Glove Save (Carolina Comets)
Glove Save: Chapter 11

If you had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be sitting down to have dinner with the goalie of the Carolina Comets, I would have laughed for multiple reasons.

One, there’s no way I’d be hanging out with hockey players. That’s my sister’s thing, not mine.

Two, if I were with a player, it certainly wouldn’t be the one who drives me basically insane.

But here we are.

“You know, when I said you could pick the place, I meant you could pick anywhere.”

“I know. And I did pick.”

“Yeah, but…” Greer curls his lips in disgust. “This?”

I shrug. “It’s Macie’s favorite, and quit acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I am better than everyone else, and that kid needs a better palate.”

“Hey! My palate is just fine!” said kid argues.

“Do you even know what that means?” Greer asks her, brows raised.

“Duh. Of course I do.” She huffs but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, she shoves past him to the counter and lifts her head up high. “Hi. I want the McNuggets Happy Meal, please. Fries, barbeque sauce, and a big Coke for the drink.”

I step in at that. “Make that a Sprite, please.” The last thing she needs is to be all jacked up on caffeine.

“You get your own drinks.” The kid presses a few buttons on the screen, never looking up. “What else?”

“I’ll have a ten-piece McNuggets, small fry, water, and a chocolate shake,” I tell him.

“Any dipping sauce?”

“Hmm. I’ll do buffalo.”

“Sure. Anything else?” the worker asks, finally looking up and directly at Greer. His eyes narrow for only a moment before he looks away.

Greer tugs his Comets hat down lower, then steps up to the counter. “I’ll have two Big Macs with extra sauce, a ten-piece McNuggets, a large fry, and a Diet Coke.”

“Any dipping sauce?” the kid asks in the same monotone voice he’s been using.

“Ketchup.”

“Ew!” Macie and I say at the same time.

Greer sends us a glare. “I didn’t judge your order. Mind your business.” He turns back to the kid. “Add an apple pie to that, too, will ya?”

“Sure. Your total is…”

He rattles off our final bill, and Greer taps his card on the screen with a sigh as Macie and I grab our cups. We make our way to the soda fountain, and I have to stop Macie when she tries to go for the Coke. She frowns when I make her dump it out and refill it with Sprite.

I fill my water cup, then take a drink. I can feel Greer’s eyes on me.

“Yes?” I ask when I replace him staring at me in disbelief.

“Did you really just put water in your water cup?”

“Um, yeah?”

He shakes his head. “You’re such a rule follower.”

“It’s a water cup. That’s what it’s for—water.”

“Yeah, but nobody actually puts water in there. The people at the counter don’t even expect you to put water in there.”

I shrug. “I wanted water.”

“Something making you extra thirsty this afternoon?” He bounces his brows up and down.

I roll my eyes at the implication that I could ever thirst after him. “No, but now that you mention it, my stomach is sort of upset.”

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Macie asks, completely oblivious to the second conversation Greer and I are having right now.

Us adults share a secret smile as we make our way to the back of the fast-food joint and replace a seat.

I don’t miss the way people shift to look at Greer. I’m sure even if he weren’t an NHL player, he’d turn heads just on his height and build alone. I’m sure being panty-dropping hot doesn’t hurt, either.

We file into the booth, Macie choosing to sit by Greer instead of me, then we wait. They wait for their food while I wait for the awkwardness to settle in.

Except it never comes. I don’t feel weird sitting here with Greer and Macie. It feels…normal.

I watch as they talk animatedly about the upcoming game against St. Louis. Macie tells him he needs to keep his eyes on a certain player, and Greer laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s never scored against me.”

Macie’s jaw drops. “Ever?”

“Nope. I know him too well.”

“How?”

“He’s my brother.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Macie! Don’t tell people to shut up.”

“Sorry, Mom.” She sinks into her seat. “Sorry. But…” She looks up at Greer. “Are you for real?”

“Yep. He’s about six years younger than me.”

“That’s so cool. What’s it like having a sibling? I want one someday.”

My head jerks back because this is the first time Macie has ever said anything about wanting a sibling.

“It’s fine. We didn’t grow up in the same house, but we’re still really good friends.”

“That’s so cool,” Macie says.

“It is really cool,” Greer agrees. “He’s a good player.”

“Did you see his goal against Tampa? It was insane! Bet you couldn’t have blocked that.”

They argue back and forth about whether or not Greer could have stopped the puck from crossing the line, but all I can think about is what Macie said.

Do I want another kid? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. I bet it’d be amazing to see Macie in the role of older sister. I know I had a fun time being one.

But then I start thinking about how much of an age gap it would be between Macie and them. How, in just eight years, Macie will be off at college, and I’ll have free time again. Do I want to have another kid and give that up again?

Maybe if I found the right guy and the timing was right, but I’m sure with the poor state of my love life currently, it will be years before that ever happens.

“Order number 12.” Two people appear at the end of the table holding trays, and we make room for them to set everything down. They both disappear without another word, and I divvy up the food. Macie dives right into her nuggets, tearing open her barbeque sauce and plunging one after another in.

“Slow down, Mace,” I tell her.

She holds her hand over her mouth, nodding her head. “Okay.”

She chews a little slower, and I feel less concerned that she’s going to choke, turning my attention to my food. I carefully lay out each nugget, then open my sauce cup and pour some onto each chunk of meat. I grab a few fries and pop them into my mouth. That’s when I notice Greer staring at me.

“What?” I ask after I swallow.

“What the hell is that?” He nods toward my tray.

“My dinner?”

“Yeah, I can see that, but why did you dump the sauce on the nuggets?”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Macie says, still shoveling fries into her mouth. “She always does that.”

“Mind your own business, Macie.” Then I look at Greer. “You too. Isn’t that what you said earlier? No judging.”

“That deserves judging.”

“Agreed.”

I pick up a fry and toss it at my kid for that.

“Hey!” she yells before grabbing the fry and popping it into her mouth.

Greer shakes his head when I lift a sauce-covered nugget and take a bite. “Shameful.”

“What? I want even sauce distribution. It’s not weird. It’s…it’s…science!”

“Pretty sure that’s a bunch of bull—”

I narrow my eyes, cutting off his almost curse.

“Doo-doo. That’s bull doo-doo.”

“Haha. Doo-doo.” Macie giggles like a maniac, which makes Greer laugh too.

It’s my turn to shake my head at them.

And he had the balls to call Macie and me two peas in a pod. Those two have more in common than he thinks.

I wish I could say we eat our dinner without any more fry-throwing incidents, but that would be a lie. Greer lobs a handful at Macie when she steals one of his nuggets because she “can’t bear the thought of the nugget going through ketchup abuse.”

Greer empties our trays in the trash can while we don our coats.

“You girls ready?” he asks, shrugging his own jacket on and tugging his hat down lower.

Only it’s fruitless.

“Um, hey, mister?” a small voice says.

We all look down to replace a kid who probably isn’t older than six holding a pen and a piece of paper that looks like a receipt. I glance over to see a smiling young couple watching their son stare up at Greer with wonder. They both look a little starstruck too.

Greer doesn’t hesitate to drop down to his haunches, the widest and brightest grin I’ve ever seen from him stretching across his face.

“Hey, little man. How are you?”

“Are you…” The little boy swallows, the slip of paper shaking in his grasp. “Are you Mr. Greer? The goalie?”

“I sure am, buddy. What’s your name?”

“Jonathan.”

“No way! That’s my dad’s name.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes light up. “That’s so cool.”

“It really is.” Greer nods at the paper that’s now crinkled in this kid’s clutch. “Do you want me to sign that for you?”

Jonathan nods. “Please.”

“How about I do you one better, huh?” He pulls the hat off his head and reaches into his coat pocket, producing a silver marker. “You can have this hat.”

“Wow!”

The kid—right along with me—watches in wonder as Greer scribbles his name and the number 29 on the bill, and my heart melts when he places the cap on the kid’s tiny head. It’s so big it immediately falls over his eyes, causing him to laugh.

“What do you say, Jonathan?” his mother prompts.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He throws his arms around Greer’s neck, and it takes the grumpy goalie a minute to realize what’s happened, but he squeezes the boy back, patting him gently on the head.

“No problem.” Greer pulls back. “Just make sure when you’re watching our game tomorrow night, you’re cheering for us. Got it?”

Jonathan nods. “Yes, sir!”

He runs away to his parents, who both give thanks to Greer as he stands, and he waves them off, muttering a No problem before turning back to Macie and me.

“Ready, ladies?”

He says it so casually like he didn’t just give this kid a moment he’s going to remember forever in the middle of a McDonald’s.

“We’re ready,” I say, ushering Macie ahead of us but not able to take my eyes off Greer.

“What?” he asks, eyes falling to slits.

“Nothing,” I murmur.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was definitely something, and I felt it somewhere I would never have expected, especially not when it comes to Greer.

My heart.

“It’s so uncool that we had to ride in the lame-mobile when we have a perfectly awesome car we could have taken.”

“I think one ride in the death machine is enough for now,” I say to Macie, making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror.

She mutters something, but I don’t catch it, which is probably a good thing for her.

“You know, I could have brought my orange Viper ACR instead. Now that’s a death machine.”

“You have not one, but two sports cars?”

“Three.”

“Three?!” My eyes bulge at this news, and then I shake my head. “Freaking rich people, man.”

Here I am, barely chugging along in the same car I was driving in high school, and he has three cars.

He laughs. “Hey, I work hard for my money, you know.”

“You play a game.”

“A game where I work hard. Do you have any idea how many players play with bruises and broken bones?”

“They do that?”

“Of course they do. Ask Miller about the time he scored twice on Pittsburgh and then had his shoulder reset after the game because it had been popped out since the second period.”

I slide my eyes toward him. “No way.”

He nods. “Yes way.”

“It’s true, Mom. They all do it. They even put out a list of injuries at the end of the playoff runs. It’s wild.” Macie sits forward, gripping my seat and Greer’s. “But don’t worry, that won’t happen to me. I won’t be hurt—I’m a goalie.”

I’m not stupid enough to think that’s true. I’ve seen enough games over the last few years to witness the goalie get mowed over a few times. Heck, I even saw once where one had to be helped off the ice on a stretcher. It’s a dangerous sport, and I still can’t believe I’m letting her play it.

“Loretta told me about your first fall, you know.”

“Oh man.” Greer laughs. “She was so mad, made them stop the practice. Did she tell you she tried to do it again during my first game when someone bumped into me?”

“She didn’t.”

“She’s got fire, that woman.” The love in his voice is so clear. I want to tease him for being a total momma’s boy, but it’s hard when he’s so sincere about her.

“She was really nice. Not sure what happened with you.”

“Hey! I’m nice. I just gave that kid my hat.”

I smile because he did just give that kid his hat, and it might have been my favorite moment I’ve had with Greer in the two weeks we’ve been spending time together.

“Nice isn’t the word I’d use to describe you.”

He makes a noncommittal noise as we pull into the parking lot of the Comets practice arena. I don’t know how much Greer is paying for us to use this space, and while I know I should ask to be prepared to pay him back, I don’t have it in me just yet.

I learned two nights ago that my time at the law firm is coming to a quick close. They’re going down to one secretary at the end of the month, which means I need to replace a new full-time job if Scout doesn’t have use for me at the donut truck.

I steer into a parking spot a few down from Greer’s fancy sports car. I have no clue what it is because I don’t know a thing about cars, but it just looks like it’s fast.

“I could give you a ride in it, you know,” he says when he catches me staring.

“What is it?”

“It’s a ZR1.”

“Which is…”

“Corvette.”

“Ah. I thought it looked familiar. For years, my dad had a very outdated car calendar in the garage.”

“Want a ride?” He raises his brows, and for a split second, I swear he’s not talking about a ride in the car.

I give myself a shake because there is no way he means that…right?

No. Another shake.

“Guess that’s a no,” he says, pushing the car door open. “Later, kid.”

“Bye, Greer!” she says cheerfully.

He nods at me, then disappears, closing the door softly behind him.

I watch him go, watch the way his coat stretches across his broad shoulders. The way he walks with authority like he’s the boss and everyone else knows it. The way he commands attention, even when nobody is looking.

“Where are you going, Mom?”

“Huh?”

“Your door is open.”

I look down, and she’s right—my door is open. What am I doing?

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, but hurry. I want to watch some of the Minnesota game before bed.”

I can only nod as I race from the car, chasing after Greer. He must hear me because he spins on his heel, his brows raised in question when I skid to a stop in front of him.

We’re standing just a foot apart, staring at one another in the middle of a dark, nearly empty lot.

“Stevie?” Greer finally asks. “What are you doing?”

What am I doing? I’ve gone nuts. That’s the only explanation I have.

“Yes!” I blurt out.

“Yes?”

“A ride.”

His brows rise higher. “A ride?”

I nod. “Yes. A ride—in your car,” I add quickly. “I think I’d like that.”

A lazy grin pulls at his lips. “I think I’d like that too.”

“Yeah?” He nods. “Good.”

Because I’ve thrown all intelligent thoughts out the window, I push up on my toes and press my lips to his stubbled cheek. I let them linger, let the feel of the sharp prickles of his cheek brush against my lips and the way he smells like something spicy and warm wash over me.

We both know the amount of time I spend with my lips on him is inappropriate.

But we both let it happen anyway.

When I finally peel my lips away, I step back, only to replace him staring down at me with a look I’ve never seen from him before.

“Good night, Jacob.”

I swear I hear him mutter Evil woman as I walk back to the car.

“What are you smiling for?” Macie asks when I climb back inside.

“Nothing, baby. Nothing.”

It’s a lie because it’s definitely something. I’m just not sure what yet.