14. Axl

fourteen

Axl

Due to our morning travel, I missed early practice, but I’m not about to start making excuses. As soon as my feet hit solid ground, I drive over to the arena and run drills by myself. Truthfully, the time alone is cathartic and exactly what I need to clear my head. This whole thing with Sophie has my brain fogged up. Like, I fully understand she’s only pretending to like me, but she’s easy to hang out with, and last night at the charity ball, I wasn’t expecting to feel so protective and even jealous .

When I looked at Rocco playing that game with her, all I thought about was putting my fist in his face, and the dude’s never done anything to me. He became my poster child for every cheater, and I had a stirring in my gut that said it was time to get even.

Shaking my head, I skate off the ice after I’m done and head to the locker room. I slow as I round the corner, as by now, I half expect Bill Baker to be hiding in the shadows with another backroom deal. I let out a full sigh of relief when I find the boardroom empty.

Maybe he’ll be happy now.

We did what we said we’d do.

Sophie and I can go about living our lives, and we’ll make a breakup statement.

I stuff my stick in my bag and throw everything in my locker, as I have plans for another workout later tonight. After all, I’m not getting to the NHL by doing the minimum. I fish for my phone in my coat pocket and find a missed call from Sophie.

What does she want?

Our deal is done.

Why would she call and not text?

I hate that my mind immediately goes to Rocco. Assuming the worst, I don’t hesitate to press call on her name. She answers on the second ring. “Hey, Axl.” Her voice is cool and unstressed. That sends a wave of relief to my gut.

Not sure why I would have been stressed in the first place. “Hey.” I breathe out and start to pace the hall. “I saw you called. Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah,” she quips. “Everything’s great. I’m wondering . . . you know . . . everything was sort of a bustle these last few days. I know you’re new to town and live by yourself, and my mom’s making a meatloaf tonight, so I thought maybe you’d want a home-cooked meal.”

Her words rush and garble at the end, but I hear her perfectly. Halting my steps, I stare at the blank wall before me.

She’s literally inviting me to her parents’ house for meatloaf.

Why?

That is not part of the agreement.

“It’s not a big deal if you’re busy,” she interrupts my scrolling thoughts. “I thought it might be nice to destress here, and I don’t know . . . get to know each other better. There’s no reason we can’t hang out.”

Getting to know each other is not part of the agreement.

Getting to know each other sounds like a date.

Why would she ask me on a date?

Unless?

“Hello?” Her voice takes on an inquiring tone. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here, but maybe.” I want to say I'm confused, but I don’t want to offend her. There’s really nothing to be confused about. She’s gorgeous. Any guy would jump at the chance to date her, including myself. I’m not lying to myself that aside from hockey, she’s all I’ve been thinking about.

No confusion there.

It’s just that we had an agreement to fake date, and I didn’t want to be the one to break the agreement.

But . . . I tip my head to the side, as I think about this a little deeper. In our agreement to fake date, we never agreed not to date date.

I don’t date. That’s the rule I’ve had for myself.

But since we already had a fake date, it’s sort of like I'm only half breaking my rule.

I mean, being new to town, I don’t really know people to hang out with who aren’t on the team, and I get enough of them. Plus, all they want to do is party in their free time, and I’m not a partier. Sophie and I get along well, and it would give me something to do.

Back to my no-dating rule. It’s been a strict rule I’ve kept since I was seventeen. I didn’t even break it in college, when I had my teammate trying to set me up with every other hot single chick they saw. I’ve been so focused on hockey that I’ve never even wanted to break my no-dating rule.

Sophie . . . she’s so different than other girls I’ve met. It’s not just about how sensationally gorgeous she is, but being with her is so easy. You’d never know she was famous. She is just a super chill chick.

But if she wanted to go on a date, she wouldn’t ask me to a family dinner. More than likely she’s just bored being in Mapleton and wants to hang out. I’m sure that’s it, and there’s nothing wrong with chilling. “Ah, yeah. S-sure,” I finally stammer, finding my verbal bearings. “I think that sounds great. Is there anything I can bring?”

“Mom’s taking care of dinner, but if you want to find a wine for us for later, that might be nice.”

Since I’m always in training mode, I never drink, but if a pretty girl asks me to bring the wine, of course I’m going to bring it. “Consider it done.”

“Good.” Her voice smooths even more as she confirms the details. “How about six?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Great. See you then.” She ends the call, and I stare at her name blinking on my phone, and my fingers tingle.

I don’t have a clue in the world what just happened.

I’m also not a fan of meatloaf, but I’m too curious to skip it.

My heart flops ungracefully like a hippo doing a belly flop, and I feel the aftershocks wave out through my extremities.

I’m going on a date with my fake date tonight.

I hope this doesn’t mess things up.