“See what?”
“See why they’d pick you. You’reveeeeerycharming, Mr. Novak.”
Novak? She thinks I’m Theo?
“You’re not a bunny, are you?” I question.
She shakes her head slowly, her lips jutting out and her nose scrunching in the cutest frown I’ve ever seen.
“I’m a human,” she replies, bewildered. As if she can’t believe that she has to explain this to me. “I admit I’m a little tipsy, but I think you’re more drunk than I am if you’re seeing a rabbit instead of a woman.”
I throw my head back, barking out an unintentionally loud laugh. “I promise I noticed you were all woman 0.01 seconds after meeting you.”
“Nope. You need help. We should get you some water.” She spots an unopened bottle on her table. “Look!” she exclaims triumphantly. “I found water.”
“Well done, Moses.”
She leans forward, observing me with a look of worry while I try valiantly to stop my eyes from drifting below her neckline. “I do not think I am who you think I am.”
“Is that a Princess Bride reference?” I ask, more entertained than I’ve been in ages. Where the hell did this woman come from and why have I never seen her before?
Her mouth tips up in a goofy grin. “Ah, Mr. Novak reads!”
That name again. She really doesn’t recognize me? This almost never happens and I’m fucking thrilled. I screw the lid off the bottle and hand it to her.
“You aren’t from the hockey circuit, eh?”
“Nope.”
“Why exactly do you think I’m Novak?” I question, encouraging her to sip the water while I wait for an answer.
“Loud fangirl, remember?” she says, smacking her lips before pointing past the ivy-covered wall.
“And you’re not a fangirl.”
“I am,” she replies. “For cricket. Best sport in the whole entire world.”
Elation rushes through me. It was one of those nights where, despite winning our game, I felt tired. Mentally. I came up here to find Chloe and introduce her to Antek Kubanski, our newest rookie, who took one look at her on the balcony and started wagging his proverbial tail. I fully intended to bow out right after and watch TV on my couch rather than hold out hope for finding human connection in a sea of strangers.
I don’t feel like that anymore. Ms. Mojito is a blank slate. No preconceived notions about me, no expectations. I haven’t had this much fun flirting with anyone in a while. Besides, I can always turn her into a fangirl for one specific hockey player.
“Those are some fighting words,” I jest. “You do realize I play in the NHL?”
“Not saying hockey’s bad,” she mumbles contritely. “The players certainly look nice.”
“Is that why you watch cricket?” I tease, taking the chance to stand a little closer as I exaggeratedly waggle my brows at her. “Good looking players?”
An odd shadow douses the brightness of her expressive face before she brushes it off.
“I used to play.”
“You’re a sportswoman?” I ask, surprised.
“Not anymore, Mr. Nov—Theo,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Okay, not a fan of her calling me by another man’s name. But the anonymity is refreshing. Besides, I’ll probably have to come cleansoon enough if I want her moaning my name instead of my friends’. “You can call me Spuddy.”
“Your nickname?”