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“So, it’s just cold soccer,” she says matter-of-factly.
I snort into my coffee, nearly choking. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, yeah. The biggest difference is that you probablyshouldn’ttry to use your head on a hockey puck.”
“Har har,” she says, rolling her eyes but smiling. We chat a bit more about this and that, nothing too deep or personal, but it’s nice. Easy.
“Are you settling in ok so far?”
“It’s…an adjustment, that’s for sure. I miss the warm and the beach,” she says, sadness leaking into her voice. She gets a faraway look, and I’m sure she’s imagining everything she left behind, everything she’s missing, but the look of wistful longing suddenly transforms into something else. A flash of fear?Odd. She shakes herself and continues on. “But it was time for a change, so I'm happy I moved. I’m still learning my way around though. I pretty much know how to get to and from work, the grocery store, Target, and this coffee shop, but not much else. My house is still only half furnished too. Well, not even really half, but I haven’t had time to really go shopping, or even find places to go shopping.” She sighs.
“Moving sucks balls,” I say honestly. She glances up and her lips quirk.
“Yes. Yes, it really does, but this move is totally worth it.” That strange look of fear or discomfort crosses her face again, but she quickly pushes it away, grinning. “But now I’m regretting selling all my furniture.”
I smile back, and though I don’t want to, I know I need to go.
“Hey, I gotta run and get some things taken care of before we fly out this afternoon, but this was nice.”
“It was,” she agrees as we both put on our coats and head outside.
“Hey, so when we get back from these games, we have a few days off. I could help you find what you need for your place if you want, show you some of my favorite spots and hidden gems?” She chews her lip, looking like she’s debating. I wonder if she’s worried because she thinks I’ll expect something, and, given my past reputation, I don’t blame her, so I add, “No expectations or strings attached. Strictly platonic."
And, to my surprise, I mean it. I mean, of course I'd be happy to take Hattie to bed—I'd have to have serious brain damage not to want her like that—but I'm happy to just be friends. Coffee and chatting with her today was so damn refreshing. I didn't feel any kind of pressure to be anyone but myself, no stress to be charming or flirty, or to make sure Iwasn'tcharming or flirty that she didn't get the wrong idea. I was just…me.
And it was fucking fantastic.
I haven't had that in a long time honestly, so, hell yeah, I'm down to just be friends with Hattie. She eyes me, trying to take my measure and decide if I'm bullshitting her, probably. I lean back against the front of my truck and cross my arms over my chest.
"Scout's honor. Friends only. I wouldn’t let you kiss me even if you wanted to—which, of course, you will.” I grin at her and wink.
She laughs out loud at that, her dimples peeking out making me regret promising no kissing for a half a heartbeat. But she seems to relax and the tension goes out of her shoulders.
“That sounds really great, actually.”
“Kissing me? Of course it sounds great. I’m a fantastic kisser.” She shoves me playfully in the shoulder and we both laugh. “So, not to sound like I’m hitting on you, but can I get your number?”
“Actually just give me yours,” she says, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. “I don’t even remember this new number yet honestly, it's like my third new one in the past few months.” Why the change so many times? I give her my number and she types it in, my phone buzzing in my pocket a second later. Now I have hers too.
“Let me know when you’re back in town.”
I’ve gotten thousands of numbers in my lifetime probably, but for some reason, getting this one has my pulse racing. Fucking stupid, I know. I mean, I literallyjustpromised her that this was just a friends thing thirty seconds ago, that I wouldn’t try or expect more. But still, here I am damn near giddy at the idea of having her number, like I’m fifteen fucking years old again and Jessica Thompson agreed to go to the movies with me.
“I will,” I promise, wondering if I’ll be able to restrain myself from texting her from the plane today, or the hotel room tonight. Probably not, but it will be alright. Friends text, after all.
“But just a warning: I’m going to make you do all the touristy stuff too. Ferry boats and the Space Needle and the giant troll statue under the bridge. Oh! Is the hospital from Grey’s Anatomy real? It’s probably not real, is it?” She looks thoughtful but shrugs. “I think I’ll even wear anI heart Seattlesweatshirt while we’re at it.”
I laugh again, loving this girl—in a friendly way. I love that she doesn’t take herself too seriously, and I know that she’s completely not kidding about playing tourist. She’s excited about it, not saying any of it in a mocking way.
“I’ll buy you one myself with a matching hat.”
She smiles and nods. “Deal. Uh, stop all the pucks?” she says, scrunching her nose and grinning at her terrible attempt at a good luck. “That was bad,” she chuckles.
“It was,” I agree.
“Don’t suck, buttercup—how about that?” She sticks her tongue out and I laugh.
“Much better.” We both seem reluctant to leave, but I really do have to go. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“See ya,” she says. “Have a safe trip.”
