“What are you doing?!”
“Natalie, what are you talking about?” my dad asked.
I was hollering into my iPhone as I drove home from Target. My hands gripped the wheel to stop from shaking. “You’re trading James?”
He paused. My father respected my love for hockey and knowledge of the game in a way that most men never would. Hell, he’d taught me everything I knew. And he’d always kept a very watchful eye as his young daughter ran in close company with twenty five big, aggressive guys used to getting what they want.
“You’re calling him James now?”
“Uggghhh!” I groaned. “Neal, James Neal, whatever. I assume he has a middle name but I don’t know it. Number 18. You’re trading him?”
“It’s not entirely up to me, but we need defense and Neal was marketable. We got Gologoski.”
I jerked so hard my car nearly went off the road. “Pi... Pittsburgh? He’s going to Pittsburgh?”
My dad lowered his voice. “Yes. Happy now? You know any player in their right mind wants to go there. And the second Crosby’s back, Neal will probably be his linemate.”
“Wow.” I tried to get my brain around it. I wish I’d known that, I would have at least told him congratulations. If I could stop kissing him long enough.
“You mad at me? I always trade away the cute guys?” my dad teased, our age old argument.
“Still mad about Modano, Dad. Never getting over that one.”
I managed to end the conversation without asking for James’ number. Or his address. He’d be home now, packing. Probably alone, judging by his appearance in Target. How a guy like that was alone for thirty seconds was beyond me.
I am not allowed to date the players on my dad’s team. That black and white rule has been in effect since I started shaving my legs. In exchange, I get all the perks I want - a job in the communications department that came with with season tickets and road trips and fun events. I love hockey, and my dad always reasoned that it was just a matter of time before I fell in love with a hockey player. Hence the rule. Plus I understood the team dynamic well enough to know that it would never work - me and someone on the roster. Not that it stopped me from considering the fact. Hell, I’m only 23. But I mostly turned my attention on other teams, and got ragged endlessly for it.
“Blackhawks tomorrow, Nat!” Brendan Morrow called out as I passed the equipment room door. I stuck my head inside where guys were shaping and taping sticks.
“Take your pick, Natalie,” Adam Burish offered of his former team. “A lot of those guys owe me favors.”
My dad chose that moment to arrive, already rolling his eyes. He stopped in the middle of the room, looked right at me and said in a very fatherly voice, “Absolutely no Patrick Kane.”
I looked at him, but spoke to the Adam. “Like I need your favors, Burish!”
To avoid any potential problems, I was just casual friends with the younger, single guys. We hung out on the road but always in groups and I went home before things got wild. It was bad enough to be the girl whose daddy got her a job – which I was. I didn’t want anyone to have anything else to talk about. Luckily the Stars were not the Penguins or Blackhawks and I wasn’t bombarded with enough sex appeal to sink a ship.
But there was James. He was friendly and kind of quiet. It’s hard for unassuming guys to make a lot of noise in an NHL locker room, they’re drowned out by so many loudmouths. James’ play spoke for itself though, and when we arrived in his second season he was already an emerging young star. A coach’s dream. Yet something about his personality told me he was never the guy that got all the girls. Maybe he’d been an awkward teen - kind of gangly with a lot of teeth. But he’d grown into it and all I saw was that heartbreakingly beautiful face. His smile was like an arrow and I knew to stay out of range.
I always wondered if I was good enough to hide it. None of the players joked about it; not any more than they tried to marry me off to everyone under thirty. I never treated James differently and I guess my sidelong glances and sighs had been pretty stealthy.
So James Neal had been my real-life, boy-next-door, off-limits crush for almost two years. And now he was leaving.
____
I sat on my suitcase and thought about doing it: calling her dad, asking for her address. But how? Now that I’m finally leaving can I spend my last night with your daughter? I’d never make it to Pittsburgh at all.
Someone would have it, or know where she lived. My housemate Brad Richards would have it - he was far more famous than I. But the same story applied to the guys: they’d never let Natalie live it down afterward either. She was always so careful to be appropriate around us and it always seemed she went home when she really wanted to stay out. I couldn’t risk ruining that for her. I wanted to believe it wasn’t easy, but she probably didn’t want any of us anyway.
She laughed at my jokes though. Sometimes I caught her smiling right after I smiled and I desperately wanted to be the reason. Sometimes I caught her looking away just as I looked at her, or she caught me staring. Whenever our eyes met I blushed - for two years, every single time. But she was so friendly with everyone and definitely spent more time with other guys. I convinced myself it couldn’t be me.
Now I was leaving, and with the taste of her still sugary on my lips.
Had everything changed? I lay awake for a long time, thinking about leaving this house, this city. Maybe I couldn’t call Natalie, but there was nothing left to stop me from thinking about her - about the press of her mouth to mine, the scent of her skin. The panic that had shown in her eyes stabbed into my stomach. I let myself go back, drop the things I held and grab handfuls of her slender waist. I wrapped her in and kissed her back like I had wanted to for so long. In my little fantasy, Natalie never pulled away.
I thought of us as a couple - the same PG-13 daydreams I’d been nursing all this time. In my mind, she loved to cook. We’d hang out in the kitchen, drinking wine and Natalie would laugh at the awkward way I cut things left-handed. She’d drive us home from the airport after road trips because I never woke up right from the plane rides. Natalie in a snowball fight, a pillow fight; Natalie in a great dress putting on her makeup. I may have been insane but something about her said she liked to be the little spoon.
My fingers twitched with the desire to call her. She would answer sleepily from a big, empty be and order me to come over right now. I’d break the sound barrier on the way. Natalie would tell me where she hid the extra key so I could let myself in, find my own way to her room and climb right into bed, in the dark and stay up all night.
____
What if I had it? What if I asked my dad for James’ number, or called one of the other guys for it? They would give it to me, of course, and spend the rest of the year speculating wildly at the top of their lungs about what happened on that last night. I couldn’t risk it. These guys were great but... they couldn’t know. I put my phone in my purse on the kitchen table, put a towel over it and left it there.
I went to bed early, wide awake with my heart pounding. Somewhere within a thirty minute drive, James was probably in bed too. I wondered if he was awake, if he was thinking about me and why the hell I kissed him out of nowhere at the worst possible moment. I wondered if he had my number, or could get it. I got my phone from the kitchen just in case.
But he didn’t call. And I didn’t call. When I woke up in the morning, James was gone.
So another day started just like the last - only James was twelve hundred miles away. There were no quick glances, no scanning the room to see if he was there. I missed his smile more than anything.
I set my DVR to record every Pittsburgh game. I indulged my crush, somehow stronger now than when James was right next to me. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. It was like being in the space station and looking down at Earth, too far away to do anything as James struggled. He looked out of place, he must have felt it. Games passed and he didn’t score. Crosby wasn’t coming back. James was on his own. If we’d been closer friends I would have reached out to him. If we’d been closer friends maybe we wouldn’t have been just friends at all.
Everyone likes him, I reminded myself. It’s just the game giving him a hard time. Such a nice guy. And so gorgeous. But that just made me smile. I had kissed him.
Watching James was bittersweet. He didn’t get a ton of TV time or lots of intermission interviews – there was precious little of him at all. Every glimpse or close-up became a gift. On that superstar team full of huge personalities, no one made a big deal about one more talented guy. The Pens were slowing down when they should have been speeding up, as were the Stars. But any season is just a race to the playoffs, where the whole world starts over again.
____
It was easy to fall into a new routine with a new team; except for a place to live it was just like Dallas. We were in a playoff push and pressure was high for me to fill the void left by Crosby and Malkin’s injuries. What wasn’t easy was fitting in. Being traded for the first time is like being dumped by your dream girl in a text message; you feel discarded and useless. The guys were nice but tight-knit and after months of bonding there was little room for me. But I was too busy to be lonely, really. I set my mind toward working hard and trying to get to know the guys. When that was slow to happen, I settled for daydreams about the girl who got away.
From day one, something was off. I felt like a square peg in a round hole on every line and in 20 games, scored only one goal. One goal. No one trades valuable guys for one goal. I wasn’t the only thing wrong with the Penguins, but something was wrong with my game. It didn’t make fitting in any easier. In the quiet times I let myself miss Dallas, which still felt like home. My friends were there, and Natalie. My daydream of choice was the one where she came to Pittsburgh with me. This apartment would be a home instead of a collection of piles barely out of their boxes, the WAGs would love her and she’d charm the guys in minutes. A perfect little life existed, all in my head.
Despite my lack of production the team finished well and made the playoffs with ease. That was my one sigh of relief - I could start over, get my skates under me and show this city what I came here for.
The Penguins didn’t play the Stars again during the regular season but I held my breath as my former team struggled at the cutoff for the playoffs. When Closing Day rolled around and they were in 8th place, I shut myself in my new apartment and tuned into the game with a racing heart. These were my friends, my brothers, my family. They’d had a tough spring and I wanted their success as I wanted my own.
They lost the final game. The Blackhawks made the playoffs and the Stars went home. Silently and with a guilty conscience, I thanked God for my trade.
____
“Natalie, what are you talking about?” my dad asked.
I was hollering into my iPhone as I drove home from Target. My hands gripped the wheel to stop from shaking. “You’re trading James?”
He paused. My father respected my love for hockey and knowledge of the game in a way that most men never would. Hell, he’d taught me everything I knew. And he’d always kept a very watchful eye as his young daughter ran in close company with twenty five big, aggressive guys used to getting what they want.
“You’re calling him James now?”
“Uggghhh!” I groaned. “Neal, James Neal, whatever. I assume he has a middle name but I don’t know it. Number 18. You’re trading him?”
“It’s not entirely up to me, but we need defense and Neal was marketable. We got Gologoski.”
I jerked so hard my car nearly went off the road. “Pi... Pittsburgh? He’s going to Pittsburgh?”
My dad lowered his voice. “Yes. Happy now? You know any player in their right mind wants to go there. And the second Crosby’s back, Neal will probably be his linemate.”
“Wow.” I tried to get my brain around it. I wish I’d known that, I would have at least told him congratulations. If I could stop kissing him long enough.
“You mad at me? I always trade away the cute guys?” my dad teased, our age old argument.
“Still mad about Modano, Dad. Never getting over that one.”
I managed to end the conversation without asking for James’ number. Or his address. He’d be home now, packing. Probably alone, judging by his appearance in Target. How a guy like that was alone for thirty seconds was beyond me.
I am not allowed to date the players on my dad’s team. That black and white rule has been in effect since I started shaving my legs. In exchange, I get all the perks I want - a job in the communications department that came with with season tickets and road trips and fun events. I love hockey, and my dad always reasoned that it was just a matter of time before I fell in love with a hockey player. Hence the rule. Plus I understood the team dynamic well enough to know that it would never work - me and someone on the roster. Not that it stopped me from considering the fact. Hell, I’m only 23. But I mostly turned my attention on other teams, and got ragged endlessly for it.
“Blackhawks tomorrow, Nat!” Brendan Morrow called out as I passed the equipment room door. I stuck my head inside where guys were shaping and taping sticks.
“Take your pick, Natalie,” Adam Burish offered of his former team. “A lot of those guys owe me favors.”
My dad chose that moment to arrive, already rolling his eyes. He stopped in the middle of the room, looked right at me and said in a very fatherly voice, “Absolutely no Patrick Kane.”
I looked at him, but spoke to the Adam. “Like I need your favors, Burish!”
To avoid any potential problems, I was just casual friends with the younger, single guys. We hung out on the road but always in groups and I went home before things got wild. It was bad enough to be the girl whose daddy got her a job – which I was. I didn’t want anyone to have anything else to talk about. Luckily the Stars were not the Penguins or Blackhawks and I wasn’t bombarded with enough sex appeal to sink a ship.
But there was James. He was friendly and kind of quiet. It’s hard for unassuming guys to make a lot of noise in an NHL locker room, they’re drowned out by so many loudmouths. James’ play spoke for itself though, and when we arrived in his second season he was already an emerging young star. A coach’s dream. Yet something about his personality told me he was never the guy that got all the girls. Maybe he’d been an awkward teen - kind of gangly with a lot of teeth. But he’d grown into it and all I saw was that heartbreakingly beautiful face. His smile was like an arrow and I knew to stay out of range.
I always wondered if I was good enough to hide it. None of the players joked about it; not any more than they tried to marry me off to everyone under thirty. I never treated James differently and I guess my sidelong glances and sighs had been pretty stealthy.
So James Neal had been my real-life, boy-next-door, off-limits crush for almost two years. And now he was leaving.
____
I sat on my suitcase and thought about doing it: calling her dad, asking for her address. But how? Now that I’m finally leaving can I spend my last night with your daughter? I’d never make it to Pittsburgh at all.
Someone would have it, or know where she lived. My housemate Brad Richards would have it - he was far more famous than I. But the same story applied to the guys: they’d never let Natalie live it down afterward either. She was always so careful to be appropriate around us and it always seemed she went home when she really wanted to stay out. I couldn’t risk ruining that for her. I wanted to believe it wasn’t easy, but she probably didn’t want any of us anyway.
She laughed at my jokes though. Sometimes I caught her smiling right after I smiled and I desperately wanted to be the reason. Sometimes I caught her looking away just as I looked at her, or she caught me staring. Whenever our eyes met I blushed - for two years, every single time. But she was so friendly with everyone and definitely spent more time with other guys. I convinced myself it couldn’t be me.
Now I was leaving, and with the taste of her still sugary on my lips.
Had everything changed? I lay awake for a long time, thinking about leaving this house, this city. Maybe I couldn’t call Natalie, but there was nothing left to stop me from thinking about her - about the press of her mouth to mine, the scent of her skin. The panic that had shown in her eyes stabbed into my stomach. I let myself go back, drop the things I held and grab handfuls of her slender waist. I wrapped her in and kissed her back like I had wanted to for so long. In my little fantasy, Natalie never pulled away.
I thought of us as a couple - the same PG-13 daydreams I’d been nursing all this time. In my mind, she loved to cook. We’d hang out in the kitchen, drinking wine and Natalie would laugh at the awkward way I cut things left-handed. She’d drive us home from the airport after road trips because I never woke up right from the plane rides. Natalie in a snowball fight, a pillow fight; Natalie in a great dress putting on her makeup. I may have been insane but something about her said she liked to be the little spoon.
My fingers twitched with the desire to call her. She would answer sleepily from a big, empty be and order me to come over right now. I’d break the sound barrier on the way. Natalie would tell me where she hid the extra key so I could let myself in, find my own way to her room and climb right into bed, in the dark and stay up all night.
____
What if I had it? What if I asked my dad for James’ number, or called one of the other guys for it? They would give it to me, of course, and spend the rest of the year speculating wildly at the top of their lungs about what happened on that last night. I couldn’t risk it. These guys were great but... they couldn’t know. I put my phone in my purse on the kitchen table, put a towel over it and left it there.
I went to bed early, wide awake with my heart pounding. Somewhere within a thirty minute drive, James was probably in bed too. I wondered if he was awake, if he was thinking about me and why the hell I kissed him out of nowhere at the worst possible moment. I wondered if he had my number, or could get it. I got my phone from the kitchen just in case.
But he didn’t call. And I didn’t call. When I woke up in the morning, James was gone.
So another day started just like the last - only James was twelve hundred miles away. There were no quick glances, no scanning the room to see if he was there. I missed his smile more than anything.
I set my DVR to record every Pittsburgh game. I indulged my crush, somehow stronger now than when James was right next to me. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. It was like being in the space station and looking down at Earth, too far away to do anything as James struggled. He looked out of place, he must have felt it. Games passed and he didn’t score. Crosby wasn’t coming back. James was on his own. If we’d been closer friends I would have reached out to him. If we’d been closer friends maybe we wouldn’t have been just friends at all.
Everyone likes him, I reminded myself. It’s just the game giving him a hard time. Such a nice guy. And so gorgeous. But that just made me smile. I had kissed him.
Watching James was bittersweet. He didn’t get a ton of TV time or lots of intermission interviews – there was precious little of him at all. Every glimpse or close-up became a gift. On that superstar team full of huge personalities, no one made a big deal about one more talented guy. The Pens were slowing down when they should have been speeding up, as were the Stars. But any season is just a race to the playoffs, where the whole world starts over again.
____
It was easy to fall into a new routine with a new team; except for a place to live it was just like Dallas. We were in a playoff push and pressure was high for me to fill the void left by Crosby and Malkin’s injuries. What wasn’t easy was fitting in. Being traded for the first time is like being dumped by your dream girl in a text message; you feel discarded and useless. The guys were nice but tight-knit and after months of bonding there was little room for me. But I was too busy to be lonely, really. I set my mind toward working hard and trying to get to know the guys. When that was slow to happen, I settled for daydreams about the girl who got away.
From day one, something was off. I felt like a square peg in a round hole on every line and in 20 games, scored only one goal. One goal. No one trades valuable guys for one goal. I wasn’t the only thing wrong with the Penguins, but something was wrong with my game. It didn’t make fitting in any easier. In the quiet times I let myself miss Dallas, which still felt like home. My friends were there, and Natalie. My daydream of choice was the one where she came to Pittsburgh with me. This apartment would be a home instead of a collection of piles barely out of their boxes, the WAGs would love her and she’d charm the guys in minutes. A perfect little life existed, all in my head.
Despite my lack of production the team finished well and made the playoffs with ease. That was my one sigh of relief - I could start over, get my skates under me and show this city what I came here for.
The Penguins didn’t play the Stars again during the regular season but I held my breath as my former team struggled at the cutoff for the playoffs. When Closing Day rolled around and they were in 8th place, I shut myself in my new apartment and tuned into the game with a racing heart. These were my friends, my brothers, my family. They’d had a tough spring and I wanted their success as I wanted my own.
They lost the final game. The Blackhawks made the playoffs and the Stars went home. Silently and with a guilty conscience, I thanked God for my trade.
____
Oh man ... that actually made my chest hurt a little. I'm already hooked, I went and downloaded the song, and now I'm going to watch the pre-season game I DVR'd the other night and stare at James Neal.
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