless. Laser-focused. Rabid. I’ve threatened to rip someone’s head off with my bare hands, and wouldn’t have thought twice about actually going through with it. So, I get having a different personality when it comes to the job, especially in a new one when you're trying to prove yourself and make an impression and all that.
