Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,47

having the sun for longer each day.

It wasn’t overly cold although there was a chill in the air. Dakota brought his scarf up a little higher.

“I don’t know why I expected you to have a fancy car,” he said. “Something like a Porsche or a Lambo.”

Tay glanced over his shoulder at his dark blue Infiniti QX50. “My hockey gear would never fit in something smaller than an SUV. Besides, I’ve never been a car connoisseur. I wouldn’t know a Hyundai from a Honda from a Toyota if they were parked next to each other. Same goes for sports cars.”

Dakota was led to the Wildflower Café a couple streets over, a small place with a cheery yellow front and a heavy wooden door. It was one of those restaurants where you ordered at the counter, grabbed a number, and the servers brought your meal when it was ready.

How did Tay constantly manage to take Dakota’s expectations and smother them to bits?

Sure, Tay had told him to dress casual, but after he’d shown up with a one-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch, Dakota had half expected to be taken to an expensive, five-star restaurant despite neither of them being dressed for it.

Once they’d ordered and were given a table number, they scoped out the available seating, about half of which were empty.

“Did you choose this café because you’re less likely to be recognized in a place like this?” Dakota asked as they selected the cozy couch in front of the four-way fireplace in the middle of the room.

“I’ll admit it did factor in. But it’s also close to your house, so we don’t have to fight weekend traffic to get here. Or fight for parking. Mostly, though, I wanted to be able to talk to you without having to yell. Restaurants are always so loud.” The sound that escaped Tay’s mouth was half-groan, half-laugh. “God, I sound old when I say stuff like that.” Removing his coat, he draped it over the arm of the couch.

“If you’re old, then I’m ancient.”

“Definitely not ancient,” Tay said with a smirk, gaze on Dakota’s neck where he was unraveling his scarf. “More like perfectly aged wine.”

Laughing, Dakota folded his scarf and draped it over the back of the couch with his coat.

“Is this okay, though?” Tay asked.

“It’s perfect.” It was Sunday, so it wasn’t overly busy. It was bright and airy and the music wasn’t loud; Tay was right—they wouldn’t have to raise their voices to talk to each other. And it was casual enough that a couple of guys could be seen having dinner and no one would automatically think they were on a date.

Their soups and sandwiches came. In Tay’s case, he’d also gotten a strawberry and spinach salad. They ate leaning over the coffee table. It was awkward and not ideal, but they’d wanted the couch, so they had to live with their decision.

Dakota bumped their shoulders, gently, so that Tay didn’t slosh his ice water. “Good game against Ottawa last night.”

“You watched?”

“I was going back and forth between yours and Vermont at New Jersey.”

“The Trailblazers have really come into their own since they were formed a few years ago, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dakota said, mouth full. “I’m surprised the NHL kept them in Burlington, to be honest. There was talk about moving them to a bigger city up to the end of their second season.”

“I vaguely remember that.”

“My brother was happy to stay in Burlington. He fell in love with it when he got traded there.” And fell in love with one of his teammates, but that wasn’t Dakota’s business to tell. Not that he thought Tay would go exposing Owen’s secrets, but still.

It was easy talking hockey with Tay as they ate. Tay’s laugh was carefree, and he kept cutting his eyes over to Dakota with a little smile that made the corners of his mouth crease. Was he wondering when they could sneak out of here to go back to Dakota’s and taste his scotch?

Dakota certainly was, but he was also loathe to cut their time out short. It wasn’t often he enjoyed a meal outside of his own home with someone other than Andy and Calder.

“Oh, hey, before I forget.” Tay swallowed his last bite of food and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I got a call from a Sandy something at your office a couple days ago.”

“My writer,” Dakota acknowledged, nodding. “She’s the one who’ll interview you for the direct mail letter.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that. We scheduled a phone call