I took the couch. I wasn’t going to argue. I wasn’t going to have her tell me she had a spare bed in her second room. I couldn’t be in close proximity to her. I just didn’t trust myself close to her in this moment.

Which sounded so fucking stupid. I had just won game one in the Western Conference Championships. I should be out with the team, getting wasted and fucking some hockey bunny in the bathroom of a club.

I rolled my eyes at my twenty-year-old self.

At the very least, I should be popping champagne. I should be surrounded by beautiful women I didn’t care about. I should be out there with my team.

Instead, I was with Chloe. In her home - on the couch - getting ready for bed. And despite what I should be doing, I realized that this was where I wanted to be. 

“Yes, but you realize you don’t have to take the couch, right?” Chloe asked, standing at the foot of said couch, her hands on her hips.

She didn’t waste any time changing in her pajamas and wiping off her makeup the minute we got to her place. She looked... If I said beautiful, it would make me look like a pussy. 

Fresh-faced. 

Okay, beautiful.

A lot of the women I had been with before Chloe - not that I was with Chloe now, I had to remind myself - had tubs of makeup on. They could be pretty if they realized they possessed natural beauty, but a lot of these women didn’t seem to give a shit about themselves except when they realized they could use their looks in order to achieve whatever it was they wanted. Which meant waking up next to a pillow with makeup from the night before, alone, because she was in the bathroom, applying a new layer to skin she refused to shed around me.

It was all bullshit. I knew it was all bullshit. But I said nothing because I knew I didn’t want a long-term thing so I really didn’t care how these women viewed themselves. I didn’t care how they acted, how they treated themselves. I was only after satisfaction, a mutually beneficial relationship between me and her, and once it was done, it was done. I didn’t need to care about anything else.

It was only seeing Chloe in striped pajamas, a plain white T-shirt, and her blonde hair tugged into a ponytail that I realized I preferred her natural beauty to the facade everyone else liked to put on.

“If anyone tries anything, I’ll be able to hear it from down here,” I told her.

“Oh.” She pressed her lips together and cocked her head to the side. “Well, I could stay with you down here, if you want the company.”

Nope. That was a bad idea. I knew she did not mean sexually. There was an innocence about her that probably hadn’t even considered her words might be interpreted that way in the first place. For some reason, that was exactly where my head went because I was a fucking asshole pervert who found myself getting more and more attracted to Chloe with each passing hour.

But Jesus Christ, I couldn’t help it.

She wasn’t the most beautiful person on the planet but there was something about her that made her stand apart from everyone else. I didn’t know if it was as simple as saying it was her personality or if there was something more, but she had something that I couldn’t explain that made her riveting. Stunning. As in, if I thought about her during that game, I would have played like shit because I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything or anyone else. She would occupy my thoughts, fully and completely.

And that scared that shit out of me.

“You need to sleep,” I told her, trying to make my voice come out as rational. Instead, it came out raspy and strained. Like I didn’t know how to speak. 

She plopped down next to me, a yawn decorating her face. “I’m not tired,” she said through her yawn.

I snorted. I slid off my old, green hoodie, leaving me in a white wife beater and grey sweatpants. I typically slept naked but I didn’t want to push my limits with her, with her home. I could deal with some clothes for now. At least her couch felt comfortable.

“That was an awesome game,” she said from beside me, staring straight ahead at her flatscreen television.

It was dark, the only light coming from the upstairs hallway. It gave the atmosphere an intimate feel to it and I shifted in my seat because even though she was sitting on the other side of me, it still felt too close.

“It was my first hockey game,” she continued, turning to look at me. 

It was only then that I realized she wasn’t ready to go to sleep. Or maybe she didn’t want to be alone. Either way, she wanted to be around me and even though there was nothing more I wanted than to push her away, I found I couldn’t. Because I wanted to be around her, too.

I also couldn’t blame her, wanting to be around someone after what she had been through. Even if it was me. I didn’t think I was the best candidate for distraction unless we were doing something physical like exercising or sex. Talking was not my strong suit.

“There were lots of fights,” she said, looking at me with a curious look in her blue eyes.

“It changes the momentum of the game,” I explained. “It gets the crowd back into it. If we’re going to lose, especially at home, might as well give the fans some kind of entertainment. I know our ticket prices are decently priced since we haven’t made playoffs in the twenty years we were created but someone is still paying money to put on a good show. I have a generous contract to try hard and do my best. The least I can do is give them something that they want.”

“Yes, but it’s not your fault if you are trying and other players on your team aren’t,” Chloe said. “Fighting can be used as a strategy, sure. It can be used to defend your teammates, especially when there’s no call on the game. But if you’re losing and you decide to fight just because you think you owe us something, that’s when you start to play the fool, Art. Your team is better than that.”

I felt my lips curl up slightly. “I thought you didn’t know much about hockey,” I pointed out.

“I don’t,” she agreed, “but I know about human psychology. I know that it sounds like you take a lot of responsibility for other people.”

“Whether I like it or not, it’s a team effort,” I replied. “My play can only be measured against my worst player. My goal is to make sure that that isn’t me. But even if it’s not, it won’t matter.”

She was silent for a moment, and before I realized what was happening, her head rested on my shoulder. I didn’t even know if she was aware that she was doing it in the first place.

“I thought you played amazing,” she finally said.

I was tense under her touch, completely paralyzed. I didn’t know how to act or react or whatever the fuck I was supposed to do in this situation. All I knew was that her skin was warm and soft and from where she positioned her head, I could smell vanilla shampoo. She smelled wonderful and I allowed myself a moment to breathe her in, to close my eyes and relax as best as I could while being around her. She had this profound effect on me and I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. All I knew was that it was a thing. And I had to deal with it, considering I was the asshole who suggested we pretend to be more than what we were.

Which meant dealing with her close proximity. Dealing with her invading all of my senses until I was too fucking overwhelmed to make sense of what I was feeling and thinking.

“Did you know,” she said in a soft voice that I had to still my breathing in order to hear what she had to say, “that you have so many muscles but that they’re surprisingly comfortable?”

I chuckled despite myself. I wasn’t expecting that from her. Raw honesty mixed with a sprinkle of innocence. It described her to a tee.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I never knew what to say to anything she said to me. I always felt uncomfortable, as though I wasn’t smart enough to open my mouth around her. I had barely graduated from the University of Michigan after receiving a scholarship to play on their hockey team but was drafted in the sixth round after just after my first year. I decided to defer to college and get my degree because my mom pushed me to do that but I barely went to class and my professors fudged my grades so I could stay on the team. 

I felt like such an ass when I was younger, like I didn’t deserve my success later on because of how I acted then. It also made me subconscious about my intelligence. I had been around the block a few times and was confident in my ability to know the streets and possess some semblance of common sense. But when it came to outright intelligence and book smarts, I did not feel like I could hold my own with someone who graduated because they wanted to get a degree.

I didn’t know for sure if Chloe was one of those people but she spoke like she was educated. Even so, she never made me feel like an asshole, like some dumb jock. Even if she did compliment my muscles.

“I met the girlfriends,” I heard her murmur. 

I didn’t know how I could tell but I knew she was getting tired and was at the point where she was going to fall asleep soon. I should probably insist she head upstairs but I couldn’t find it in me to move her from my side.

“They all seemed nice,” she continued when I remained quiet. “They were all pleased to hear that me and you were together, just so you know. They think you’re very good looking but they wanted to see you with someone. Settle down. That whole thing. I think you remind them of Hugh Jackman from Wolverine. As Wolverine, I should say.” She suddenly sat up straight and gave me a peculiar look. “You guys both have the same name! Are you related in some way? Because, if so, I can clearly see the family resemblance.”

I chuckled despite myself. This woman was ridiculous. But it made her adorable. And I liked that about her. She was different. She was honest and sweet and clumsy and she had baggage. But I was a goddamn trainwreck and she didn’t judge me for it. She had no expectations of me. 

“They are all very nice,” I agreed. “I always tell the guys not to fuck anything up with them since women like them are so hard to come by.”

She was silent for a moment. “Not really,” she murmured.

I glanced down at her. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“There are good women all around, Art,” she said as though it was obvious. “I just don’t think you’re looking for them.”

“You think?” I asked.

She nodded her head against me, her eyes slipping shut.

“You’re a cliché,” she said. “You want beauty but only for a temporary amount of time. I may not be as beautiful as the women you’re with but I’m sure I’d stick around, even after this whole hockey thing was over.”

I was surprised by her admittance and I felt my heart quicken. When I looked down at her, however, I realized she had fallen asleep against me. Which probably meant she had no idea what she was saying.

It would be wrong of me to move her, to wake her up, so I didn’t. Instead, I pulled her closer to me and fell asleep surprisingly quick.