12. Playing Favorites

12

Playing Favorites

Maxime

Yesterday was amazing. Being able to help Hayley with her mom and seeing her beaming when we came home made my heart soar. Not to mention she finally agreed to go out with me. I've never had to work so hard to get a girl to go on a date with me, but I kind of like it that way. Not because of the thrill of the chase, but because I know it'll make the moment even more worthwhile. And I like that she safeguards herself from all the guys that aren't really interested in getting to know her as a person .

We decided on tomorrow night, but I'll be seeing her today too. The guys and I are heading over one last time to put the sign out front and help with any last-minute things they might need.

Hawthorne divides us into two teams. I'm glad to be helping the girls with shelving, and of course, I don't waste a second before following Hayley to where she's shelving her stack of books.

"Hey," I say again, even if we're alone. We're at the back of the store. The closest people to us are Alice and Wilcott at the other corner, but they're out of earshot. "Excited for the shelving? I guess that's one of the more exciting parts, right?"

She responds with a giddy grin. "It is. We worked out a system, but the best part is putting all these beautiful books on their shelves."

"Definitely," I say with a smile. "That's why I let the other guys take care of the sign out front."

"Or is it because they don't trust you with a drill?"

"Okay, yeah. Maybe." I laugh, scratching my forehead. "So, how do we do this? I'm happy to help, but I don't want to ruin this carefully thought-out system of yours."

"Just take the books in these two piles," she says, picking up the ones on her right and placing them in that order on the top shelf. "I'll work on the one on my left. "

"Sounds good."

We start working in silence, but I can't stand there next to Hayley Nash without interacting with her. She's like a drug I can never get enough of. "So, what's your favorite book?"

She pauses, arms stretched mid-reach, and throws me a pointed look.

"What?" I frown.

"That's like asking a parent who her favorite child is."

I laugh. "Oh, come on. Everyone has a favorite. I mean, I'm probably my dad's favorite child. He's a hockey fan, see."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't do favorites." Her tone is firm, almost defensive.

"A favorite author, then?"

She answers with that same look, which makes me chuckle.

"A scene, at least?" I wince. "Anything."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" She lets her arms fall along her body.

I display a cheeky grin—Cheshire cat style. "Nope. I'm persistent. It's pretty much my only quality."

She explodes in laughter, shaking her head, and my heart surges. Making Hayley laugh is the best feeling in the world. Even if it's at my expense .

With a sigh, she looks at the book in her hand. "Kissing scenes are always good, and I love meet-cutes."

"I know what a kissing scene is, obviously," I say, swallowing hard as I think about how I'd love to be an author right now to turn this casual conversation into a kissing scene of epic proportions. "But what on earth is a meet-cute?"

She chuckles lightly. "It's when the two main characters meet for the first time in an amusing or charming way. Like, they spilled drinks all over each other, or she hit him in the face by accident."

"Oh, okay. We didn't have a meet-cute, then. Did we?"

"Nope," she says, holding back laughter.

"At least we got that fake dating bit down."

"Yep," she says with a nod. "You experienced a fan-favorite trope firsthand. It's a lot better than a meet-cute."

Agreed. Especially since it scored me a real date.

"But my favorite scenes are probably from the male point of view," she adds, shelving the book before picking up another one.

"There are male points of view in romance books? I thought it was always from the woman's perspective."

She nods. "Sure. These days, a lot of romance novels have both POVs. Some even have only the male POV. We women like to know what happens in your brains. We're nosy like that."

I shake my head. "So that's why you always know everything. Here I thought women had a sixth sense or something. But really, it's just intensive research."

"You got it. Romance novels. That's the key."

"Wow. Mind blown."

"So, yeah. When the MMC—male main character—gazes at the FMC—female main character—and it's as if he's seeing her for the first time because he's fallen in love with her, and it's like he has lenses on? It's just too delicious. Those moments are so swoony."

I don't need lenses to know that Hayley is the epitome of perfection, but I bet those moments are swoony , for sure.

"And I love when he makes her see herself the way he sees her. Chef's kiss."

"I really should start reading romance," I say. "Any recommendations? What are your favorites?"

She drills me with that look again.

"You know that as a bookstore owner, people are going to ask you that question, right?"

She stares at me for a second, then laughs. "That's a valid point."

"So, as practice, give me three books that you particularly liked for those swoony moments you just described."

"Sure, I can do that. Give me your phone. I'll type the titles in the notes."

Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I unlock it and hand it to her. "Add in your number while you're at it, will you?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"For our date. You're not backing out, right?"

"Oh, right. No, I'm not," she says with a small smile.

As she hands me back my phone, my thumb brushes her hand in the process. Immediately, I want to ditch the phone, pull her close, and give her a kiss that surpasses all of her favorite kissing scenes. Instead, I take my phone and slip it in my pocket. I don't want to scare her off. Plus, I'm pretty sure those swoony kisses don't take place with an entire hockey team in the background.

We continue shelving books for the rest of the afternoon, and she was right. The store looks really cool with all the books in place. Once she and the other girls finish the decorating, it'll be exactly what she's been dreaming, I'm sure of it.

Once we finish, we check out the sign out front. It really brings everything together. It's a simple logo with "No Shelf Control" written in a playful cursive font framed with a stack of books and a heart on each side.

"Wow," Alice says. "It really looks like a store now. "

"Yeah," Emma sighs. "Well, almost. We still need to do the window and finish decorating inside, but it's pretty cool already."

"So cool," Hayley says, her eyes sparkling.

We all stand around chatting for a while, and the ladies invite us to the grand opening on Saturday. I'm thrilled to see it all come together, but I'm glad I don't have to wait that long to see Hayley again. I probably would have found a reason—or ten—to stop by in between visits if we didn't have our date planned.

One by one, the guys trickle out of the store. And even if I don't want to, I have to go. My day out with Hayley, not to mention our date tomorrow, means I had to cut down on training, and I'll need to be in top-notch physical condition for the first game in two days' time.

"Bye, Nash." I saved our goodbye for last. She gives me a quick hug, then takes a couple of steps back. "See you tomorrow for our date ," I add, channeling my usual goofy tone.

She just rolls her eyes at me. "See you then, Beaumont."

"For our date," I emphasize again, not wanting the exchange to end.

"Yeah, yeah." I can see she's trying to hold back her smile .

A few of the guys whistle behind me, and my hair gets ruffled. I didn't even know anyone was listening. Suddenly, the bet returns to my mind, front and center. I'd completely forgotten about that.

This morning at practice, I was relieved not to have my clothes stolen or my face pied. They didn't even make a comment about my hair. Having the guys back off is a nice side effect of my upcoming date with Hayley. At least now, I can concentrate on my performance on the ice.

Miles claimed that they would have stopped anyway now that training camp is over. That they are "mature men" and will now focus all their efforts on hockey. But I'm not sure I believe him one hundred percent.

Anyway, I'm just glad that's over. He's right about one thing, though. I should focus all my effort on hockey. Yet all I can think about is where I'm going to take Hayley on our date.

I started reading one of the books she recommended, but this guy is a billionaire in Paris. Let's just say he has a few more options than I have.

Eventually, I figure it out, and after a few phone calls, I pick her up on foot for our date. She's waiting for me out front when I approach, my heavy duffle bag swung over my shoulder.

"Hey," she says when I come closer.

I give her a quick hug. "Eager to get going, huh?"

She casts me a playful glare. "Something like that."

We walk in silence for a few seconds, and I search for something, anything, to break this awkward silence.

But she's the one who speaks up first. "So, where are you taking me? Am I dressed appropriately?"

She's wearing jeans and a dark-green sweater. "You are. We're going to the arena."

"Wait, the hockey arena?"

I nod. I debated in my head whether it was a good idea, but the part of me that wanted to share my work, my passion with Hayley won out, and I called the building manager to ask if I could come in for a late practice. She handed me the keys. Glad to know my charm still works on some people. "Is that okay? I wanted to show you my new playground."

"Absolutely." She smiles.

A cat darting across the sidewalk kick-starts a conversation about Mr. Darcy, followed by more conversation surrounding pets and teddy bears. Without even realizing it, we've reached the front entrance of the arena.

We walk inside and pause beside the ice .

"Wow," she says, gazing around at the empty stands. It's kind of cold in here, so I picked up some Raptor gear for her just in case. "Now I know why you take your dates here. Pretty impressive."

I pull my fingers through my hair. "Well, it's my first season here, but I've never taken a girl to an arena before. Glad it works, though." I waggle my eyebrows. As if I'd want to show this to anyone but her.

I put down the bag I was carrying and unzip it, revealing four pairs of skates and some NY Raptors gear.

"So, that's what you've been carrying all this time?" She places her hands on her hips.

"Yep." I pull all the skates out of the bag and put them down next to mine. "I hope one of these fits."

Her body freezes. "Um, as impressive and sweet as this is, I don't know about the actual skating part. I'm not really a fan." She eyes the ice suspiciously. "I've only skated maybe two or three times. Truth be told, I'm kind of scared of it."

I glance up with a frown. "Scared? Why?" Just the crisp smell of the frigid air gets me excited and ready to go.

She wrinkles her nose as she zips up the NY Raptor fleece jacket she just put on. "The sharp blades of the skates, the hardness of the ice, the cold . . . It's all a bit hostile. "

"Huh." My eyebrows shoot up. "I always viewed it as my safe place. For me, it's the thrill of the game, the way we all come together, how I know exactly what I have to do."

"And what is the glass for?" She gestures to the transparent shields around the ice rink.

"You really know nothing about hockey, do you?" I ask, a smile touching my lips. I don't mean it in a mocking way. It just fascinates me that something I've devoted my entire life to can be a mystery to her.

She bites her lip. "Well, you've got sticks, and you have to shoot a puck into the opposite goal. Right?"

I nod, chuckling. "Right. There are a few other details, but they're not important."

"That's what I thought." She laughs softly.

"So, you've never been to a game, I take it?"

"Nope. Never even watched one on TV."

"Funny how something can be your entire existence and mean nothing to someone else."

"Yeah . . . Books are mine. And a fuzzy blanket with a latte," she adds with a wink.

I tut. "That's way too cozy for me, Nash."

She laughs louder, and the sound reverberates around the empty arena. They should replace the pump-up music they play at games with Hayley's laughter. I'd never get tired of it .

"You should really come to a game sometime. It's a fun sport to watch. Plus, there's music and a contagious energy when the arena is packed." My heart pounds as I imagine Hayley cheering for me in the stands, sporting my jersey. I'm used to not having my family attend my games. My dad hasn't come for about a year since his health got worse, and Alice hates anything related to sports. When we were kids, she used to come to my school games with Dad because she was too young to stay home. But she would usually read a book the entire time. Come to think of it, I don't even think she knows the rules of the game.

Hayley grins, looking around. "Maybe."

Considering she's my sister's best friend, I'm probably asking for the moon here. "Ready to get on the ice?" I ask, cocking my head playfully. I'm starting to get restless. Outside of a game, I've never stayed this long near the ice without getting on it. I feel like I'm in the penalty box counting the seconds until my two minutes are up.

"Mmm. I don't know. You can do a lap, though. I'll watch."

"Absolutely not. Let's go together," I say, stretching my hand out. "You'll be great."