After I drop Margo off, I head across the street to a local cafe and grab a coffee and a sandwich, then wait for her in the lobby of the dentist’s office.
I spend most of the time messing around on my phone. I check my private social media accounts, then clean out my overly full inbox. Then I start flipping through one of the outdated magazines sitting on the table next to me, and after about forty minutes, my phone buzzes. It’s a message from Reese, wanting to know if I’m going out drinking with the guys tonight since we don’t have a game.
ME: Nah, I’m busy.
REESE: Busy doing what?
I don’t answer right away. I’m not entirely sure how to answer that question, or how honest I should be.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t hide anything from Reese. He’s not just a fellow Aces player, he’s also a close friend, and even though I wouldn’t consider myself a totally open book, I’m also not secretive by nature.
The problem is, this isn’t just my business I would be sharing. It’s Margo’s too. I don’t know how she would feel about the other guys on the team knowing that I gave her a ride to her dentist appointment, or that I plan on sticking around with her for the rest of the day to make sure she’s okay while she comes down from the drugs.
ME: I don’t know, just have a bunch of stuff I need to take care of. Work stuff, personal stuff. You know.
REESE: And you can’t take care of it tomorrow? Or Sunday? Or literally any other time except on a Friday night? The whole team is going out! Even Grant.
ME: You’re so full of shit. No way Grant is going out.
REESE: He said maybe!
ME: Maybe means no when it comes to Grant. You and I both know that.
REESE: Fine. We’ll just call you Grant 2.0 then. But Theo knows a girl who’s getting us into this wild party at a club downtown. You’re gonna be missing out.
REESE: Oh, and he just told me to tell you that he’s buying the first few rounds, and that the girl who’s got the hookup with the party has a lot of hot AF friends who will be there looking for a good time… Does that change anything?
I hesitate before texting back. Not because I’m actually considering going out, but because I feel like I need to play it cool here. If I’m too obvious about my refusal, it’ll raise Reese’s suspicions, and he might start asking too many questions. I don’t actually want to lie to him, and up until now, I haven’t really.
Taking care of Margo feels like it perfectly falls under the umbrella of both ‘work stuff’ and ‘personal stuff,’ because she is both a friend and a colleague. But if Reese gets it in his head that I’m truly hiding something from him, he’ll want to know what’s up, and then I’ll be facing a rough choice. Be honest with my friend, or respect Margo’s privacy?
ME: I dunno. I’ll think about it and get back to you. Cool?
REESE: Alright, I’ll take what I can get. Talk later.
I’ll wait a few hours, then text Reese and let him know that I’m just too bogged down with stuff to go out tonight.
Rather than going back to the magazine, which was pretty boring anyway, I flip over to TikTok on my phone and start to scroll through videos. I land on one that’s tagged the Denver Aces account, and a grin tugs at my lips.
Margo was right. That Dirty Dancing inspired video really took off.
Tons of young Aces fans are doing their own version of the lift with their girlfriends or wives. I follow the hashtags to another video of a veteran Denver Aces player doing the move with his daughter, whom he can easily heft with one arm. The little girl tries to sing along with the lyrics, but she gets them all wrong, and that only makes the whole thing even more adorable.
I hit the like button on that video and start to read through some of the comments. They’re overwhelmingly positive, and I notice a lot of people talking about how this type of social media challenge is way more fun than the ones other teams have been trying to get fans to engage in.
Apparently, the Cincinnati Knights recently set up their own TikTok video challenge, but the challenge requires people to take footage of themselves attending an actual game. Not everyone has the time or money to attend a hockey game though, even if they are big fans, so a lot of people were feeling left out.
But with Margo’s idea, nobody is required to buy anything. They don’t have to spend money in order to do the challenge and have a chance to be featured on our page. This is something everyone can do, not just those with disposable income.
That’s exactly what drew me to hockey in the first place. Unlike some of the other sports my parents wanted me to get into, like golf or tennis, hockey felt more accessible. Sure, buying skates can be costly, and a pass to the local rink will set you back a couple hundred dollars each year. But at the end of the day, most of the guys I played with in middle school and high school were grounded kids from modest backgrounds. Some of them had hopes of going pro, others just liked to play the sport as a hobby, and that meant nobody gave a shit who had the nicest gear or whose skates looked busted.
Margo’s vision for our team aligns so well with the way I feel about the sport more broadly, and I love it.
If I wasn’t already insanely attracted to her, this would definitely seal the deal.
She’s fucking incredible.
Suddenly curious, I go back to the team’s official page and scroll until I find the video of Margo and me doing the lift. I watch it a couple times in a row, entranced by how stunning she looks as I remember how it felt to lift her beautiful, graceful body into the air. She’s cut the video so that it ends just as I’m bringing her back down, but there’s a split second of the moment when her feet return to the ice, and our eyes meet.
I was pretty sure in that moment that she was feeling a connection to me—but watching it over again now, I’m one hundred percent sure.
She definitely felt something.
So did I.
And I want more of that feeling.
The next ten minutes pass pretty quickly, and when I see Margo slowly making her way out from the back, I rush to her side.
“There she is!” I say, reaching out and taking her arm as she starts to wander off in the wrong direction. “Oh, no, we’re going this way. The door is over here.”
“Wait,” she mutters thickly. “I need to check out.”
She points lazily behind her at the desk where the secretary is sitting typing away on her keyboard.
“Alright then, let’s do it.” I bring Margo over to the desk, and the lady smiles at us kindly, handing me a form to sign.
“This is just so we have a record of who drove her home after the procedure,” she tells me. “And can you confirm the address at the top of the page so we know that the bill will be sent to the right place.”
“Sure.” I sign my name and then double check that the address they have on file matches the one saved in my phone from Margo’s text. “Everything looks good. Is there anything else you need?”
The woman shakes her head and hands me a packet that outlines all the post-procedure information. I tuck it under my arm and look over my shoulder to see that Margo has walked away from me. She’s over by the wall, staring at a motivational poster with a puppy on it.
I go to her once more and gently take her hand in mine. “Hey, Sunflower. Are you ready to leave?”
“I know this dog,” she murmurs.
“You know him?”
She nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. I know him. He bit me once.”
“This dog?” I ask. “This dog right here? The one on the mass-produced poster? He bit you?”
She turns to me, indignation sparking in her gorgeous gray-blue eyes. “Yes! He bit me!”
“Okay.” I squeeze her hand, stifling a chuckle. “Okay, I believe you. He sounds like a very mean little dog. I’m sorry he bit you. Now I think we should get in the car and go back to your apartment so that you can lie down. Does that sound good?”
She looks back at the dog with narrowed eyes but allows me to lead her toward the door.
Outside, I open the car door for her as well and help her get inside. I buckle her seat belt and try not to inhale the familiar aroma of her shampoo as I lean over her. It’s the same honey and vanilla that tickled my nostrils when I held her in the elevator, and it’s become my favorite scent.
She keeps laughing and mumbling stuff under her breath, but I can’t really make out what she’s saying. She has some gauze tucked into the side of her cheek, and she’s making zero effort to enunciate around it.
I get into the driver’s seat and check in with her as I’m putting the car in drive. “How do you feel? Are you in a lot of pain?”
“I feel greeeat.” She lifts her fist limply in the air as she speaks, then giggles. “Just like that tiger on the cereal box.”
“Good to hear.” I pull up the directions on my GPS and roll out of the parking lot, heading back toward her place. “Do you have anyone who’s going to come check on you later? Is your sister still coming into town?”
“My sister lives in Boulder.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“You know my sister? Since when?”
“Uh… no. I haven’t met your sister, but you told me where she li—”
“Heather is very nice,” she says, looking at me and blinking her eyes slowly, like she is still trying to wake up from her long, sedated nap. “But she used to be with a man who was not nice. He was horrible to her.”
“Oh,” I murmur. I’m not sure how much of what Margo is saying is true, since just five minutes ago, she accused a dog on a poster of once attacking her, so I try to keep my commentary to a minimum. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah.” She sighs heavily. “It was awful… but now things are better. I helped her get away from him.” She hums under her breath, then drops her voice as she whispers, “You want to know a secret?”
“Sure.” I shoot her look, one hand resting comfortably on the wheel. “Tell me a secret.”
She scrutinizes me for a second, then shakes her head. “Never mind. I can’t tell you. You’re not trustworthy.”
“What?” I scoff. “I’m totally trustworthy!”
“No…” She draws the word out, her voice slurring more as her eyelids droop again. “I don’t think so. You must have something up your sleeve. Like maybe… you’re working for… the feds.”
“You’re right.” I shake my head ruefully, amused by her rambling. It’s adorable, honestly. “You caught me. I’m a federal agent, working undercover as a professional athlete. But I’m in too deep now. I’m starting to forget who I really am or what the initial mission was. And the worst part is, I’ve fallen in love with my mark. I’m supposed to turn this woman in for her crimes, but how can I? She’s the woman of my dreams.”
I reach over to rest my hand on Margo’s leg as I speak, and she looks down at my hand and then back at my face. “Are you mocking me?”
I squeeze her thigh gently. “Maybe a little.”
“Hmmm…”
She folds her arms, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows. Her eyelids drift closed after a moment, and she ends up sleeping the rest of the way back to her place. When we get there, I find parking out front and then walk around the car and open the passenger door.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. You’re home,” I whisper, rousing her carefully. “Do you have your keys? I’ll help you up to your unit.”
“They’re in my purse,” she says, except she didn’t bring a purse with her.
As she’s speaking, however, she starts digging into the pocket of her pants and retrieves a set of keys. She drops them into my hand and then unbuckles herself. When she slides out of the car and tries to stand up, her legs wobble a bit, so I reach out quickly to steady her.
“You okay?” I dip my head to find her eyes. “Can you make it up on your own, or do you want me to carry you?”
“No, I can—” She breaks off, something soft and vulnerable in her eyes, and my heart skips a beat when she whispers, “Will you carry me?”
“Anytime,” I tell her honestly. “And anywhere.”
Stepping closer, I loop her arms around my neck before scooping her up. It feels different to hold her this way than it did when I lifted her on the ice, and something protective roars inside my chest as she burrows her face against my neck, nestling into me.
I get her into the building and carry her upstairs, using her key to let us both inside.
Glancing around, I notice how neat and tidy everything is in the main room. In Margo’s bedroom, however, there are some dirty clothes strewn about, and a lot of knickknacks and picture frames taking up space on her desk and window sill. Even though Margo keeps her place clean, it still feels like a space that’s lived in, and I like that. I like being here, getting a glimpse into her world.
“Do you want some water?” I ask as I help her get rid of the gaze in her mouth and then lower her down to the bed.
She kicks her shoes off and lays down, scooting upward a bit so her head is propped up more by the pillow. Her hair falls into her face, so I reach over and move some of it so that she can see.
“No water,” she mumbles. “Just sleep.”
“Okay, Sunflower. I’ll bring you a cup of water and leave it on the bedside table just in case, but you go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be in the living room, so just holler if you need anything.”
Since she’s lying on top of all the covers and I have a feeling it would be difficult to get her under them, I grab a blanket that’s folded up at the foot of the bed and drape it over her. As I pull it over her shoulders, she reaches up and touches the side of my face, tracing the line of my jaw as her gaze tracks the movement of her fingertips.
A sudden crashing sound from the unit above makes us both jump. It sounds like someone dropped a stack of dishes or something, but Margo’s eyes widen, fear flashing in their depths.
“Was that thunder?” she whispers.
“No,” I reassure her, putting my hand on top of hers. “It was just your upstairs neighbor.”
“Oh, good.” She visibly relaxes. “I hate thunderstorms. They scare me so much.”
“Well, no need to worry,” I say gently. “There are no thunderstorms predicted at all for tonight or tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” She keeps her hand on my face for a moment longer, then smiles. “You’re very handsome. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I laugh. “Nope. You’re the first.”
She giggles. “Liar.”
“Okay, you’re right,” I admit. “In the past, I have been told by some that I’m a good-looking guy. But it didn’t sound nearly as good hearing it from them as it did hearing it from you just now. Even if you are all hopped up on painkillers.”
“And you’re funny,” she says with a smile. “Handsome and funny. And nice. What do they call that? A triple threat?”
“I mean, you forgot that I’m also talented and smart, so really, I’m a quintuple threat.”
Amusement glints in her dilated eyes. “And so modest. That makes you a sext—sextup—”
She tries to say the word but can’t quite wrap her mouth around it, so I just smile down at her and push a few more strands of soft blonde hair behind her ear.
“We’ll finish this conversation later,” I promise. “When you’re in your right mind again, and can call me out for being so arrogant.”
“But I have one more secret.” Her eyes are already drifting closed, her voice becoming softer with each word.
“Okay, tell me one more secret, and then it’s time for you to sleep.”
“I have a crush on you,” she whispers.
For a moment, it feels as if the world stops turning. Her words hit me in a way I’ve never felt before, almost like a physical force, and I swallow. I wasn’t expecting to hear that, and I have no response prepared at all.
When she says it again, my heart feels like it’s going to overflow.
“I have a big crush on you.” Her eyes are completely shut now, and she’s speaking so quietly that I have to lean in to hear the whole statement.
“I have a big crush on you too, Sunflower,” I murmur, my throat tight. “Now get some rest.”
I bend down and kiss her on the cheek, and by the time I’m at the door, I can tell from the sound of her breathing that she’s totally passed out.
