5. Darcy

CHAPTER 5

DARCY

"You sure you're not tired?" Hayden asks when we slide into a booth at the Filthy Flamingo after the game. The narrow, dingy dive bar in Gastown has band posters framed all over the wood-paneled walls and twinkling lights strung across the ceiling. "We don't have to stay long."

I've been here a few times when visiting Hayden, and it's my favorite bar in Vancouver. With its hidden entrance in a dark, quiet alley, it's the secret hangout of the Vancouver Storm, especially after games. Jordan, the pretty, surly bartender with long dark hair, slings drinks behind the counter, and behind her, Polaroids of the regulars, including the team, are tacked up.

I give him a shocked look. "No way. I want to go out."

Kit always wanted to go right home after games. I would have to drag him out with his team, or with Hayden when we were in town. The rage in my blood continues to simmer.

Hayden grins. "Good girl."

I scrunch my face at him and he chuckles. Hazel, Rory, Jamie, Pippa, and Hayden's defensive partner, Alexei, are all here, as well as other players and partners. Everyone's spirits are up after the win, and the bar is lively with laughter and conversation.

Jordan drops our drinks off, and Hayden and I clink our glasses together.

"Cheers." He makes pointed eye contact with me.

I stare back, widening my eyes. "Cheers."

"What are you doing?" Hazel asks, glancing between us with an amused smile.

"You have to make eye contact when you toast," Hayden explains, like it's obvious.

I nod. "Or you have seven years of bad sex."

Hayden adopts a stricken expression. "We can't take the risk."

Hazel laughs.

I especially can't risk it, with how dull my sex life has been in recent years.

Beside me, Hayden rests his arm on the top of the booth, accidentally brushing my shoulder, and tingles run down my spine. "There's something very important that we need to talk about, Darce."

"What?" My eyes widen.

His expression is so serious. "Your birthday."

A laugh slips out of me. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. That." His eyes spark with interest. "What are we doing?"

My birthday isn't until April, months away. "Nothing. Playoffs start around then; I don't want to do a big thing when you'll need to focus."

"We might not make playoffs."

I roll my eyes, thinking about his speed and agility on the ice earlier tonight. "With the way you play? You will."

His grin hitches a little higher. "Don't try to distract me. We need to have a party. It's the first year since school that we'll spend it together."

I make a noncommittal noise. Back in university, my birthday coincided with the end of exams, and we'd have big raging parties and invite everyone we knew. Since we graduated, though, my birthdays have become a much quieter occasion. At the idea of turning a year older, my stomach knots with dread.

Right. This feeling. This is why I don't have big parties anymore. I hate turning a year older when my life feels so stagnant and misaligned. Like I'm on the wrong train track, going in the wrong direction.

Things are changing, though. Hayden's going to teach me how to be a player, and I'm going to have all those fun dating experiences I missed out on.

"What did Ward want to talk about after the game?" I ask, changing the subject.

He hesitates. "He's putting me on offense."

The guys look over at this, interested.

"Really." Rory watches Hayden with curiosity, his mouth tipping up by the second. "Interesting."

Hayden shrugs and glances at Alexei. "Yeah. He's letting the team know tomorrow."

Alexei makes a low noise of acknowledgment, folding his arms over his chest and frowning at the table. The media has speculated about his impending retirement for years. He's still a strong player, but the sport is brutal on these guys' bodies. He took a hard hit tonight, and just walking to the bar, he favored his left side.

"I think it's a smart move." Rory's usual roguish, playful grin is replaced with something thoughtful and supportive. The captain, I realize. Rory Miller pretends to be cocky and showy, but he loves his team and he wants the best for his players .

"He brought up the League Classic," Hayden adds.

"That's exactly what I was thinking of." Rory nods, leaning in. "It worked, Owens, and I think Ward noticed, too."

Hayden just shrugs, and I take a moment to picture him in the new position.

He's easy-going, friendly, and relaxed. He wants everyone to feel included; he's always been like that, even back in university when he'd invite everyone on our floor to parties, even the weird kid who never came out of his room. It's what I love about him, that he's so open-hearted and loving. He never pushes his way to the front like some guys. Maybe that's why he's done so well in defense.

Sometimes I wonder, though, if he thinks he doesn't deserve to be the star, and what it would be like if he pushed his way to the front. Defensemen protect the goalie, but forwards score goals and get the glory. I picture Hayden on the ice, going after what he wants with predatory focus. My mind switches the scenario, and he's pursuing a woman, his gaze steady on her with that handsome, confident grin of his, caging her in with his body and making her heart beat faster.

Making it clear he wants her.

A shiver rolls through me, landing between my legs, and I clear my throat.

"You okay?" Hayden smiles and arches a curious brow. The others have returned to their conversation, not paying attention to us.

"Fine." My voice sounds high and weird, so I clear my throat again. "I can see it, you playing offense."

He gives me a strange look. "Really?"

"Mhm."

Hayden's a big guy like the other defensemen, but there's something about the way he plays—fluid and easy, like he's filling in the gaps on the ice—that makes me think he's holding back. Like he's playing for others but not himself.

My thoughts go to the analytical models I have saved on my laptop at home. A couple of years ago, I found a hockey analytics conference on YouTube. I watched video after video of people discussing how they use data and statistical analysis to find patterns and predict outcomes. This data helped the teams play better, recover from injuries faster, and score more goals.

I built my own models, just to see if I could. Unlike my boring day job, it was everything I loved about math in university: how it helps the world make sense, how you can practically predict the future by understanding the past.

I haven't opened them in forever, but maybe I could use them to help Hayden.

I wave the thought away fast.

The Vancouver Storm have a whole coaching and training staff to help the players be their best. They don't need some woman who likes to plug numbers into a program as a hobby getting involved.

There are consequences that come along with being wrong with this stuff. Shame aches behind my sternum. My mistakes can affect other people.

"Darcy?" Hayden studies my face with concern. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." I force a laugh, shoving away the memories from my first job out of school, the memories I thought I'd buried so well. I pull out my phone. "I've been reading about being a player."

He gives me a wry smile, eyes twinkling under the bar lights. "Research? You did research?"

"Of course." I give him a duh look. "Do you even know me? "

He shakes his head, still smiling. "Okay, Andersen, what did you find?"

I pull up the bookmarked site. "How to Be a Player 101."