Page 23 of Checking from Behind

"Hey." I said, stopping at their table. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Marshall, what are you doing here?" She asked, her voice flat.

"Had a game. Guys and I are celebrating the win." I gestured toward the bar where Jeremy, Ashford, and the others were watching the scene unfold.

Her date looked up at me. In two seconds, three expressions washed across his face. Confusion, recognition, then excitement.

"Wait! It can't be. Marshall Hayes? Boston Enforcers?"

"Yep, that's me." I said, turning my gaze back to Lillah.

"Holy shit." I looked over at him as he got up out of his seat and extended his hand.

His grip was firm, but the palm of his hand was soft and dry.

"Hank Whitmore. I am a huge fan. I've been following you since the draft. Your skating speed is insane. Your stats say you can move at twenty-three miles per hour in a straight sprint. Pretty impressive, not to mention that one-timer against Tampa in the home opener-top corner, glove side. I must have watched that replay at least ten times. What was your time on that breakaway in the second period?"

"Hank!" Lillah's voice rang out. "We are in the middle of dinner."

Hank looked at her, then at me. I could see him thinking.

"You know Marshall Hayes? Like, personally?" He asked her.

"He's my neighbor." Lillah said, letting out a sigh.

"Wow, incredible. I can't believe your neighbor is Marshall Hayes." He whispered as he sat back down. "How long have you…"

"About a month." I answered. "Give or take, I guess. We've had some…interactions."

Lillah looked at me.

"Interactions?" she repeated, her eyes meeting mine. For a second, the entire room went quiet. Her expression could have peeled paint off the wall. There was something else in it besides anger and annoyance, something that matched what I was feeling. An invisible wire pulled tight between us.

Hank didn't notice. He was too busy being a fan.

"Man, the Enforcers are having a hell of a start to this season. You guys are what, five and two? I can't believe the way the forward line is clicking and the chemistry between you and Thatcher is unreal. I was telling my buddy, you guys may make the playoffs this year. What is your take on the Eastern Conference…"

"It's our first date." Lillah said, cutting him off. "And Marshall, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it."

I looked over at her as she raised her eyes to mine. The electricity between us was the same as it had been that night on the porch. Even though she had told me she wanted me to leave, her eyes were saying something different.

"Of course. Sorry to have interrupted." I said, looking at Hank, "It was nice to meet you, man. Enjoy the rest of your night."

I didn't wait for him to reply. I turned around and made my way back to the bar, my groin pulsing with every step, reminding me that standing at a bar for hours wasn't on Dr. Reeves' approved activity list. I took a seat across from Jeremy, adjusting my weight to take the pressure off my left side and drank the whiskey that was waiting for me.

"How'd that go?" Jeremy chuckled.

"Great."

"Really, because you look like you swallowed a lemon. A whole one, sideways."

Ignoring Jeremy, I turned to my drink, watching Lillah and Hank from across the room. Hank was talking, his hands moving, animated and enthusiastic. Lillah was listening, but her posture had changed. She was stiffer, her shoulders pulled back, her back straight against the chair, and her wineglass sat in front of her like a shield. She was nodding, but her mind was somewhere else.

Her eyes drifted across the room to where I sat. She glanced at me, the sort of look that could be denied if someone noticed. Only I noticed it every time because I still couldn't take my eyes off her.

So, I lifted my glass to her. A small raise, letting her know I saw her watching me.

She tore her eyes away and took a sip of her wine, now focusing on Hank.