Olivia pats my thigh. “That’s not true, Adam.”
“Yeah, Adam.” Jennie snickers. “They have toys for that so you don’t have to do any of the work yourself. You don’t have to doom yourself to a life of arthritis.”
I roll my eyes and toss a pillow at her and Cara when they high-five. I always knew Jennie had a mouth like her brother’s, but it’s been nice seeing her really come into herself since she and Garrett have been together.
“Okay.” Cara pulls out a clipboard and a pen, then slips on a pair of glasses, which she promptly slides down her nose so she can stare at me over the rim of them. “Tell us about our leading lady.”
I smash another handful of chips and frown when Olivia takes the bowl away. “Her name is Rosie.”
“Rosie!” Cara scrawls it on the paper, adds my name and a plus sign, then surrounds it with a heart. “So cute. Love it. Tell us everything.”
“Well, I met her last weekend when I was hiking with Bear. He knocked her over. She was walking a dog from the shelter she volunteers at. And she shared her sandwich with me. And she wants to be a vet. And I went back to the shelter this morning because Jaxon said I should go, and I accidentally insinuated that I liked eating her out, but I was talking about her sandwiches, and then it turns out she made two extra sandwiches for me just in case she saw me again. She’s so kind and thoughtful, and she’s really patient and sweet with the dogs. And she’s got these tiny, gold freckles on her nose, and sometimes she snorts when she laughs, and she’s got, like, honey-colored hair, but the ends are all pink, and it hangs above her shoulders, and she makes me smile a lot, and she’s just really…” I trail off as the silence around me sinks in. Four pairs of eyes watch, waiting, smiling. I swallow. “Cute.”
Olivia squeezes my hand. “She sounds so wonderful already, Adam.”
“Pink hair,” Cara murmurs.
“I want pink fucking hair,” Jennie adds.
“Sounds like you guys had a connection,” Hank pipes up. “So what do you need help with?”
“This just feels…different. I don’t want to treat this date like every other date. We might actually have a chance at something here. I want to make sure I do it right.”
“So where are you taking her on Wednesday?” Cara holds up her clipboard and grins. She’s drawn a picture of Rosie based off my description. It’s surprisingly accurate, except she has sticks for limbs. “Nailed it.”
“I’m not sure yet. Somewhere private would be nice, without the pressure.”
“What about a picnic dinner?” Jennie suggests. “That could be nice.”
“And it’ll just be the two of you, so you don’t have to worry about photographers, or people asking for signatures,” Olivia adds. “That can be really overwhelming at first. You hockey men attract attention everywhere you go.”
I nod, but a sick feeling creeps into my stomach. “There’s just, like, one super small issue.” I hold up my thumb and forefinger, peeking between the tiny gap. “Teeny tiny, really. Rosie, um…she doesn’t watch hockey.”
Jennie shrugs. “Not a big deal. We can teach her.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s…” I shake my curls out. Scratch my throat. Clap a fist into my opposite hand as I jump to my feet and walk three steps to the right, then spin, shove a hand through my hair, and point at nothing. “Yeah, that’s not what I meant. I mean, she, uh…she doesn’t know who I am.”
Jennie’s brows jump. Olivia’s jaw drops. Hank runs a hand over his mouth while letting out a long exhale. Cara grins, chuckles in a bit of an evil way, and starts writing on her clipboard.
“Hidden…identity…” She underlines it three times. “I love this trope.”
Olivia shakes her head. “Okay, let’s back up. When you say she doesn’t know who you are…?”
“I told her my full name and she simply gave me hers back. She thinks I’m a regular guy.”
“Well, you are a regular guy,” Jennie argues.
Cara nods. “A regular guy who brings in over fifteen mill a year between his contract as one of the best goalies in the NHL and all his brand sponsorships. Just a totally regular, blue-collar guy.” Her blue eyes stay on mine, the corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she adds one more painfully slow line beneath the words hidden identity .
I scrub my hands over my face and groan, flopping back onto the couch. “I fucked up. We haven’t even had our date yet and I fucked up.”
“That’s not true,” Olivia insists. “Has your job come up organically in conversation?”
I shake my head.
“Then you haven’t done anything wrong. You can tell her on Wednesday.”
I sit on her words for a few moments, contemplating everything that could go wrong rather than everything that could go right. Maybe I am a worst-case scenario expert, just like Rosie.
“I’m scared,” I finally admit. “I know it’s early, but something feels so different with her. It feels natural and easy and I’ve got fucking…” I throw my arm out and sigh, hating that I’m about to say this word. “Butterflies. When I’m with her, when I think of her…Everything feels new and exciting and hopeful. But what if I’m wrong about this?”
“You’ve spent two days with her, just being able to be yourself, without everything that comes with being a big NHL hotshot. Sure, it doesn’t seem like much, but without all that pressure, neither of you has any reason to be someone you’re not. Does Rosie seem like the type to be dishonest about who she is?”
“No,” I answer without hesitation. “She’s given me no reason to think she’s being someone she’s not. It’s just…”
“That’s what you know,” Jennie says, nodding. “I get it, Adam. You’re used to dating people who give you one side at first, to get your time and attention, and once they have it, they show you the real them.” She shakes her head, a sad look in her eyes. “It’s deceitful, and when all you’re looking for is a genuine connection, a person in your corner, it’s just…sad.”
My heart aches for Jennie, the shit she’s been through. She spent too many years being wanted for the wrong reasons too. It’s where she and I are similar, and I feel a little less alone.
But I want to be where she is now, on the other side of it. Did she feel this lonely while she waited? Did she feel like she didn’t even know herself? Because I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself along the way, and I hate it.
“There’s no rush,” Cara chimes in, gaze holding all the softness that lingers beneath the sarcasm and badassery. “Meet her where she’s at, let her do the same with you, and enjoy every moment of getting to know each other along the way.” She quirks a brow and tilts her head. “And if she turns out like all the others, or worse—” she gags “—she-who-must-not-be-named , then we get ten cartons of eggs and a Costco pack of toilet paper, and we go to her house in the middle of the night, and we—”
“No.”
“But we—”