We lost our second game.

I, for one, was pissed.

We came out strong. We came out ready to play. But the refs started calling us for everything - offsides when it could have gone either way. There was a goal that was waived off even though it was clearly over the line but under the goalie pads of the opposing goalie. Brett Evans and I agreed to go, agreed to fight, but the linesman gave me an extra two minutes for roughing even though it was a gentleman’s agreement. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

However, those thoughts, that anger, went out the window when I stood in the locker room, listening to Cherney talk about playing a more controlled, more disciplined game when we went over to Seattle.

I realized I would be leaving Chloe alone. I should have already known this. Playoff schedules didn’t change. We were lucky we had home ice during every single game so far. But I was uneasy leaving her.

Which was -

I was going to say stupid. But it wasn’t stupid. I was protective of her. That much was true. There was no denying it now. I liked her. Probably more than I should.

After we were dismissed, I showered and left as quickly as I could. A couple of media people had questions for me, something I wasn’t used to unless they wanted to talk about a goal I scored or a hit I made. But considering I had a good fight and got called for a penalty, I was sure someone had questions. I answered them as quickly and as tactfully as I could. 

I wanted to see Chloe. I had to see her.

It was a strange sensation only because I felt almost desperate. Like I was paranoid something had happened to her during the game even though I got her the same seat as before and every now and then, I would look up to check on her.

And when I walked out of that locker room, as calmly as I could though I was certain there was urgency on my face, I looked for her again. Like I was some desperate fool. And maybe I was. But I just had to see her. I had to make sure she was okay.

And there she was, looking at me in a red Christmas sweater with a white Mickey Mouse outline, tight jeans that hugged her form, and white high tops. She had natural makeup and her blonde hair was under a Gulls cap in pigtails.

She looked... wonderful.

 I hoped she couldn’t see the awe on my face. It was petty but I didn’t want her to know that I had these feelings for her. I didn’t want to scare her away.

Because these feelings - these fucking feelings - were not something I anticipated in my entire life. I wasn’t the sort of guy who fell for a girl no matter how cute or how desperately hopeless she was. And not hopeless in a pathetic helpless she-can’t-do-anything-on-her-own type of hopeless. More like a she was clumsy and intelligent and babbled and awkward and beautiful and it was me that was fucking hopeless.

Me. Not her.

Jesus, something was wrong with me. But I didn’t give a crap anymore. I genuinely didn’t care. I liked this girl. I wanted to be around her. I wanted to be with her. I wanted to touch her and hold her and kiss her and fall asleep with her because we were together, not because we were faking it thanks to her fucking asshole-ex.

“Hi,” she said, looking up at me with bright eyes and a smile.

I couldn’t help it. I fucking couldn’t help it.

I leaned down and kissed her. My hand clutched her cheek - I had no idea but I was obsessed with holding her cheek - and tilted her head back, allowing my lips to touch hers for the briefest of moments.

This was our second kiss and while they hadn’t gotten passionate, they were everything I needed. It was enough. She was enough. I hoped I was enough for her but I highly doubted I could ever be the man that could deserve her.

But maybe, maybe I could try to be.

When I pulled back, I could see the surprise in her blue eyes and I bit back a smirk. It was nice to know I still had the ability to sweep a woman off of her feet without the pretense of my fame or money or even my sexuality.

“Hi,” I said.

I completely ignored the fact that we had an audience, that the rest of the girlfriends were watching us with smirks on their faces.

Honestly, I could give a fuck.

I didn’t care what they thought - though, in fairness to them, I didn’t think there was any maliciousness in their gazes. They all seemed sweet and good for who they were with. But their particular fascination with my love life - or lack thereof - wasn’t any of their business, even if they were trying to quote-unquote help me.

All I cared about was getting Chloe home safe. And maybe sneak in a kiss or two again under the pretense of practicing.

Or something.

Anything that might make it believable.

Any reason to kiss her again.

I took her hand in mine without asking and we walked down the long hallway and out the metal doors together into the surprisingly cold May evening. Typically, it was fresh but somewhat warm. Tonight, it was cold where even I wished I had my green zip up somewhere accessible so I could throw it on.

Chloe didn’t seem particularly phased by the cool evening, probably because she was one of the few women I knew who had actually prepared for it. She had a sweater so she didn’t need to borrow mine. She didn’t need me to prove I cared about her by noticing something as innocuous as whether or not she was cold.

She allowed me to hold her hand and even laced her fingers through mine. It amazed me how small and delicate her hand was, how if I really wanted to, and with no effort on my part, I could squeeze her hand and break every bone there. It was just another reminder how petite she was, how vulnerable. She was feisty, she had a mouth on her, but her body needed protecting. Maybe there were some self-defense moves I could show her that would allow her to keep herself protected when I was away.

Not that I had anything to do with this...

I rolled my eyes. I had no idea what I was doing anymore. I just knew I wanted to be around her always. I wanted her to be safe if I had to leave. I wish I could take her with me wherever I went.

When we got into my car - because I asked if she wanted to go together and she actually agreed - I opened the door for her and helped her inside. 

The drive was quiet. Things were new. Whatever this was, it was delicate even in all its pretending glory. But the silence wasn’t awkward, surprisingly enough. It was maybe tense but not awkward. Like this was something we could get through. Like it wouldn’t always be like this.

But I still needed to break it. I still needed to talk.

“I’m going away.”

I was good at ruining things. I watched as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh through her nose. I wasn’t adept at her moods yet but I was learning. However, even I couldn’t figure out if that was a good sign or not. Probably not, if I had to guess.

“I know,” she murmured, looking out her window. “I know you are.”

“I.” I cleared my throat. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, but it was my own fucking fault for bringing it up in the first place. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you by yourself, if I’m being honest.”

I watched as she shifted in her seat, her eyes still fixed outside the window.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said finally.

“I do.” The words came out quick and insistent. I hadn’t meant to sound forceful but she needed to realize she couldn’t just look at herself like she wasn’t worth worrying over. Because she was. “If I could take you with me, I would.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go,” she said.

I gave her a sharp look. Now she was just being antagonistic.

“Why not?” I asked her.

I didn’t mean to sound offended. I understood that she had to do what she had to do in order to feel safe. But if she knew anything about me, she would know that this never happened. Taking a woman on a road trip with me while I played hockey was not something I did or even wanted to do. It wasn’t because I wanted the freedom to hang out with the guys and go explore the new city at night after a game or a practice. I didn’t need someone’s permission to decide whether or not I wanted to go to a bar or a club or whether I wanted to relax in the hotel room.

I liked the freedom of not having anyone to entertain. I didn’t have to concern myself with anyone except myself - and quite possibly Dean, who took it upon himself to be with multiple women every night we were away, sometimes at the same time. The bastard was as old as I was, but he was a charmer and girls as young as eighteen, nineteen, would flock to him and drop to their knees just to please him.

To be honest, I thought that was all for show. He had to have been hurt by someone to push everyone away, to hide behind a cloud of lust and legs and lipstick marks.

“Because you don’t need the distraction,” Chloe said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the last thing you need. Especially when you’re so close at achieving every hockey player’s dream.”

I looked at her with a furrowed brow. The urge to kiss her was surprisingly overwhelming and I had to curl my fingers into fists and dig my nails into my palms to keep me from going over and doing just that. As much as I wanted to, I also wanted to finish the conversation.

It touched me that she would put my own needs above hers. Maybe I had just surrounded myself with shitty women. Maybe I didn’t realize what it meant to be with someone who actually cared about my wellbeing and who wanted me to do what I needed to do in order to achieve what I needed to achieve. I was with women who put themselves and their needs first. Chloe wasn’t that type and I didn’t think she ever was. But it was nice to be reassured that she was exactly who I thought she was.

“You are important to me,” I told her.

It was a major statement, coming from me, and judging by the surprised look on her face, I could tell she knew that as well.

“And you’re important to me,” she replied as we made our way inside her place. “I am a grown adult. I’ve been taking care of myself this long. I can do it without you. Even though I want you here and I appreciate that you are here, we can’t live our lives based on him. It’s my biggest regret, that I did that, and I promised myself I would never go it again. Even so, I catch myself doing it, acting based on him, and I hate myself for it. I’m not going to let you do the same thing.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t going to argue with her. Instead, I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. It was hard for me to let her go so I let myself linger. It was hard to remember that this whole thing between us was supposed to be pretend.