“Sure. Meet you downstairs in twenty?”
I nod, waiting till she disappears into the women’s locker room before heading into the men’s, all while making plans to slip self-defense suggestions into every conversation we have today.
12
CALLUM
“How’s the shawarma?” Alia asks.
I nod, munching on my wrap. “Don’t tell the team nutritionist, but this cheat meal is so worth it.”
Alia grins, picking up her falafel. The chill in the air is made bearable by the sun, and we’ve managed to snag a bench at the park. People mill about, enjoying a weekend off. But, with every breath, I get a whiff of lemon and mint, reminding me I’m sitting next to a girl I’m attracted to but have promised to only be friends with. Which is proving to be harder than I thought.
Is Moore right? Am I incapable of friendship with the opposite sex?
I scoff the thought away. There’s no reason to piss off my teammate to get laid when I have an inbox with dozens of unread DMs from available women.
“Why Spuddy?”
I glance at Alia, hoping she didn’t hear me talking to myself.
“I was thinking about that the other night.”
“You think about me at night, gorgeous?” I wink, disgustingly happy to see her pinken.
“Stop it,” she mutters, blushing furiously. “It wasonlyabout your nickname.”
“That’s how it all begins,” I sing-song, barking out a laugh when she glowers at me. “Okay, okay. I’ll lay off. What about my nickname concerns you, Tots?”
“Callum and Spuddy can’t be farther apart. How did you get that nickname?”
“It’s media-given. My rookie season, I had a pretty slow start. Got ripped apart at every chance, criticized for my mediocre performance. Took me nearly half the season to make my first goal. But once I did, I was unstoppable. One of the reporters wrote I was racking up points like spuds multiplying underground, an ode to my Irish roots. The name stuck. Callum became Spuddy and, eight years later, kept Aloo up at night.”
Alia tries her hardest not to react. The failed effort only makes her that much more adorable. “When did you start playing hockey?”
“Dad took me to see a game when I was five and I fell in love. Once I started playing, all my energy found direction. Haven’t stopped since.” I recall the first game where I watched my home team, Calgary, win. It set the course for my life.
Which, inevitably, reminds me of Alia’s own history.
“Tots, we’re friends now, right?”
“Would you take no for an answer?”
“Nope.”
She huffs out a soft laugh as she picks out an olive from her wrap and plops it into her mouth. “Fine, we’re friends.”
“Then, as a friend, I’d like to ask you a question.”
Her gaze swings to me, waiting.
“The first night we met, and at the café before, you said you used to play cricket. What happened?”
Her eyes dart between mine, trapped, her color draining instantly. I can guess her mind is churning, trying to figure out how or if she wants to answer me. Finally, she sets her wrap down on the stack of napkins beside us with a sigh.
“You looked me up, didn’t you?”
“I did.”