13. The Date

13

The Date

Hayley

I'm perched on a bench in the private area where the players hang out whenever they're not on the ice. Maxime is at my feet, helping me slip the skates on, and just like magic, they fit perfectly. I can almost see the mice from Cinderella jumping for joy in the corner.

"We have a winner," he says, licking his upper lip. "Guess I have a good eye."

I shake my head but can't hide a smile. "Now what?"

"Now, I lace them up, and we hit the ice."

Goodness. What did I get myself into? I fidget with the zipper of the NY Raptors fleece jacket he gave me earlier.

Maxime laces up my skates with dexterity. His movements are firm and confident, but at the same time, his touch is gentle, almost feather-like. I revel in the sensation. Yeah, I'm definitely losing my mind if Maxime lacing my skates is making my insides fuzzy.

Once he's done, he ties his own skates in record time and stands up on the blades. "Let's go."

Opening a small built-in door that gives us access to the ice, he steps into the rink.

I adjust the gloves he gave me and reluctantly take his hand—okay, only somewhat reluctantly. I'm not exactly thrilled to get on the ice, but I'll always say yes to taking Maxime's hand.

Seeing him now, you wouldn't even guess he's on a slippery surface, his full weight perched on a pair of blades. He's so at ease as he moves, like he's just walking or running.

I step on the ice and immediately slip. Thankfully, Maxime has good reflexes. He catches me just before I hit the frozen surface.

"Thanks," I say, holding onto him for dear life. My heart is rattling like crazy in its cage, though I suspect it's more from the fact that I'm now effectively in Maxime's arms rather than my near-death experience.

His hands slide down my forearms until they reach my palms, and I hold on tight. We stay like that for a minute until I stabilize.

"Okay, we're going to move now. Just let yourself go."

"I can't." My lips pull into a frown.

"Don't worry. Just look at me."

I plunge my gaze into Maxime's deep hazel eyes, and the arena fades around us. Before I even realize what's happening, we're halfway across the rink. "We're moving! And you're skating backward." Panic surges through me for a second. I glance down to admire his footwork on the ice, but that causes me to lose my balance. What follows can only be described as a scene from one of those old cartoons. I slip a good four times before I eventually fall flat on my butt, dragging Maxime with me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, angling toward me on his knee in an instant, worry written all over his face.

I explode into laughter, and his face relaxes into a smile. "Sorry. I'm a lost cause. Ow, that hurts," I add, rubbing the base of my back.

"Yeah, that might leave a bruise," he says with a wince.

He helps me up, and we try again. This time, I don't dare look anywhere else than inside Maxime's tormenting eyes. I don't know how many laps we end up skating, but I feel the cool air brushing against my face, and it's the best sensation ever. It's like I'm flying.

"Are you excited for your first game?" I ask, finally feeling brave enough to talk.

"I am," he says as his gaze travels around the empty arena. "It's everything I've worked toward my entire life. It started when I was three, then middle league, high school, college in Michigan, and now here I am. Exactly where I'm supposed to be. Well, if I make the team, that is. Otherwise, it'll be the biggest failure and disappointment of my life."

"What do you mean? Aren't you on the team already?"

"Well, kinda. The final roster is decided at the end of the preseason, so I still have to prove my worth."

I don't dare look away, but the new depth in his eyes is making me dizzy. He's clearly anxious about this—and rightfully so—but he had me fooled. "I'm not too worried," I say. "Like you said yourself, you're a persistent guy. I'm sure you'll make it."

He stares at me for a second before chuckling lightly. "Yeah. Let's hope so. I haven't been training as much as I should have these past few days."

I can't help but feel partly responsible for that. "So, that's why you brought me here? To get in some training during our date? "

His face breaks into a grin. "Exactly."

"That wouldn't be the worst thing someone has done while on a date with me," I joke. Far from it.

"Really? What happened?" he asks as he leads me back to the seating area on the side of the rink. He opens the built-in door, and we step off the ice. Even if that little round of skating was fun, I'm glad to be back on firm ground.

"You have no idea," I say, sitting down. "I haven't had the best luck when it comes to dates. Most times, we never even moved on to the second date. They either spent the whole time talking about themselves, or they were kind of rude. One even flirted with the waitress." I force a chuckle. Nothing beats getting all dolled up for a date, only to witness a love story unravel between your date and the waitress. Longest hour of my life. "But I guess those crappy dates have nothing on the guys who cheated on me. And my most serious long-term boyfriend eventually dumped me because he felt I was too independent and I didn't need him."

"No!" Maxime says, a little growl escaping as indignation clouds his expression. "That's messed up. And that last guy needs to get his head checked." His eyes darken as they bore into mine. "There's nothing sexier than a girl who's independent. "

I swallow hard, butterflies taking flight in my stomach again. How can he possibly say all the right things, all the time? Even if he doesn't mean it like that, his words still go straight to my heart. "It's all right. My book boyfriends are there to raise the bar," I say, steering away from the intense turn the conversation is taking.

"Right." Just then, his phone rings in his pocket. He checks it but turns it off.

"You can pick it up, if you want. Might be important."

"Nah. It's just my dad. I'll call him back later. He's a light sleeper, and when he can't get back to sleep, he calls me to chat for hours. And with the big game tomorrow, he's probably even more nervous than me," he says.

It's as if I met a new Maxime tonight. Before, he was all arrogance and confidence, but now, I see him. The way his face tenses when he mentions his first game, how his knee is bouncing, how he taps on it with the palm of his hand. It is a big deal, after all. Much bigger than I thought. "Oh, I almost forgot." He grabs his duffle bag and removes a paper bag of takeout from inside it. "I brought sandwiches. There's this Italian place near my apartment, and they make a mean turkey sub."

"You did?" My heart bounces. Maxime Beaumont doesn't do anything halfway .

"Well, this is a date." He winks. "And eating is a big part of a successful date, in my book. I wanted to bring you here instead of a boring restaurant, but I thought sandwiches would do the trick? I also have dessert, of course."

"My, my. You think of everything, don't you?" I say, a smile teasing my lips. "That's thoughtful of you." Taking the sandwich he's offering, I bite into it. He's right, it's delicious. The bread is crusty but pillowy on the inside, and the meat melts on my tongue, contrasting nicely with the crisp, fresh crunch of the lettuce and tomato. "Mmm. You weren't kidding. It's excellent."

He swallows his bite. "Told you. And their tiramisu is perfection. You'll see."

He grabs two bottles of water from the bag, handing me one.

"Thanks. So, is hockey as big in France as it is here?"

"Not really," he says, taking a sip. "Football—well, soccer—is the most-played sport in France. Funny, because we actually play soccer a lot during training when we have off time and before games. At least, my old team did."

As we dig into our dinner, I ask him about hockey and the rules of the game, and his anxiety seems to fade. He becomes animated again, which makes my heart glow. I'm pretty sure he feels the same way as I do when I talk about books, and I'm glad I could give him that tonight. There are a lot more rules than I expected, and I'm not sure I'll remember everything. But it's actually interesting, though I'm not a fan of those boxes they put the players in when they have a penalty. It feels like a crueler version of a kid's time-out.

We finish with the tiramisu, and it surpasses all my expectations. The creamy, rich mascarpone mingles perfectly with the bitter taste of the coffee and the sponge-like texture of the ladyfingers.

"Thank you for the meal," I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin and hoping I don't have any remnants of that decadent dessert on my lips or in my teeth. I take a swig of water, just to make sure.

"My pleasure. Glad you enjoyed it."

A silence envelops us as we gaze at each other, and the look in his eyes draws me in like quicksand. The swirl of green is dancing in a sea of chestnut. I can tell those alluring irises are trying to tell me something, but I'm not sure what. Or maybe I'm not ready to decipher it yet.

If this were a real date, it would be a perfect moment to kiss, but Maxime doesn't move a muscle, and it's better that way. We're just friends, after all. We goof around, but nothing about our relationship is serious.

"Ready for another loop around the rink before we go?" he asks, his eyes sparkling. "We can't just leave like this. "

"Fine. One more."

After one last lap, during which I begin to feel more at ease than before, we call it a night. He lets me keep my Raptor gear, and we step out of the arena into the slightly windy October evening.

We talk about the upcoming game, and soon enough—too soon—we're entering Warlington Lane.

"That was fun," I say as we're approaching the bookstore. "Thank you for walking me. I didn't even ask, but do you live far from here?"

He smiles. "About fifteen minutes away, slightly closer to the arena than here."

"Okay."

An awkward pause settles between us again, and I'm not sure what to do with myself. This time, part of me is dying to kiss him, but the other part is telling me to run off to my room. I had a nice time. A great time, actually, and that's the scary part. When I fall, I fall hard. And the road to recovery is long and painful. Not to mention he's Alice's brother and a hockey player who will be traveling half the time. This is just too complicated, and I'm not sure I want complicated right now.

He pulls me into a hug, taking me completely by surprise. My heart races, and his spicy scent embraces me as much as the pressure of his arms against my back .

"Thank you for tonight, Hayley."

And with that, he just walks away. The battle is still raging in my head as I debate calling out to Maxime and running after him for a goodbye kiss, but reason wins out. That's not a good idea. Plus, he didn't show any interest in kissing me. This relationship has been strictly platonic from the beginning, and as he said himself, his life is going to be all about hockey from here on out. Even Alice warned me before our date, saying I should be careful because her brother's sport is his whole life, and he's never had a real relationship. Honestly, I get it. His career is his priority. It has to be. He's not looking for a girlfriend, and I'm not looking for a broken heart. So all in all, things are working out perfectly.

We're just friends, which is exactly what I want. All the banter, calling each other by our last names, that's right there in the friendzone. The safe zone.

I walk upstairs, and I barely close the door behind me before Alice and Emma are in the entryway, looking at me with wide eyes.

"How was it?" Emma asks, frowning.

"I can't believe you really went on a date with my brother," Alice says, walking to the couch. We all sit down, and they continue to watch me eagerly, awaiting my answer .

"It was good. But you can rest easy. As I said before I left, we are just friends. Nothing more."

"Really?" Emma eyes me suspiciously. "That date didn't change anything?"

"Nope."

"So, my brother didn't break your heart?" Alice asks, her tone hopeful.

I chuckle. "No. I might have a bruise on my back, but that's about it."

"Wait. A bruise?" Emma arches an eyebrow.

I grab a cushion and settle it on my lap. "We went ice skating."

Both her eyebrows lift this time. "Oh . . ."

"So, you're positive you're still not falling for him?" Alice insists, eyes narrowing.

"Alice, relax. It's all good."

She doesn't look convinced as she turns to Emma. "Her eyes are sparkling though. Right?" She steals another glance at me. "They're sparkling."

Emma nods, and I look away. "It's just because you two are being funny, that's all. I swear, there's nothing going on. The season is about to start, and he has to focus on that. And we, my friends, have a grand opening to prepare for." I'm flattered they think a guy like Max would really be interested in me, but that's only because they see me through the lenses of close friends, and they're missing the fact that Maxime is way too hot to date someone like me.

"Yes, we do." Emma high-fives me.

"Oh, what about you, though?" I ask Alice. "How was your date?"

Yes, she went on another date. This matchmaking app she found is supplying her with endless possibilities.

She grimaces, picking at the throw blanket. "It's not going to work out."

"Shocking," Emma says, unable to resist rolling her eyes.

I turn to her and widen my eyes in warning. We need to be supportive of our friend. Even if Emma and I aren't as intent on finding a boyfriend, Alice is a diehard for true love, and we have to respect that. Frankly, I admire her for putting herself out there. Going on so many dates and slogging through so much disappointment. She's a lot tougher than she looks.

"Sorry," Emma says, resting a hand on Alice's forearm. "Tell us about it."

"He was cute and all, but every time I said something, he looked away as if it wasn't interesting. While I carefully listened to him rattle on about stock options for an hour."

"Ew." Emma wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah," she says, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "We didn't have much in common either. On his profile, he said he liked reading. But when I asked, he said, ‘Oh, yeah. I just picked a few random hobbies. I'm not into anything besides work and tennis."

I close my eyes, cringing. "Oh, wow."

"Yep. I mean, he doesn't have to be a reader, but like, don't lie about it on your profile, you know? And at least show an interest in what I'm saying."

"Definitely." I nod.

Emma chimes in, "Oh, remember the dude who only bought books for decorative value? The guy you briefly dated this past summer."

We all laugh at the memory.

"Oh my gosh. That guy." She shakes her head. "And the one who pronounced it ‘lie-berry.'"

We burst into laughter again.

Alice is now holding her stomach, trying to take a deep breath. "And the guy who said, ‘It's not like the characters are real.' I was like, ‘Um, excuse me.'"

"Wrong, so wrong," I say, shaking my head, and we all descend into giggles again.

"Ugh. Guys. They just can't get it right," Emma says, letting out a long sigh.

I nod. "At least we'll always have our book boyfriends."