Brooks texted her that afternoon and told her to give her tickets away and pick up new ones at the box office of Consol. Derrick was still giving her a hard time about her friendship with him. Marie didn't really think of Brooks as a famous NHL star when they were talking, but was hard to ignore the fact when she was at a game and he was warming up on the ice.

Derrick navigated to their seats, and they were both surprised to find that they were sitting in the first row right behind the Capitals bench. By the time the lights dropped and the teams flooded onto the ice, Marie was well and truly impressed with Brooks' ability to find such good seats.

He was on the ice for the first shift, but when she saw his numbers hunched over on the bench in front of her, she wanted to reach out and touch him. As if sensing her eyes, he looked over his shoulder and gave her a subtle wink before turning his attention back to the game.

“Brooks Laich just winked at you.” Leave it to her brother to catch every single piece of action that occurred during the hockey game. Even the shit that was off the ice. He was some sort of supernatural sports fan that didn’t miss a thing.

She pulled her hair back and tugged the sleeves of her Neal jersey down over her wrists. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Are you dating a Capital? Be real with me.”

She rolled her eyes and watched the players slide down the bench to make room for two guys that just came off the ice. Brooks was a couple yards away now. She wasn’t watching the game because her eyes were glued to the numbers on his back. Marie felt like a fool. A guy was nice to her and suddenly her brain leaked out her ears. With a great effort she tore her gaze away and tried to focus on the players on the ice. Two Caps and two Pens were bunched up near the wall on the far side, digging for a puck that didn’t want to be found.

“I’m not dating anyone. I’m going to be single the rest of my life,” she belatedly replied to Derrick in a deadpan voice.

“Not if he has anything to do with it.” Derrick pointed at Brooks’ back.

She shook her head and watched Cooke pass the puck back to a waiting Martin so they could get out of the neutral zone and into the Caps territory. “You are so wrong. We’re friends. He said so last night. Just friends.”

“I can’t believe you’re friends with an NHL player. That’s, like, my wet dream. You should ask him to introduce you to Malkin.”

Marie didn’t dignify her brother with a response. Instead, she settled in and tried to keep her eyes and mind on the game. The play was fast with few penalties. She winced every time someone got near Brooks. He was such a great guy and she didn’t want to see him get hurt.

In the middle of the second period, he grabbed the puck on a breakaway and whipped it at Fleury. The puck scooted right along the ice and managed to get past Fleury's leg pads right before they hit the ice to block it. She almost jumped up and clapped. Derrick gave her a sidelong glance and she looked back to the ice sheepishly.

Despite Brooks’ contribution to the scoreboard, the Pens still won, three to two. The buzzer signaling the end of the third period sounded and fans immediately began filing out of their seats and up the aisles. Marie stood and gathered her coat and purse. She was about to shuffle over to the aisle when Derrick poked her in the ribs. When she turned around to look at him, she saw Brooks standing behind the bench, watching her through the glass. He was still wearing his gloves and holding his stick up.

She took two steps back over to stand just on the other side of the glass.

“Don’t rub it in,” he said.

Marie smiled. “I won’t say I told you so.”

“You just did.”

“Oops,” she replied.

He waved at her with a gloved hand. “See you later, penguin.” That said, he walked off toward the tunnel back to the visiting team’s locker room.

Derrick was watching her while she watched Brooks leave. “You’ve got the hots for him,” he said.

“It’s harmless. He’s nice.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

***********************************

After the game she and Brooks would exchange text messages occasionally. It started out with a handful a messages every two or three days, usually about music or funny things they’d encountered during their days. By the time March rolled around, they were texting each other every day. It was all friendly, nothing to hint at any attraction or sexual tension. Marie just assumed he was looking for a friendly ear that wasn’t a teammate or a crazy fan.

She was sitting at home at eleven-thirty on a Thursday night watching episodes of Always Sunny in Philadelphia on her DVR when her cell phone rang. She snatched it off the end table and glanced at the screen. Brooks. He rarely called; it was almost always texts. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you.” His voice was soft and he sounded worn out. He hadn’t played tonight, though. The Caps had a home game the previous night and their next game was in Tampa Bay on Sunday afternoon. He should have been enjoying a couple days off before the last stretch of the season lead up to playoffs.

“Hey back. To what do I owe the pleasure of a phone call?”

“Just wondering what you’re up to.”

He sounded off, not quite himself. She frowned. “Watching TV and being boring. Are you enjoying your day off? You said you were going to work on your landscaping, didn’t you?”

“I did. This morning.”

“You sound weird.”

He paused, not saying anything for a long moment. “I had one too many beers, probably.”

Her laughter was a surprise when it bubbled up and escaped her lips. “The unflappable Brooks Laich getting drunk on a Thursday night. Call the tabloids and blogs.”

“I had a date tonight.”

Despite knowing that there was nothing between them, her heart froze a little. The little animal that beat rhythmically in her chest day in and day out went cold and stopped. She could feel the ice crystalizing and weighing it down inside her chest. Of course he went on dates. Of course. He was a handsome, successful man who every other member of the Caps claimed to be the biggest ladies man of them all. “Oh yeah?” she managed to choke out. “How was it?”

“Not great.”

She settled into the cushions on her couch and sighed. “Want to talk about it?”

“My picker is off.”

“What?”

He cleared his throat and she could hear him shifting, trying to get comfortable. “I was bored a few days ago and watched that Millionaire Matchmaker show on TV.”

She smiled. “The one with the loud brunette who yells at people?”

“Yeah. She tells people who pick bad dates that their pickers are off.”

“Do you pick bad dates?”

“That worst.”

“I though we established that you’re too old for the puck bunnies at the bar.”

“Her name is Ellen and I met her at a charity dinner two weeks ago. She was involved in putting the event together.”

Marie nodded. “Sounds nice. She pretty?” Do not be jealous, she repeated over and over in her head until he spoke up to answer.

“Very pretty.”

Fuck Ellen and her perfect charity dinner self. “So, what’s the problem, twenty-one?”

“She showed up in platform heels and a hooker dress. I tried to talk to her about her charity work, but she just turned everything back to the Caps and the contract I signed a couple years back.”

Marie scrunched up her nose in disgust. Women like that gave everyone a bad name. “I’m sorry, Brooks. That sucks.”

“I should have known better. Why didn’t I see it?”

She shrugged and then realized he couldn’t see her. “It’s not all your fault. Women can be pretty good at disguising what they want and who they are.”

“What do you want?”

His question took her off guard. This conversation was supposed to be about him and his bad date, not her. “I...” Marie started to say and then trailed off. “I guess I want...” How could you put what you wanted into a succinct sentence, melt down all the things you needed to make your heart happy and fit them into a phrase or two? “Someone to come home to after a long day,” she finally said softly.

He was quiet. So quiet that Marie thought her cell had dropped the call. Just as she opened her mouth to ask if he was still there, he said, “I like that, penguin. That’s a good way of putting it.”

She closed her eyes and listened to his light breathing on the other end of the line. He sounded as vulnerable as she was feeling right about now. “So are you seeing Ellen again?”

“Nah. I dropped her off at her place and grabbed some beer on my way home. Figured I’m allowed since we’ve got tomorrow off. Morning skate is optional.”

“Twenty-one being the rebel. Drinking on a Thursday night and not going to morning skate,” she teased.

“Do you think I’m a good guy?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. She bit her tongue before she could follow it up by telling him that he was probably the best guy she’d ever met.

“Am I asking for too much? Do you think I should give Ellen another chance?”

Marie kept her mouth shut, thinking through the questions. She wanted to tell him that he deserved more than a money-hungry, fame-seeking bitch and that he should never see her again. But that didn’t seem appropriate and she didn’t want to come across as the jealous sidekick who secretly is in love with the hero. Even if that’s what this was turning out to be.

“I think you’re only asking for what you deserve, and I think you should stick to your guns and never settle for less.”

She could hear him shift around again, and then heard the faint clank of a beer bottle being dropped in a bin. “You make me feel better, penguin. Thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“So, how about you listen to my friendly advice? Go brush your teeth, drink two glasses of water with an Advil, and go to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She could hear the amusement in his soft voice.

“And no more Ellens,” she added.

“Definitely not,” he agreed. After a brief pause he thanked her and wished her a goodnight.

Marie told him goodnight as well. And then she spent the rest of her night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. This was so bad. She didn’t need to be having feelings about Brooks. She needed to keep it on the friendly and not let those tender feelings infiltrate her head. That was just disaster waiting to happen because she and him were never going to happen in a million years. She wasn’t his type.