“Ooh, that’s tempting,” she said with a grin. “My dad would love to share that honor with Father Gordy.”
“Y’know, I’m going to the Wild game tonight, if you want to come along,” I heard myself say. I wasn’t one to beg or refuse to take no for an answer, but something in her tone made me want to try again. “It can just be two people innocently catching a game—not a date at all—but it might not hurt for you to lean into your sudden likability.”
That wrinkle was back between her eyebrows. “You’d let me use you for clout?”
“Forclout?” That was funny.
“You know what I mean,” she said, readjusting the stupid cat backpack on her shoulders as she walked. “I’d be using you and you’d be getting nothing.”
I thought of Bethany and Brian, and how Duffy being around me would only help me, my career, and the team. I felt like a total tool that she was considering my feelings on this.
“I’d be getting an entire night to convince you to reconsider arealsecond date with me,” I said. “So I’ll take the trade-off.”
“Are you serious right now?” she asked, eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out if I was being honest or not.Oh,honey, I’m so fucking serious it’s insane.But then she blinked fast and abruptly added, “I mean, about the hockey game.”
“Definitely,” I said, suddenly stoked as hell because I saw it—she’d looked interested. “I’ve got season tickets and zero plans. All we have to do is stand near each other while watching the game and people will make their assumptions. Let’s be fucking adorable tonight, shall we?”
Her eyes roamed all over my face, clearly thinking through all the scenarios, and then she gave a quick little nod. “Okay. If you’re sure, let’s be adorable tonight.”
11
Duffy
I paced outside the arena as I waited for Connor.
He still had five minutes—I was early—so I kept rotating between excitement, nervousness, and utter disbelief that I was actually getting a second chance. I mean, technically this wasn’t a “date.” This was me “using him for clout” (why did I use such a dumb expression?), but it had promise.
Which was mind-boggling, in and of itself.
He’d seriously sounded like he genuinely wanted to convince me to go on another date with him.
So I was in, right?
Only I’d failed to respond appropriately. I’d been so excited and shocked by his comment that I’d gone mute. I should’ve shoutedIt’s a date!or at the very least let him know I wouldn’t have to be convinced, but I hadn’t been able to make my mouth say the words.
Which left me in this weird place where he still didn’t know I definitely wanted a date, but saying it at this point felt awkward and embarrassing. Randomly sayingHey, I changed my mindorI’m super into you so can you please ask me out againseemed like too much, at least it was for a coward like me, so I was going to hope that this hockey night would magically fix everything.
Ellie made me give up my lunch break so we could find the perfect outfit to “ensure I stay out of the friend zone.” According to her and an article (which seemed stupid and lacking in scientific evidence, in my opinion) that she shared with me fromPsychology Today, the first step to avoiding the friend zone is showing intent.
Aka making an effort.
While I would’ve worn my faded old Spurgeon jersey with a pair of jeans, she’d hauled me into a sporting goods store and found an adorable cropped Wild crew neck that was so on-trend I truly didn’t think I was cool enough to wear it. She paired it with her favorite boyfriend jeans and funky little sneakers (she ran home and fetched them for me), and suddenly I looked a little bit fashionable.
Thank you, El.
She’d found the perfect outfit to make me feel like I was trying, yet I was moderately comfortable, like I was wearing normal attire for a person catching a game with their buddies.
Just as I thought that, I saw him.
Connor was on the other side of the street, about to cross with a crowd of other people clearly headed to the game, and he was on the phone. His face was relaxed, he was smiling, and that damn “Gimme More” song started playing in my head again like his forward motion in foot traffic was part of a slow-motion montage or something.
I watched as he crossed the street, his large body moving effortlessly in the dusky darkness of the downtown evening. He was wearing a long-sleeved Wild T-shirt and jeans, baseball capon backward, and it was impossible to believe someone that painfully attractive was coming over to meet up withme.
I mean, he shouldn’t look that good, right? He was technically wearing a “bro” uniform. All three of my brothers dressed exactly like that when they went out.
Somehow, though, Connor looked like a model.
It probably had something to do with his broad chest under the tee and the chiseled bone structure, not to mention the shimmering mystique of a man who was capable of catching a ball while being double-teamed, butdamn.