Page 60 of Goalie Interference

“No. I think this might have been my first one, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure that’s what it even was. You know, I just blurted that out. You should know by now that you can’t take everything that I say seriously.”

“There is difference between you joking around and exaggerating, and you clearly being in distress.”

“I’m not in distress now,” he says and I can hear him let out a soft sigh on the other end of the line.

Hearing it brings an image of him to my mind. Easy, almost lazy smile. Blue eyes, bright but also a little tired from the day. Hair, slightly a mess from lounging in bed all day. I bet he’s wearing a pair of Blizzards sweatpants and sweatshirt.

“And what about tomorrow? You have another game to play.”

“I think I’m alright. This helps.”

Heat creeps up my chest and neck. I like that I can do this for him. “I am glad.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” My heart rate picks up in anticipation. Who knows what he’s about to ask? It could literally be anything from do you have a preference in brand for your goalie pads, to have you ever been attracted to another man before. No matter what, I’ll always tell him the truth.

“Do you think it’s weird that you’re my lucky charm?”

A bark of a laugh escapes me. That definitely falls somewhere in the middle of the two options. “Yes and no.”

“That’s not an answer.” I know without seeing him that he’s furrowing his brow. If I could, I’d reach through the screen and use my finger to smooth the deep line away.

“Yes, it is weird that I am lucky charm. We are technically rivals. I should not be helping you.”

“Oh.” His voice falls.

“But…” I say, making my tone light and teasing. “We are goalies and everything we do is weird.”

He laughs at my statement.

“And also,” I continue, “I want to play against and hold my own with the best in league. If helping you win games down the stretch to the playoffs makes it so I can compete against the best, then no, it is not weird.”

“Plus,” he says, “it’s not like we actually play against each other. I mean, we do, but we’re not taking shots on each other. You play on your end and I play on mine.”

“Exactly,” I say. “If ruffling your brother’s too-long hair was your lucky superstition, that would be a different story.”

“Is that really what you do on the Mules?”

“Yes. That and betting on where your brother will throw up his dinner before game.”

Ander laughs again. “He still has that nervous stomach, huh?”

“Yes. Nervous. All the time. You two are very much alike.”

“Do you calm him down as well?”

There’s a strange underpinning to his voice and question. Almost as if he is jealous. I shouldn’t find that adorable, but I do.

“Do not worry,” I say. “Calming Baby down is Ryan’s job.”

Ander chuckles like the big brother that he is. “He’s got his hands full, that’s for sure. Hey,” he says, suddenly sounding shy. “Are you still coming for Christmas?”

The affection for him that flows through me at his question is all-consuming. I’m a goner. “I am,” I say. “Assuming invitation is still valid.”

“It is,” he says, and for the first time it hits me. Maybe I’m not the only one wishing this was something more.

Ander