I’m not sure she’ll like my answer but I give it. “She was a hookup. Nothing more.”
“Oh…okay,” Sutton says quickly and I’m pretty sure I just lost some brownie points with her.
“Where’s your car?” I ask Sutton just to change the subject.
“My car?”
“Yeah…figured you could drive if you don’t mind. Mine is behind the complex in the players’ parking lot and yours is probably closer.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly and takes off toward the parking lot. “But I have to warn you…it’s a little junky. I’m not sure a celebrity of your status should be seen in it.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I tell her with a chuckle, although when she stops at a rusted-out bucket of a car to unlock the door, I’m not sure it will get us to our intended destination.
“It runs fine,” she assures me, the look on my face undoubtedly giving away my concern. “We can take your car if you’re worried about it.”
“I’m definitely not worried,” I tell her as I walk to the passenger door and wait for her to unlock it. She shoots me a grin, unlocks the driver’s door with a key, and then climbs in to reach the passenger lock. Good Lord, it doesn’t even have automatic locks. I didn’t know cars this old still existed.
I’m not even sure what type of car this is, but it’s small so I have to fold my frame practically in half to get in the seat after I toss my equipment bag in the back. Despite the car probably being made several decades ago, it’s very clean and well kept on the inside.
When Sutton turns the ignition, the engine sputters to life and gives a lusty purr. She turns to me and grins. “Let me guess…you probably drive a sports car, right? Red, maybe convertible, goes from zero to sixty in about three seconds flat?”
“You so have me pegged wrong,” I tell her with a mock glare. “I drive a used Suburban. While it’s not as old as this bucket, it’s got its share of miles on it.”
“Wow,” she says, like I just told her the most amazing thing in the world, and puts her car in drive. “Consider me impressed.”
“Why does that impress you?”
“Well, because I just placed an unfair stereotype on you. I just assumed all wealthy sports stars spent money like it was going out of style.”
I can’t help the bark of laughter that pops out. “It would probably surprise you, then, to learn I live in a small apartment and I hoard my money, although I do have an addiction to large flat-screen TVs.”
“Definitely busting my stereotype,” she agrees. “So why the obsessive saving of money?”
“So I have something to fall back on when I’m done playing hockey. I don’t know anything else.”
“And just how long do you think you’ll be playing hockey?”
Turning to look at her while she drives, I notice that the side view of her face is just as beautiful as the front view. Her long, red hair is hanging loosely with a slight wave to it, setting off the sparkle to her eyes, which reflect the brilliant flecks of green from the sun angling in through the windshield. I notice for the first time that she has a tiny sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She fascinates me like no other person I’ve met, and that scares me just a bit. It excites me too.
The answer to her question should be easy, but it’s really not. I decide to lay it out honestly to her. “Just a few weeks ago, I was on the verge of quitting. I didn’t like the team pushing me…attempting to mold me into something I wasn’t. I didn’t love the game enough to let them do that to me.”
“And now?” she asks quietly, shooting me a quick glance before putting her eyes back on the road.
“Now? I’m looking at the game a bit differently,” I admit to her.
“Why is that?”
Her voice is so soothing, I absolutely want to capitulate to her. Rather than hide my feelings like I normally do, I want to tell her everything.
Well, almost everything. There are some things I’d never be able to share with her.
“Because you’ve made me look at things in a different light,” I tell her, and her head spins to meet my look. She stares at me a moment longer than what’s safe before she turns back to look at the road.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asks with a soft smile on her face. I have the unbearable urge to reach my fingertips out and trace them along her jaw but I resist. She’d probably slap me if I tried that.
“Good, I think. I’m still testing the waters, so to speak.”
Sutton turns into a parking lot that houses a cheap strip mall. She pulls in front of an Indian cuisine restaurant and turns the car off. Turning to look at me, she says, “Whether you dip a toe in or jump in headfirst, I’m glad you’re testing the waters. Experiencing new things, growing from that experience…I’m glad to see you trying that.”
She looks at me with warmth and even a bit of understanding. Yes, she understands something about me when I’m not even sure I understand much. It’s like she is wise beyond her years and I feel like she could threaten to crumble the very platform that I’ve built my entire knowledge of the world upon. It’s a scary prospect, but one that I find challenging in a good way.
Taking my silence as a hint that the conversation is over, she turns briefly to look at the restaurant, then back to me. “I hope you like Indian.”