Page 69 of Sportsball is for Lovers

Nodding, I think back over the last few weeks. “It’s new, but it’s been pretty great so far.”

“I’m happy for you, babe,” Sullivan says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

“What? No, I haven’t. I don’t date.” I shake my head. “I didn’t date. But that was on purpose.”

“Yeah. And now you found someone that made you change your mind about that.” He nudges me. “That’s not a bad thing. When you wanted to be single, you were single. When you found the right guy, you did something about it.”

“I don’t know that he’s the right guy…”

Elsy raises her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. It’s just—we’ve only been together for a little while. We’re still getting to know each other.”

She sighs. “Just don’t wish away a good thing looking for the bad. He might genuinely be a good person.”

Elsy’s coming off a rough breakup with the second chair clarinetist in her symphony. She’s been pretty tight-lipped about what happened, only that it was not a mutual decision and decidedly not amicable. Even her music isn’t bringing her solace these days.

My heart aches for her pain. She is such a good egg. All she wants is to love and be loved in return.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing that gene. Since Sammy imploded my life five years ago, relationships were the last thing I wanted. I didn’t want to be with anyone. I went out, I hooked up, and got my needs met.

But with Jared… I like coming together at the end of the day. Whether I’ve been in the writing cave or at the bookstore, he always asks about my day and what I’ve been working on. He’s offered suggestions when I’ve been stuck on a plot point and rubbed my feet while I vented about the new hire at the shop. He cares.

I’m not used to someone caring about me.

Oh, I’m sure my friends do. They love me, and I love them. But it’s a different kind of caring, surface-level and cursory.

Sullivan passes me the popcorn. Johanna’s barely made a dent in it, which is fine, because there’s enough for all nine of us to partake and still have leftovers.

“How’s the book coming along?” he asks lightly.

“I’m in the part where they’re falling in love but too dumb to notice it,” I report.

He hums.

“What?”

“Sound familiar?” he teases.

I scrunch my face. “No?”

With a snort, he shakes his head. “You’re cute.”

Johanna, on his other side, looks over at us. “She is cute,” she comments blandly. “I still don’t do threesomes.”

I choke.

“You know I only have eyes for you, babe,” Sullivan says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

She laughs, leaning into his embrace, but when I catch her eye, she winks.

She knows I’m not trying to encroach on her man. She’s got him wrapped around her pinky finger just fine on her own.

As the third period starts up and play resumes on the ice, I lose myself in the comfortable familiarity of the game. Between Ceci and Vanessa’s connections to the team and my own research for my books, I’ve spent a lot of time watching hockey. I’ve been in Boston for five years and am a genuine fan of the black and gold Grizzlies.

Who would have thought a sports-averse girl from Arizona would become a sports romance writer who actually enjoys watching sports? I used to call all athletic endeavors “sportsball” because it was so boring to me. And now I genuinely enjoy watching and even, gasp, participating.

Sometimes. Watching is usually more fun. Especially with all the eye-candy.