He takes off his jacket and I watch him like he’s doing a striptease, practically salivating as he reveals nice shoulders and arms in a gray sweater with a shawl collar. When he turns to hang up his jacket, my gaze dips to his ass, which is…magnificent. Those jeans…oh my God.
I feel like fanning myself, but I need to at least pretend to be composed.
“So you’ve just moved to New York,” I say.
“Yep.” He sits on the couch adjacent to me and leans back. “Still figuring things out.”
“It’s a bit overwhelming at first. I remember.” I make a face.
“When did you move here?”
“About five years ago.”
He nods. “I guess you know your way around now.”
“Sort of. Have you found a place to live?”
“Yeah. An apartment on, uh, the west side.”
I smile. “Cool.”
“It’s decent and a good location. A few other players live there too. I haven’t actually moved in yet. I’m waiting for my furniture. Especially my bed.”
His bed. I immediately picture him in his bed. Naked. I bet it’s a big bed…I’m mentally fanning myself again.
“Living in a hotel sucks, though.” He frowns.
“I don’t know. I think I could handle living in a hotel. Room service every night. No cooking or cleaning.”
“There is that.” He nods seriously.
A door opposite us opens and Oliver strides in. “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Hey!” I jump up and zip over to hug him. “No worries. Good to see you.”
“Yeah, you too.” He looks at Josh. “Josh Heller. Hi. I’m a fan of yours.”
My eyebrows lift. Oliver is a hockey fan? Who knew?
Josh stands and walks toward us.
“This is Oliver,” I say. “He’s our sound engineer.”
“Hi, Oliver.”
Oliver shakes Josh’s hand vigorously. “It’s so cool to have you playing for the Bears.”
“It’s good to be here.”
I sense the lack of sincerity in his words. Hmmm.
“Come on back.” Oliver leads the way to the soundproof studio where we’ll record the podcast. It’s small but comfortable, with a round table, two chairs, and microphones set up on the table. At one end of the room is the sound equipment, which I know nothing about, where Oliver will sit while we record.
Josh and I take seats. “Get comfortable,” I tell him, pulling out my iPad. “We’ll get started in a few minutes.”
He doesn’t look comfortable. He looks like he’d rather shoot pucks at me than talk to me right now.
Oliver moves around turning things on, then does a sound check, and we’re ready to go.
I’ve got notes on my iPad, and I start with a shout-out to the sponsor of this podcast. “Random Acts of Sara is brought to you by TicketTalk. TicketTalk is the Web’s largest event ticket search engine. Discover events you love, search all ticket sites, see seat locations, and get the best deals on tickets. It’s the only ticket app you need, and you can get it in the App Store or on Google Play. I love TicketTalk because you can get tickets to anything—Broadway plays, concerts, sporting events. Aaaaand…speaking of sporting events, my guest today is NHL player Josh Heller. Josh was recently traded from the Dallas Stars to the New York Bears, so he’s ours now, and ladies, let me tell you, we are happy to have him here in NYC.”
A hint of red spreads across Josh’s cheeks. Adorable.
“Yes, I’m sitting right here with him in the studio, live and in person. Welcome to the podcast, Josh.”
He’s obviously experienced at speaking into microphones. His voice is deep and modulated. “Thanks for having me, Sara.”
He said my name. I like that.
Focus.
He looks uncomfortable, but he comes across as casual and at ease.
“This is my first professional athlete podcast interview, so I’m pretty amped about this. I have to admit I don’t know a lot about hockey, or any other sport for that matter, although I’ve been to a lot of Super Bowl parties.”
Josh smiles reluctantly.
Score! I got a smile out of him!
“Why don’t they have Stanley Cup parties?” I wonder aloud.
“Well, I guess it would be because the Super Bowl always falls on the same day, but the Stanley Cup playoffs happen over weeks and nobody knows when the last game will be until the end. But I think people do party during the Stanley Cup playoffs, especially if their team is in the playoffs.”
“Good point. We all know when the Super Bowl is going to be a year ahead of time. So you’ve just moved to New York. What’s the first thing you did when you got here?”
“I went and bought a warmer jacket.”
I laugh. “Yeah, January in New York calls for warm outerwear. What are some things you want to check out now you’re living here?”
He rubs his jaw. “Geez, I don’t know. My schedule’s pretty busy. But at some point I’d like to visit the 9/11 Memorial and also One World Trade Center.”
I nod. “Well, I did not expect that.”
“Why?”
“Hey, I’m the interviewer here.” I give him a sly smile. “I ask the questions.”
“Uh…”
“I’m kidding! We’re having a conversation. I’m just surprised because you’re an athlete and I thought you’d want to do something more…athletic.”
“Well, I’d also like to go to a New York Yankees game.”
I smile. “That’s more what I expected to hear.”
He smiles back. Some kind of vibrating connection stretches between us. Damn, even though he doesn’t show it much, he has a nice smile. And teeth.
I need to focus. “Okay, here’s my first hockey question.”
“I’m ready.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Why do hockey players spit so much?”
His mouth opens, then closes. “I did not expect that.”
I laugh again.
“It’s because…uh…mucus builds up. It does for anyone who works out at a high intensity, especially in the cold. You gotta either swallow it or spit it out.”
“Gross.”
A smile tugs his mouth. “Yeah, it is.”
“Have you ever spit on someone by accident?”
“Oh yeah. And I’ve been nailed, too.”
“Oh.” Okay, mind out of the gutter.
“Also, we drink water or Gatorade, but you don’t want to drink too much because it weighs you down, so you swish it in your mouth and spit it out.”
“Also gross. I am not offended, however. Maybe more impressed.” This handsome, well-dressed man sitting across from me does not look like someone who drops loogies.
He chuckles. “I admit, it’s not the nicest habit. There’s also the smelling salts ritual.”
“Smelling salts.” I lean forward, fascinated. “Seriously? Like what the Victorians used to revive a woman who’d fainted?”
“Yep. I honestly don’t know the scientific explanation, but lots of players do it because they think it improves their performance.”
“Not you?”
“Nah. I tried it. Damn, it hurts—my eyes wouldn’t stop watering. I’m not sure if it’s just a gimmick or really works, but hey, we all have our rituals.”
“And it’s legal.”
Another laugh. “Yeah, it’s legal.”
“You mentioned rituals. Do you have any strange rituals?”
His face tightens, but he keeps his tone casual. “I do have a game-day routine I like to stick to.”
“No crazy superstitions?”
“Sure. I always grow a beard in the playoffs.”
I study his face with the neatly-trimmed facial hair. “That’s what
I expected you to look like! A big, long beard and no teeth.”
He taps his index finger to his front teeth. “These are all mine.”
“What other superstitions do you have?”
“You can’t touch the Stanley Cup unless you win it.”
I nod. “Okay. Any more personal ones?”
“I’m pretty picky about how I tape my stick. Everyone does it differently. I have to do it the same way every time, heel to toe, black tape, and I have my own way of shaping the knob.”
I blink. “Really.”
For a split second I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing. The air around us crackles.
“And no one can touch my stick after I tape it.”
“So here’s a question…why do you tape your stick?”
“Tape on the blade helps you feel the puck better, gives you more puck control. And on the shaft, it gives a better grip.”
It’s not often I am rendered speechless, but that moment has arrived.
Is he doing this on purpose?
“And then you tape the butt.”
I choke. “Oh my God.”
“You create a knob on the end, to keep your hands from slipping off.”
I’m dying. “Soooo…a sticky shaft is a good thing?”
His face is serious, but his eyes twinkle and I know he knows what he’s saying. “But not too sticky. I have to be able to slide my hands down the shaft when I need to.”
I can’t stop the laughter that spills out of me, falling back into my chair.
“And I just need a small bump on the butt, but goalies have to have a big knob.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “This is the best interview ever.”
Josh is laughing too now, and for some reason I have the feeling he hasn’t done that for a while. I had to fight for the barest hint of a smile when he came into the waiting room earlier.
I glance over at Oliver, who’s also cracking up.
“I’m crying,” I say into the microphone while I wipe my eyes. “Literal tears. I need to get a grip.” I compose myself. “Okay, Josh, tell us where you were born.”
“Winnipeg, Canada.”
“And apparently you come from a big family of hockey players.”
“Yeah. My dad and my three uncles all played in the NHL.”
“Is that a lot of pressure to live up to?”
His mouth tightens and his eyes flicker. I’m so curious about what he’s thinking. It doesn’t seem like a tough question. “It could be,” he says easily, belying his facial expression. “But I don’t let it get to me.”
“Do you have any cousins who are hockey players?”
“Actually, my sister Amy plays hockey. She’s really good. My cousin Brody plays for the Canadiens’ farm team, and my cousins Erik and Cam are both playing hockey at Boston College, and doing great.”
“That’s really cool. Did you always know you wanted to play hockey?”
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
I venture into a little deeper territory. “So coming from a hockey family is one kind of pressure, but what about just in general being a professional athlete? You have so many people counting on you to perform. What’s that like?”
He lowers his eyes to his hands resting on the table and takes a few seconds. “Well, here’s how I see it,” he finally says. “I actually like it. I think you can’t perform your best without some pressure.”
“Really. Go on.”
“Some of the best things you can achieve come from fighting through challenges.”
His voice has changed, deepened, and I feel the emotion loaded in it, although he still seems calm.
“Pressure is a privilege. I want that pressure and I think I’ve learned how to use it to my advantage.” Then he scrubs a hand over his face and mutters what could be a curse word under his breath.
I’m so curious. I want to ask more and yet I sense his reluctance to say more. Do I risk offending him or try to get deeper? “And how do you use it your advantage?”
“Well, I try to embrace pressure situations by seeing them as a challenge to reach my full potential. I even try to pressure myself during practices.”
I’d like to stop and think more about what he’s saying because I feel like it could help me in my own life, but we have to keep talking because nobody wants to listen to empty air on a podcast.
“What about the fans?” I ask, since this is something I also have to deal with. “Do they put a lot of pressure on you?”
“Sure. But that’s their right. They pay money to watch games and they’re entitled to see us perform at our best.”
“Nobody can perform at their best every single day, though.”
“True. But I think fans forgive an off day or night if you genuinely work hard.”
I nod. “I wonder if there’s a difference between fans in Dallas and here in New York.”
“I wonder too.” His slight smile is wry. “I guess I’ll find out.”
“Does it bother you when fans say mean things about you?”
He purses his lips. “I’d be lying if I said no, but I honestly try not to pay attention to that stuff.”
“Right? But it’s hard not to when your career puts you out there in front of the whole world.” As I’ve been learning the last few years.
“The important thing is to do what’s best for you and not to worry about pleasing everyone else. Because you can’t. And just stay consistent with your own values and beliefs.”
“Your values obviously include working hard.”
“Yeah. Learning from mistakes. And staying humble. Hockey is a sport that really focuses on teamwork. As kids, we’re taught to be humble and private. It’s a part of hockey culture.”
He definitely doesn’t fit the stereotype of an arrogant, entitled pro athlete. I’m finding myself mesmerized by him. I’m sensing there’s so much beneath the surface of what he’s saying. I’m dying to know more.
We keep chatting. My podcasts are usually forty to forty-five minutes long and it’s so easy to fill the time talking to Josh. When Oliver gives me a signal to start wrapping things up, I’m amazed how much time has passed. And kind of bummed.
“Let’s finish off with some quick questions. Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yeah. I have tattoos on the inside of each wrist.” He lifts his hands. “And a bigger one on my shoulder.”
“Would you rather have to fart every time you have a serious conversation or have to burp after every kiss?”
He chokes on a laugh. “What? Uh…”
I grin, waiting.
“I guess fart every time I have a serious conversation. Burping in someone’s face is a turnoff.”
Still smiling, I say, “Would you rather eat a sandwich made from three ingredients in your fridge chosen at random, or eat a sandwich made by a group of your friends from three ingredients in your fridge?”
He considers this, fingertips rubbing his chin. “Ingredients chosen at random. God knows what my friends would put into the sandwich.”
“Excellent! Well, I’m going to wrap things up,” I say. “I hope you all enjoyed my conversation with Josh Heller. You can find him on Instagram @JHeller25—is the twenty-five for your age?” I know that’s how old he is.
He shakes his head. “That’s my jersey number.”
“Ah, okay.” I list off my Twitter and Insta handles for questions or comments. “Or suggestions for other topics, because you guys all know I’m open to talking about fucking anything and having fun! Love, peace, and chicken grease!”
Oliver signals that we’re done and I heave a huge sigh. “Fini!”
“That was actually fun,” Josh says.
“Did you not expect it to be fun?”
“I didn’t know what to expect. Sorry, I didn�
��t mean to sound insulting.”
“That’s okay, I get it. I didn’t expect to have so much fun talking to you either.”
“I’m not exactly a fun guy.” He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck.
Now that’s got me curious. “I’d love to talk more. Hey, why don’t we go for lunch?”
“I…uh…”
Shit, he’s trying to get out of it. Rejection has always been hard for me, so I brace myself.
After a beat, he says, “Okay. Sure.”
My heart bounces. “Great!”
Chapter 5
Josh
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
This woman is kind of nuts. But kind of cute. And hot. And…funny. Goddammit, she had me in stitches. I haven’t laughed like that in years.
She’s so…bright. I mean in a shining, dazzling way. Although she’s definitely smart. And she’s open and honest and real. Wiping her sweaty hand and asking me about spitting. There’s something weirdly attractive about that.
She goes and talks to Oliver about editing and production or something like that and I stroll out into the waiting area. I stand in front of the wall looking at framed pictures. I guess these are all podcasts that are recorded here. There’s Sara. I study her logo with a picture of her, which isn’t nearly as pretty as she is in real life.
I was nervous about this. I’ve been interviewed a million times in my life, but this is something different. I was expecting some perfect chick and…I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
I also wasn’t expecting to go out for lunch with her after, and it’s really weird that I agreed to it. She threw me off when she asked. I like my day to be planned in advance so I know what to expect. And yet…I said yes.
“Okay, let’s go!” Full of energy, she breezes into the room and sails straight to the closet. She pulls out my jacket and hands it to me, but I set it on the back of a chair to help her into hers. She gives me a flick of surprised eyes, turning her back to me to slide her arms into the sleeves. Hey, my mom taught me to do this.
You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey) Page 3
