Page 31 of Puck Me Twice

I shrug. “Fine. I expected some asshole dude-bro hockey player with a stick up his ass.”

Sven snorts, mumbling something in Swedish.

“You’re not what I expected,” I repeat. “And I’m so glad for that.”

eleven

. . .

Vanessa

We sit at the counter and eat our breakfast. The bread has to cool, so it’s not ready to be sliced, he explains. He also doesn’t have a kitchen table by design—he doesn’t like them. I don’t quite get it, but that’s okay, because it’s not something I have to understand. It’s his life, his house, his kitchen. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with it.

“What are you up to today?” I ask as I finish off my eggs. I was hungrier than I thought, because they practically disappeared as soon as I sat down.

Today is a day off—the league-mandated day off—because they’ve had so many consecutive days of games and training.

Sven shrugs. “Bake some more bread, maybe go for a swim.”

The training facility doesn’t have a pool. I wonder where he goes. The guys generally don’t go to non-team facilities because of the risk of getting mobbed by fans. Even the most stoic of bodybuilders turn into giggling fans in the presence of the hockey team.

I wait for him to ask what I’m doing, but he doesn’t.

Does he not care? Or does he not realize that’s the expected way to continue the conversation?

Sven is absorbed by his meal. He takes his coffee with a splash of almond milk. Rupert is perched on his shoulder. Every so often, he offers her a piece of the eggs from his palm, and she guzzles it down.

He’s surprisingly affectionate when it comes to the bird.

I should probably stop calling her “the bird.”

“What kind of bird is Rupert?” I ask. The name intrigues me. You don’t find a lot of Ruperts nowadays, especially not in female birds.

Sven trails a finger over her neck. “She’s an African Gray Parrot. She’s not allowed to leave the house and all the windows are screened so she can’t get loose. Other than that, she gets pretty much free rein of the place.”

“She wasn’t out last night?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

“Rupert goes to bed pretty early. Her cage is in the living room. She has a perch upstairs, but I don’t sleep so well when she’s in my room.” His cheeks tint pink.

Even though he didn’t ask, mentally, I run through my schedule for the rest of the week. I didn’t have to work yesterday—Scott was on shift—and after Tuesday’s home game, I’m supposed to travel with the team to Pittsburgh for my first road trip. Wednesday and Thursday, I’ll work from the team’s hotel, handling anything the staff requires. After Thursday night’s game, we head on to Philadelphia for a quick back-to-back game.

We’re scheduled to get back to Boston Friday night—or rather, Saturday morning, since the private plane doesn’t leave until close to midnight. It’s a quick hour-and-a-half flight. Doesn’t make getting home from work at two o’clock in the morning any more appealing.

At least being on the same schedule as the players will give me some consistency. Right now, my schedule can be pretty volatile as Jacky, Scott, and I rotate to provide coverage. Since I’m filling in for Jacky (and she’s handling my duties back at the arena), it makes sense for me to absorb most of the travel.

And—well, it gets me closer to Sven.

The man sitting in front of me clears his throat. “There’s a party.”

“Oh?” I’ve never known him to be interested in parties.

“The team.” Sven focuses on a point somewhere behind me and to the left. “Next week, there’s a Halloween party.”

“Oh.”

Is he asking me to go with him?

“What sort of costume do you like?”