04

« Noted. »

With the moment of silence, I wondered if I’d taken things one step too far, but for the second time tonight, Lia surprised me. Instead of being put off or judgemental, she looked downright amused as she took a sip of her beer to hide the wry tilt of her lips.

« I’m curious though, » I started, « what drew you to football over anything else ? »

« My dad, » she said simply, her smile softening. « I remember my mom telling me that when I was little I would sit with my dad on the couch on Sundays when San Francisco was playing and essentially be his copycat. When he’d cheer, so would I, and when he’d yell at the TV, I would too. I obviously never knew what was going on until I got older and he explained all the rules to me, but it became a tradition for the two of us to watch games on Sundays while my mom would run errands. There’s actually a picture framed in my parent’s living room from the last Sunday game we watched together before I moved out east—matching jerseys and all. »

« Cute, » I mused, causing her to lean over and nudge her shoulder with mine. « I’m guessing you’re a ride or die fan then ? »

« For football, yes, but don’t worry, I only started watching hockey a few years back when two of my friends in Boston kept convincing me to go to games with them, so I cheer for the Knights. »

Mocking a sigh of relief, I turned my chair slightly to fully face her, my knees less than an inch away from touching her thigh. « Thank fuck for that. Imagine if you were a Washington Eagles fan, or worse—«  I shuttered. « —a Florida Sharks fan. »

« Funnily enough, that was actually the last game I went to see live, when you played them back in October. »

I grimaced as I lifted my glass to take a long gulp, the awful memory of that night coming back to me. « You mean the night when our team just couldn’t get things together ? »

« If that’s what you call your teammates getting a boat load of penalties and then ending the game down seven, then yes, that night. »

« Oof, way to rub salt on the wound, Lia. »

An airy laugh escaped her lips. « Sorry, though you should know better than most that some nights just suck, whether it’s due to things not syncing up or plain bad luck. But all those nights prove is that the choice comes down on you to decide how to turn things around after the fact. »

Logically, I knew she was talking about hockey—about how teams had to learn from their mistakes and grow—but I couldn’t help but take a second meaning from her words. Maybe I was reading too far into things, but I also got the sense that she was referencing the situation we were in right now. How the timing of the storm sweeping across the middle of the country sucked and there was nothing we could do about the hand we’d been dealt, but we could choose to focus on the sliver of positives if we wanted.

Like how the two of us had been brought together, if only for a night.

And the more we chatted, the more down to Earth and easy-going I found her. There was something about her—some underlying quality I couldn’t quite put my finger on—that made talking about anything seem natural and not at all awkward despite not really knowing each other.

Then on top of that, the longer we sat there, the more the sexual tension between us grew. I could feel it in the glances we exchanged every couple of minutes, in the way our arms and legs brushed when one of us deliberately shifted in our chairs, and as we both gradually began leaning closer, as if the rest of the bar was empty and we had the entire space to ourselves.

Until we were interrupted, that is.

« Champagne ? » the bartender asked, holding a bottle of bubbly up as he looked between us. « Everyone gets one glass on the house tonight. »

« Yes please, » Lia answered quickly, biting her bottom lip gently as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t meant to be.

And as I opened my mouth to respond, the words never came, because my gaze caught the television behind the bar. What had once been broadcasting sports highlights was now a countdown to midnight—saying there was less than half an hour to go—making me realize just how long the two of us had been sitting here.

« And you ? » the bartender asked, waiting with an eyebrow raised.

« Oh, sorry, » I said, pulling my focus away from the screen. « Yeah, I’ll have some, thanks. »

After pouring enough to fill two champagne flutes halfway, he replaced our empty glasses with the bubbly and wished us a happy new year before making the rounds to the rest of the guests.

« I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late, » Lia said, her eyes meeting mine with a heat that was dimmed slightly by an accompanying shyness.

« Neither did I, » I replied, not letting my gaze drop, but pausing as I figured out the best way to lead our night into a new direction. After taking a small sip of champagne, I reached my free hand out and rested it across the back of her chair. « And I don’t know about you, but I think this champagne would taste better away from prying eyes. » I let the underlying invitation hang between us for a few seconds, trying to gauge her reaction, and when I saw the smallest uptick of her lips, the fire of attraction in my chest grew. « So, what do you say ? »

« Lead the way. »

Unnerving, but in a good way.

That was the only way to describe the feeling coursing through my veins as I stepped into the hotel elevator with Derrick, champagne in hand, while his free hand warmed the base of my spine.

As the doors began to close, I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth, all too aware we were about to be alone for the first time. Completely and utterly alone. A vision of him slowly backing me up against the wall invaded my mind. Of our drinks falling to the ground as his hands came to rest on either side of my head. Of him bending down to capture my lips with his own. Of our tongues dancing, our hands exploring, and our bodies moving against one another in an accelerated rhythm until the doors opened once more.

But the fantasy, or, uh, vision, was quickly derailed as a hand shot out to stop the elevator door from closing.

Derrick’s hand fell from my back—though the warmth from his touch lingered—as a woman in her mid-to-late sixties stepped in with us, hitting the button for the ninth floor before looking our way. « Now what are you two young things doing at an airport hotel on New Year’s Eve ? »

Unable to come up with an answer other than ‘we’re about to have sex !’, I glanced at Derrick to see the corner of his mouth twitch upward, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

« Our flight back to Boston was canceled because of a storm en route, » he replied as the elevator began to rise. « How about you ? »

« Oh, my hubby and I are headed out early to Seattle tomorrow morning to visit our grandchildren since they were away over Christmas, so we thought we’d camp out here tonight instead of waking up so damn early. »

There was a moment of silence as I nodded in understanding, the fingers of my left hand tapping nervously against my thigh as we came to a stop at the fifth floor.

« Happy new year, » I finally managed to say before stepping out. Turning back to smile at her, I continued. « And hopefully everything goes alright with your flight tomorrow. »

« You as well, » she replied cheerily. « And remember, there’s a whole lot of fun that can be had in a hotel room. »