But moments later, Uncle Mark is yelling again. “Jesus Christ! Are you guys even fucking trying? Come on! We need to get better if we’re going to have a chance this year, not worse! Wake the fuck up!”
My gut tightens and I suck on my mouthguard. I look around at everyone else. It’s true they’re moving slowly today, but I think I’ve been doing okay. Or maybe I’m a little distracted, thinking about hot sex with Taylor all night. I have to focus. I can do it.
Uncle Mark brings us all in and we gather around him, leaning on our sticks while he gives us shit for a few more minutes. Then we start another drill, Dominic, our assistant coach, blowing his whistle to start us. I fucking move my legs as fast as I can, trying to set an example.
“That’s it, JP,” Uncle Mark calls approvingly.
Thank fuck.
Everyone else seems to pick up the pace as well. Nobody likes it when Coach is pissed at us and yelling. And goddammit, we do want to win. Sometimes it’s hard to make the link between working your ass off in a practice and winning more games, but we have to do it. And Uncle Mark is even more motivated because he wants to beat the Condors—Grandpa’s team. Both teams can’t make the Stanley Cup final. And he wants it to be us.
So do I.
Never mind Grandpa and Théo…when it comes to winning, I want it.
I corral my thoughts and concentrate on practicing, doing everything I’m supposed to, working my ass off. I’m sweating and panting by the time we’re finally done. It feels good.
Uncle Mark claps a hand on my shoulder as I leave the ice. “Good work, JP.”
“Thanks.”
I can do something right.
But now that practice is over, I can’t shower and change fast enough because Taylor’s waiting for me.
* * *
—
We leave my car in a parking garage a block off Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica and walk to the pier, Byron trotting happily along with us. Despite the chilly breeze, it’s busy on the pier, I guess because it’s Thanksgiving weekend.
I keep glancing at Taylor. She’s been quiet since I picked her up. Cute, but quiet. She’s wearing a puffy jacket and a scarf over skinny jeans and Converse sneakers. Big sunglasses shield her eyes.
I reach for her hand, and her head jerks around to look at me. “Something wrong?” I ask, tugging her closer. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
I stop walking, stepping to the side so people can go around us. “When a woman says she’s ‘fine,’ that means she’s not fine.”
Her lips twitch. “Oh, come on. Give us credit. We can say what we mean.”
I lift one eyebrow and wait.
“Gah. Okay, I’m a little freaked out about last night.”
“It was that good, huh.”
One corner of her mouth lifts. “Yes, it was good. Okay?”
“It was.” I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles, keeping my eyes on her face. “Now tell me why you’re really freaked out.”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be a cliché.”
“Uh…how so?”
She hesitates again. “I don’t know what this is.” She waves a hand between us.
“Yeah. I get it. I don’t know either.” I reach with both hands and gently remove her sunglasses. It’s making me crazy not being able to see her eyes. Our gazes lock and hold in amused understanding. “But hey, why do we have to know? This is, like, our first date. Who knows what something is on the first date?”
She laughs. “You have a solid point there.”
“Right? Let’s just go with it. Let’s just have fun.”
She nods. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want. Let’s have fun.”
“Excellent.”
She takes her glasses back and we resume walking along the worn wooden pier.
“Churros, churros, churros!” a woman calls.
We pass by kiosks and shops, dodge strollers, wait while Byron and another dog check each other out. As we pass by a woman digging in a trash container who pulls something out and eats it, Taylor makes a pained sound in her throat.
“What?” I squeeze her hand.
She grimaces. “That hurts.”
“Huh?”
She rubs her chest. “It just…hurts. I hate it that people have to do that.”
“Ah.” I throw an arm around her shoulders and bring her in for a hug. “Yeah, I get it.”
At the end of the pier, we stand at the railing. Byron pokes his nose through the wooden structure.
“A seal!” Taylor points down to the animal swimming in the ocean below us.
Byron spots it too, and barks.
The seal pauses and looks up at Byron. Then he barks back.
Taylor laughs with delight.
Byron and the seal keep barking at each other. A crowd grows around us, everyone laughing and enjoying the impromptu show, especially the kids.
“They’re talking to each other!” a boy says, clapping his hands.
“What do you think they’re saying?” Taylor asks him.
He tilts his head. I catch his parents’ amused looks. “I think the seal wants him to come swimming.”
“I think so too. And I bet Byron would like to jump in there and play.”
Finally, Taylor reaches down to grab Byron’s collar. “Okay, buddy, enough.”
He stops, but he looks like he’s having a hell of a good time.
We wander to the other side of the pier and again pause to look out over the great expanse of blue, the water a deeper blue, the sky lighter and swept with brushstroke clouds. On a level below us, men are waiting with fishing lines cast into the ocean.
“Have you been thinking about your mom?” I ask Taylor.
Leaning against the rail, she turns to me. “Yes.”
“Want to talk more about it?”
“Maybe.” She says nothing more.
“I…I have no idea what you’re going through. My parents are still together. Still crazy about each other, though they’ve had some, uh, heated arguments over the years. But I can listen.”
“It hurts.”
I’m getting to know that Taylor has a soft heart. Kids, animals, homeless people…and her father. “I see that. I’m sorry.”
“I love them,” she says quietly. “I thought they loved each other. I didn’t realize how important that was to me until I found out…they don’t. It’s fucking me up.”
I swallow a chuckle. “I get it.”
“I’m an adult, not a kid. It shouldn’t affect me this much.”
“But it does. And that’s okay. You’ve had stuff dumped on you that you had no idea about. Of course it’s going to make you question everything your life is based on.”
She nods. “I’m that cliché kid who worries that I’m responsible for their breakup.”
“I think that’s pretty normal. It’s all a big change, and that’s hard.”
We keep walking. She talks. I listen. I don’t have answers to her questions, and I can’t make it all go away, but at least I can listen.
She stops in front of a sandwich shop. “Can we get some sandwiches?”
“You’re hungry? Sure.”
I do a double take when she orders three club sandwiches at the take-out window.
“Hungry?” I raise an eyebrow.
She smiles. “Yeah. Uh, I can pay for them.”
“Hell, no.” I make the order four club sandwiches, because I love bacon, and moments later we’re sitting at a picnic table, eating. I watch in amusement as Taylor feeds the turkey and bacon from half of one sandwich to Byron, who gobbles it down as she eats the other half.
“Is a club sandwich your favorite sandwich?”
I ask her.
“Mmm. I don’t know. I really love a good grilled cheese.” Her grin is cheeky. “It’s my specialty.”
I laugh. “Yeah?”
“I’m not much of a cook,” she confesses. “I also make great popcorn.”
“I hope you’re not talking about microwave popcorn.”
“No!” Her mouth opens in horror. “I mean real popcorn. I make it in an ancient black pot on the stove.”
“Okay, good. ’Cause microwave popcorn isn’t much to brag about.”
“Microwave popcorn is…well, I won’t say it’s terrible, because I love popcorn in any form, but it’s not clean food.”
“You’re into clean eating?”
“Well, I will be when I learn how to cook more.” She grimaces. “I’m working on it. I’ve saved a bunch of good recipes on Pinterest.” She tips her head. “How about you? Do you cook?”
“Yeah, some. We get fed pretty well at the arena, and of course they give us good stuff—lots of lean protein and veggies. Over the summer I trained with some other guys in Montréal, and the trainer we worked with gave us great meal plans. It’s kind of fun trying new recipes.”
“It is. I guess it’s important for you to eat healthy.”
“Hell yeah.”
She feeds Byron a bit of cheese.
“What are some of your favorite foods?” I ask, picking up my bottle of water.
“Like, healthy foods? Or treat foods?”
“Do you really have favorite foods that are healthy?”
“Oh yeah! I love green beans. And roasted cauliflower. And avocado.”
“And raspberries.” I think about how I gave her my raspberries at the rehearsal dinner.
“Yes.” She’s remembering too. “I love raspberries.”
“I like steak; I guess that’s healthy.”
She laughs. “Sure. As for treats, well, popcorn, obviously. And I love ice cream.”
“What kind?”
“Good ice cream.” When I laugh, she points at me. “Seriously. There’s a place on Pacific Avenue, they use all-natural ingredients and they make popcorn ice cream!” Her eyes get so wide I have to laugh again. “It’s amazing! It’s buttery and has bits of fudge and cheese.”
“What the…”
“You have to try it! They have typical things too, like strawberry and chocolate, but they make one with roasted beets. And lavender. And there’s one called ‘Tall, Dark and Handsome’ that’s dark chocolate and fudge and a hint of coffee. Oh my God, it’s so good.”
“You’re pretty excited about ice cream.”
“Sorry.
“Don’t be sorry.” Damn, she makes me smile.
“What about your favorite foods?” She wraps up the remains of the sandwich she hasn’t fed to Byron.
“Well, steak. Prime rib. Hamburgers.”
“I’m sensing a theme here.”
“Also bacon. Definitely bacon. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. I’d rather eat a bag of chips over candy.”
“Oh, I should have said chips too. I love chips.”
“Chips and ice cream?” I joke.
She tilts her head. “Hmmm…we should try that. Lacey likes French fries and chocolate sauce. Sweet and salty is a good combo.”
“That’s true. Are you going to eat those sandwiches?” I nod at the other two.
“No.” She picks them up. “Should we keep walking?”
“Okay.” I shake my head as I get rid of the trash in a receptacle, while she leads Byron out of the picnic area carrying the sandwiches. We stroll back toward the beach.
“Okay, what’s your favorite drink?” I ask her.
“Alcoholic, or nonalcoholic?”
“Why do you answer my questions with another question?” I take Byron’s leash from her, since her hands are full of food.
She giggles. “You just did it too.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was. I guess I like to be clear on things.”
“Okay, both.”
“Alcoholic…I guess Bourbon. Tequila is good too. And wine. That’s more than one.”
“Lush.”
Her lips twitch. “You?”
“Whisky. And beer.”
“That’s two.”
“Ha. How about nonalcoholic?”
“Lemonade. Or water.”
I nod.
I blink when she stops and makes a beeline to our left. I halt Byron and watch her approach a woman who’s digging in the trash container. With a smile, Taylor hands her a sandwich.
The woman doesn’t seem to know what to do. She stares at Taylor, then takes the sandwich and bolts.
Taylor returns, still smiling faintly. She meets my eyes.
My throat feels weirdly thick. “That’s what you wanted the extra food for?”
“Yeah.” We begin walking again.
“She didn’t seem very grateful.”
“That’s okay. I bet it’s kind of…embarrassing.” She clears her throat. “I can’t imagine how desperate for food someone would have to…Well.” She sighs.
Something shifts in my chest. For a moment, I don’t say anything as we walk. Finally, I ask, “What’s your favorite TV show?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
Our eyes meet and we both burst out laughing, realizing she’s just done it again. “Just trying to get to know you,” I say.
“Okay, okay. Sorry again. I don’t watch much TV, but I like hate-watching The Bachelor.” She lists a few other shows, some of which I also enjoy.
“How about hockey?”
“Ah. Right.” She slides a little smirk my way. “Yes, sometimes I watch hockey, but only the Condors.”
I slap my chest in mock dismay. “Come on! We’re way better than the Condors.”
“Well, that may be true. But they’re my team. They’re going to do better this year, with Théo managing them.” She laughs. “I still can’t believe I know the GM of the Condors.”
“What?” I scowl. “How about you can’t believe you’re walking along Santa Monica Pier with JP Wynn?”
Her smile is brilliant and sunny and reminds me of the first time I saw her. “Oh. Right.”
She says it with a wounding lack of enthusiasm that is meant to smack me down. But I only said it in jest anyway, and we both know it. Energy flows between us, a reciprocal sense of understanding and fun. Once again I take her hand.
Then I see a man digging in the trash ahead. I squeeze her hand and point.
She flashes me a smile and when we get closer, she darts over to give him the other sandwich. This time her gesture is rewarded with an almost tearful smile and thanks, the man clasping her hand.
Wow. This woman…she fascinates me. Humbles me. There’s no way I’m good enough for her.
But I want to be.
Chapter 18
Taylor
It doesn’t take much for JP to convince me to spend the night at his place again. We stop by my apartment to grab a few things, then return to his condo. After changing and cleaning up, we leave Byron and JP takes me out for dinner.
We drive to a casual brew pub just off East Broadway. I look around the space as we enter, most tables full, the atmosphere vibrant and buzzing with noise. We’re seated at a wooden table for two near a window. The long bar has a line of beer taps, and there’s a steel tank in one wall with wooden barrels mounted on it.
“I can’t believe you brought me here.”
He freezes. “Why?”
“I told you my favorite drink is Bourbon, not beer.” I’m yanking his chain, but I can see he’s not sure how to react. “Just because you like beer doesn’t mean eve
ryone does.”
Then his lips twitch. “You were chugging down beers fine that night at your place after we helped you move.”
I grin. “Yeah. I’m just messing with you. This place looks amazing.”
“Whew. You had me going for a minute. Thought we were going to have to leave and go to a wine bar.”
“What’s wrong with a wine bar?” Again, I’m kidding, pretending to take offense.
“Absolutely nothing.” He leans forward. “I’d take you to one tomorrow night, but we have a game.”
I lift one shoulder and pick up my beer menu. “Some other time.”
I stare at the menu, afraid to think very far ahead. “What should I have?”
A server stops by our table and lists some specials. Apparently, their menu changes all the time.
“Um…what does that mean…‘on nitro’?” I ask, after she names an Irish oatmeal stout “on nitro.”
“Nitro refers to the gas used in carbonation,” she explains. “Nitrogen versus carbon dioxide. It makes a creamier, smoother beer. You’ll notice a difference in the mouthfeel, because it has smaller bubbles.”
Wow. A lesson on beer. “Okay, I’ll try that.”
JP orders the same, saying, “What the heck, I’ll try something new.”
We also order some chicken drumettes to share while we look over the food menu. “This is a cool place,” I say.
“Yeah, I like it. We come here after games sometimes.”
I study the menu and have a hard time deciding between pizza, a burger, or fish tacos. In the end, the pizza—with prosciutto, figs, mascarpone and mozzarella cheeses, and a balsamic reduction—wins out. I have to try that. JP orders a burger with bacon and blue cheese, which also sounds amazing.
“Can I ask you more questions?” he says, picking up his beer.
I grin. “Can I answer them with questions?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Man, you’re good at that. No. Just answer the questions.”
“Okay, ask away.”
“What’s your favorite sex position?”
I choke on my beer. “Um, wow. Why…argh.” I shake my head, smiling ruefully. “Sorry. Do I really have to answer that?”
In It to Win It Page 18
