But apparently, for that, I have to date women who bring a notebook and pen to our date to take notes on me.
I’m not even fucking kidding.
“Purple and black? That’s an odd combination.”
“Actually, it’s not for me. My dad played for the Nashville Assassins when I was younger, and my mom owns the team, which is how they met. My oldest sister is the general manager, and my second-oldest sister is a special teams coach for them. Their colors are purple and black. It’s said that we Adler kids bleed purple and black.”
She looks utterly confused. “But you play for the IceCats, I thought?”
“I do.”
“Why don’t you play for the Assassins?”
I shrug. “I was drafted by the IceCats.”
“Huh.”
“It’s okay. One day, I’ll play for them,” I say, hopeful. It’s a dream of mine. To play for the team I grew up cheering for. The team everyone I love is involved with. The team my dad retired from. It’s hard on my parents to cheer for the IceCats when they’re so Assassins driven, but it’s cool. We’re making it work.
We just don’t talk on days we play each other.
Especially when the Assassins have spanked the IceCats in the Stanley Cup finals twice in a row. My dad and new brothers-in-law, who also play for the Assassins, love to remind me of that. While I wasn’t on the IceCats for either loss, it’s still something they like to tease me about. Now, though, the Assassins are in a rebuilding year since they’ve had a lot of loss the last couple months, with their goalie being diagnosed with a heart issue and their coach’s family dying in a car wreck. My mom is a mess and my sister is stressed, but they’re convinced they’ll get themselves a winning team once more. Just gives the IceCats time to get our shit together. I feel we’re going in the right direction, and I’m excited to see what the future holds.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my heart is with the Nashville Assassins.
I’m trying to fix that, though. I’m an IceCat now. I love my teammates, and I was drafted with my twin brother. That’s pretty fucking cool.
“So, you come from money?”
Again with the pen, she waits for my response.
I swallow. “My parents have money and I never wanted for anything growing up, but their money isn’t mine. I have my own.”
She thinks that over and writes something before looking back at me. “You have a twin, you said?” I nod, and she makes a face. “I don’t know if I want to risk the chance of having twins. I don’t want to ruin my body with a double pregnancy.”
I blink. “Um. Okay?”
She doesn’t miss a beat, completely oblivious to my annoyance. “Did you go to college or straight into the NHL?”
“Straight in.”
“But what if you get hurt? You have nothing to fall back on.”
“My dream is the NHL. I know it’s not promised, but I do what I have to do to stay healthy and on top of my game.”
She nods. “I like that—hard worker.”
Yay? “So—”
She cuts me off. “How many children do you want? I know your mom has five, but I’m not having that many.”
“Is this a date or an inquisition?” I find myself blurting out.
She purses her lips. “A date is an inquisition. We’re learning about each other.”
“No, you’re asking me question after question and writing stuff down. I don’t know anything about you,” I retort, but I honestly don’t think she cares.
“Because I don’t want you to know anything about me until I’ve decided if you’re worth it.” She says that so simply, as if it’s totally normal. “Now, how many children do you want? Or do you not want any with the big family and all? Did you even get attention?”
Yup, I’m out, and I’m going to kill D’Artagnan once I get home. I clear my throat as I reach into my pocket for my wallet. I fish out some cash. “I don’t know if you actually get guys this way, or if any have ever made it through your questions, but I don’t need this. I am worthy, and I don’t need you to decide if that’s true or not.” I throw the money on the table as I push back my seat.
She scoffs. “Funny, I only have you at a C rating right now.”
I gawk at her as I stand. “C?”
She nods, completely and totally sure of herself. “A twin, no college education, no money from family, a huge family, too many personalities, I’m sure. Oh, only one dimple. It’s a deformity, you know? Not good for my kids.”
I blink. I have so many things I could say to her. The pettiest shit too, but I remind myself that I wouldn’t want anyone talking to my sisters or my mother the way I want to talk to this extremely entitled dumbass. “I wish you the best of luck in your search for happiness.”