The Puck Drop by Jaqueline Snowe

CHAPTER TEN

Naomi

Michael led us up the stairs toward the main area. He held my hand tight as we navigated through the crowd. I wasn’t a damsel in distress or anything, but the gross smell of beer made me feel a little woozy, and I was grateful to not have to worry about where I was walking.

He made a beeline for a family sized restroom and pushed the door open. “Are you alright? You didn’t seem too upset, but damn, I can’t believe that woman did that!”

I chewed my beer-stained lip and walked toward the sink as he locked the door...with him on the inside. He got paper towels and wetted them before handing them to me with a dark look on his face.

“Um, thanks?”

“Here, you have it all over your face.” He frowned as he took one of the towels and brushed it over my forehead. This wasn’t sensual by any means, but I closed my eyes and took in the moment: his body heat so close to mine, the concern on his face, and his clean scent overpowering the beer smell. I felt taken care of, even for a moment. Like I meant something to him. It was… wonderful.

“You’re going to be sticky,” he said, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, well, shocking no one, I once tripped at a frat party and wore beer for like six hours.” I scrunched my nose. “Mona won a beer pong tournament, and I couldn’t leave her there.”

One side of his mouth curved up as he tossed the napkins into the trash and got more. “Let’s see the damage on the jersey.”

I winced. I forgot I wore the jersey my dad got both Cam and I ten years ago. They were nice. “I think I have to get this dry-cleaned.”

“All the more reason to be mad.”

“It was an accident. Better her than an opposing fan who wants to fist fight, right?” I joked, trying to decipher why Michael wasn’t in his usual teasing mood. Could he be worried about what happened in the locker room? Or maybe…

“I hate that this happened to you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper as he took a step closer. My breath caught in my throat when he lifted the hem of the jersey. “Arms up, Fletch. Let’s see the damage.”

Out of all the ways I pictured Michael taking my clothes off, it wasn’t in a family-sized bathroom at an away college hockey game. Most of those thoughts involved my bedroom. Either way, my face burned red as he helped remove the jersey.

“I’m going to run some cold water on it to see if we can get the smell out.” His nostrils flared a few times as he glanced at my chest for point two seconds. Nothing more than a look. His jaw muscles tightened, and he turned the water on too hard.

My breathing was a little too fast for the situation, and he would be able to tell if I didn’t settle down, but why did he give me that look? Why did he seem pissed?

I wore a dark navy Under Armour shirt under the jersey because a) it was warm, and b) the jersey was itchy on its own so I liked to cover all my skin before wearing it. I moved to the right to see myself in the mirror when I saw it. Or rather, them. My nipples.

The skin-tight fabric didn’t leave a thing to the imagination at my perky small boobs. I mean, I was freezing cold and wet, so it made sense they were at a level ten, but was that why Michael seemed mad? He had a thing against nipples?

“I think I got the worst of it.” His voice was off. Strained. “We should buy you a sweatshirt for the rest of the night and put this in a bag.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He turned around from the sink, and his gaze dropped again to my chest for a little longer. His breathing got louder, and he ran a hand over his jaw, his sharp blue eyes warming. God, did the bathroom get smaller? Were the walls shrinking in as we stood there eyeing each other?

“Did you get all the beer off?” he asked in the same deep voice that I really, really liked.

“Most of it. It’s in my hair which is gross.” I picked up one end of my braid and shrugged. “Thanks for the help.”

“Sure.”

I shivered. Not just from the chill in the air but also from the intense way he stared at me like he thought I mattered. In the least sexy setting ever, my body hummed with how much I wanted to touch him.

“Damn, you’re cold. Here.” He started taking off his sweatshirt and exposing his stomach, and ugh, it was perfect.

Toned and hard. The two lines on either side made my intelligent brain go oh me likey. I admired the way he had a little trail of hair that went from his belly button to the waistline of his jeans, and oof. Warm, Michael-scented cloth landed on my face.

“Damn it, Naomi, I thought you saw me toss it.”

“Right, yeah, I did. I just caught it with my face.”

He laughed, that low timbre heating me up inside out, and I scrambled to put the sweatshirt on. To dive into Michael's clothes again. It was the same one I wore before, and it hung off me in awkward angles.

“You look adorable.”

“Yes, adorable was what I was hoping for in your behemoth-sized hoodie.”

“Well done then,” he said, smiling back at me as he took a step closer.

“It’ll probably smell like beer when you get it back.”

“Ah, well, thank god I have a washer.”

“Yeah, that’s good news.” I gulped when the tips of his toes almost touched mine. Was this his quirk? Did he always stand this close to people or was it a me thing? I wanted it to be a me thing very much. He wore just a t-shirt that clung to his impressive chest, and he too, was chilled. His nipples strained against the fabric.

“Um, aren’t you cold?”

“I’m alright.”

“Your nipples seem to differ.”

“Checking out my boobs, Fletcher?” he asked, grinning. He ran his hands over his pecs a few times.

“They were right there. I couldn’t help it.”

“That, I understand.” He cleared his throat and lifted a hand to my face, his fingers pushing some of my wet hair behind my ear. My knees wobbled at how soft his touch was. I loved feeling his hands on me.

“This is probably my fault, by the way,” he said, his voice quiet.

“What is?”

“The beer getting spilled on you.” He removed his hand and took a step back, and I wanted to stomp my feet and pout about it.

“Wait, how is this your fault?”

“The way you looked in the jersey. I had some inappropriate—”

“Anyone in there?” A loud fist boomed on the door, making me jump a foot in the air. Michael tensed too and unlocked the door, ushering us both out as a mom with three young kids entered.

“Seriously? Can’t you wait to hook up later? Some people who actually have kids need this bathroom!” she said, making me feel as small as an ant.

“We weren’t hooking up! I got beer—”

“She doesn’t care. Just let her be,” Michael said, his mouth right next to my ear. He put a hand on my shoulder and pointed to our left. “Gift shop. I’ll let you lead, but be careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

I wove through people, but my mind was on what he was about to say before that mom interrupted us. He had some inappropriate… what? Thoughts about the way I looked? Did that mean he liked how I looked?

Did I care?

Oh, my god, this was exhausting.

After a full minute of dodging people, we arrived at the gift shop. It smelled like new clothing and popcorn, which was welcome after being in a bathroom. I glanced around the store and stopped when I found nice thick sweatshirts. That was what I wanted.

I pulled a bright orange one off the hanger and held it up. “Got it.”

“You don’t wanna splurge on a jersey?” He pointed to the wall of them. “You got a hundred bucks. Go wild.”

“I’m good. That jersey is my favorite one, plus I’m freezing and want something snuggly.”

“Snuggly it is.” He rocked back on his heels, and his face lit up as another large guy approached us. “Sam, dude.”

“Reiner!” The guys did a prolonged bro hug with a lot of back patting. Sam hit Michael in the arm like three times. “What the fuck are you doing here? How is this possible?”

“Small world.” Michael smiled real wide and pointed over his shoulder. “I’m with Central.”

I loved seeing Michael like this, energized and happy. It was clear seeing an old friend pleased him, and my insides got all tingly.

“Wait, you’re playing for them? No fucking way! That’s sick.”

“No, not playing.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Interning with the coach.”

“Bro, that is so you.” Sam hit his chest again. “I called it. I swear.”

“What do you mean?”

“You being a coach. It makes perfect sense.” An older woman said Sam’s name from behind him, and he sighed. “I’m helping my mom get holiday gifts for everyone. In October.”

“Never can be too early,” Michael said, laughing. “Are you just visiting, or do you go here?”

“I go here, yeah. Working on my masters.” Sam’s face reddened just a bit. “Got injured two years ago and never really returned back to normal. I miss it but not as much as I thought.”

“It was good seeing you, man. Stay in touch.” Michael pulled him back into a hug.

“For sure. Let me know when you get a coaching gig. I’ll harass you online obviously.”

Watching Michael light up caused a sticky warm feeling around my heart. The clear joy on his face and his former teammate’s was a testament to who he was. He brought people happiness, and I wanted to hug him, hard.

“Same old Sam.” Michael’s smile remained once Sam joined his mom, and after a few seconds, he looked at me. “Shit, was that rude? I should’ve introduced you.”

“Oh no, don’t worry.” We moved up a few spaces in line to buy the sweatshirt. “You didn’t have long to talk. I’m guessing an old hockey buddy?”

“Yeah, we played with each other like… eight years ago. When I was in high school. He lived back east for a year then his dad got reassigned.” His eyes were unfocused, and he kept tapping his fingers at his sides. “You hear what he said?”

“About you being a coach? Yeah, I did.” I smiled and reached over to squeeze his forearm. His fidgeting was kinda cute. “Is that what has you all worked up?”

“A bit. I just… why did he say that?”

“Because he means it? You have a natural charisma, Michael. It’s very obvious, and I know you said you couldn’t share what happened, but you calling out behavior in the locker room even though it’s not your role? That’s what leaders do. They aren’t afraid to rock the boat if it’s the right thing. You keeping it secret despite the fact they aren’t your team? That’s leadership. Maybe it’s weird for you to be watching the game instead of playing it, but in the short time I’ve known you, it’s clear hockey is always going to be in your life.”

“I could kiss you right now.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he met my gaze again, my stomach flip-flopped with the warmth and trust swirling in his blue eyes.

He could kiss me. He said that. To me. With his mouth. My mind got fuzzy, like when I stayed up too late and woke up early the next morning. Was he thinking about our almost kiss as well?

“Next!” a woman screeched from behind the counter. We didn’t move though. He stared at me like he was about to kiss me but then the woman yelled again. “You two, let’s go.”

Shit. That was us. Holding up the line thinking about a kiss. Get it together, Fletcher.

I bought the sweatshirt and put the dirty one in the new bag. We left the shop and found a small cut out where people wouldn’t run into us. “You can have your sweatshirt back.”

“Thanks.” He took it from me and put it on in one smooth motion. “I was being a real hero, but damn, I was cold.”

“Such a nice guy,” I said, teasing him. His smile fell a little bit, and it was like a rock formed in my gut. Did I do something?

“I’m really glad we’re friends, Fletcher,” he said, his voice as serious as his expression. It might’ve been my imagination, but he said the word friends with more oomph.

“Right, yeah. Me too.” I forced a smile, hating how it felt like a rejection. I liked his company, and I was pretty sure he liked mine too. But he just said he could kiss me...did friends say that to each other?

Maybe I had the wrong friends then.

“Here’s the real question though.” He wiggled his eyebrows with his typical playful smile. “What are you going to buy with the extra cash?”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I jutted my chin toward the warm pretzel booth, then the ice cream station. “We could have several rounds of treats?”

“God, this is the best night.” Michael held out his arm. “Come on, Klutzy, let’s stuff our faces with your hard-earned money.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist and breathed him in, accepting the fact that we were just friends. He was a touchy-feely guy, and I’d just have to be okay with the fact I was lusting after a friend, hard.

Plus, I knew better than to fall for a guy who was going to be a hockey coach. Hello! It ruined my dad’s marriage and his relationship with me. I should be running far away from Michael Reiner, yet I squeezed him a little tighter as we waited in line to get pretzels.

When our fingers brushed not once, but twice as we waited in line, I repeated the word friend over and over in my mind.

That was all it ever could be.