Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(62)

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Oliana.” The way he says my real name in such a serious tone penetrates right to my heart.

“Okay.” I pierce a saucy noodle. “Well, I’m free.”

“It’s really okay,” he says. “You’ll be bored.”

And there it is again, him brushing me off. I don’t understand. Then again, he never likes to be vulnerable, and I fear if I keep pushing him, he won’t want to open up at all, so instead, I decide to change tactics. I’ll take care of the Friday event myself.

“Do you know what was boring? My class today on data journalism. I nearly passed out in my own lap.”

He scoops up a pile of lasagna. “What is data journalism?”

“Just what it sounds like, learning how to properly use data to write accurate articles.”

“You need a class for that?”

“You would be surprised,” I say. “What did you major in?”

“Kinesiology.”

“Did you plan on doing anything with that?”

“Not really,” he answers while picking up his glass of water. “The goal was to play hockey professionally. I didn’t have a backup plan, didn’t want one. I studied kinesiology to educate myself on my body and understand how to take care of it so I could reach my goals.”

“That’s actually really smart,” I say while taking a bite of my garlic bread. “Do you think it’s helped?”

He nods. “Very much. I understand what parts of the body I need to focus on to stay healthy. I understand the recovery process, and I honestly believe it’s one of the main reasons I haven’t suffered any major injuries.”

“That’s impressive, actually. How much longer do you think you’ll play?”

“Not sure,” he says. “I still feel really strong. I can keep up with the younger guys, and my legs don’t die out toward the end because I continue to train through the season. It’s something I take great pride in.”

“I can tell. Do you ever give your body a break?”

“During the summer. That’s why I was so sore the night of the family skate event. I go at it hard during the preseason, and my muscles have to get used to the demand again. And with every new year, it seems to get a touch harder.”

“How are you feeling now?” I ask.

“Better. I’ve been able to do some great recovery and focus on what I need to focus on. Lots of ice baths and walks on the treadmill to flush all that lactic acid buildup.”

“Are the other guys as smart as you?”

“Not the young ones. They’ll learn quickly, though.” He points his fork at me. “What about you? Are you feeling sore with your new workout space?”

“I was a little sore in my inner thighs the other day, but for the most part, I feel pretty good. I used your sauna again. I hope that’s okay.”

“What’s mine is yours.”

“Which seems incredibly unfair.”

“It’s not,” he says. “We’re friends, right, Ollie?”

I tilt my head, studying him. He might not like to show his vulnerable side, but here, at this moment, I can see it. His question, sort of wondering where we stand. Maybe that’s why he’s been so distant lately. Maybe he doesn’t know, especially after we shared the almost kiss. So to reassure him, I say, “Yes. We’re friends.”

“Good,” he answers. “That means we don’t owe each other anything. You ask, it’s yours.”

“Okay, then the same would go for me. I don’t have much to offer, but if you ask, it’s yours.”

“You have more to offer than you think,” he says when he glances up at me, causing the back of my neck to break out in a cool sweat.

“Oh yeah, like what?” I ask playfully.

“You’re cool,” he says, surprising me. “I love hanging out with my guys, but sometimes it’s nice to see a different face, and you’re fun to hang out with.”

I press my hand to my chest. “Silas Taters, I can’t believe you’re offering me such a compliment. Coming from the man who nearly had a coronary when I talked about him perverting over donkeys.”

“For fuck’s sake, I thought we dropped that.”

I press my finger to the table. “Donkey pervert is the foundation of this friendship. It will never go away.”

“I thought the foundation is you randomly kissing me in a bar.”

I roll my eyes at that. “That truth is for you, me, and Ross only because he witnessed the whole thing and questioned me quickly afterward. But everyone else knows us as the people who bonded over a donkey while your fly was down. That’s something we need to hang on to.”

“Lucky me.”

“You’re right . . . lucky you.”





Silas drapes his arm over the back of the couch as he casually faces me. The rest of the dinner was easygoing. We joked around. He smirked. I laughed. And it felt like things were getting back to normal, which I appreciated greatly.

Now that we retreated to the couch, I feel more relaxed and not so stiff. He seems the same as well.

“What do you do for fun, Silas?”

“Not much,” he answers. “Don’t have much fun during the season. I’m either working out, playing hockey, eating, or sleeping.”