Three

“Can we get your friend a job with the Caps?” Brooks asked, a glob of jelly smeared across his chin and his fork mid-air.  Ten of them were crowded around a small table near the back of the restaurant, which had a dilapidated French air.  Word of Nicky’s insider restaurant knowledge had spread.  As promised, the crepes were huge, hot and incredibly good.

“At this rate, you’re never buying lunch again,” DJ King chimed in.

Nicky savored the taste of the cheese and asparagus crepe he’d ordered.  Keeping his eyes on his food, he pretended not to notice Mike giving him a pointed look.  Practice had been a drag, endless drills about entering the zone on the fly and digging along the boards.  The finger he’d broken earlier in the spring was bothering him – probably broken again - but he hid it well.  Today no one questioned him when he took a photo of the menu.

All he wrote with the photo on Devin’s wall was Even better.

After eating, a few of the guys went shopping.  Nicky trailed along behind, noticing things he usually didn’t like scarves and handbags and jewelry.  The huge sections baffled him – acres of floor space, so many choices your head could spin.  He wondered what kind of stuff Devin liked and where she bought it.  Nicky considered his own jeans, sweater and pea coat and felt decidedly Old Navy about himself.

“Who is she?” Mike cut into his reverie.  He wore a sweater and a scarf against the spring chill, too stylish for most of the guys to pull off.  But Mike looked like he belonged in this store. 

Nick quickly put down a pair of earrings, denying he’d ever held them.  “No one.”

“Bullshit.  You’re walking around here like a fucking Care Bear.  Unless you’ve suddenly decided to carry a purse.  Hot trend in Stockholm these days?”  Mike turned to the side, poised on his elbow like he had all day to wait for an answer he believed.

“It’s nothing,” Nick tried to convince himself.  He left Mike staring at his back and moved through the shop.  There was jewelry everywhere.  Should I buy her a gift?  What do you get a girl you literally don’t even know?  There were big bracelets and tiny rings, all kinds of pins and pearls.  Brooks came strolling up with a large garment bag over one shoulder.  Something simple and slick, no doubt.  Another thing Nicky could never really accomplish.

“Buying a present?”

Nick shrugged, his long blonde hair falling into his face.  “Not really.”

They faced a glass case full of silver necklaces.  There were hundreds of chains and pendants neatly arranged.  Brooks pointed to a circular one with what looked like three tiny emeralds embedded up one side, like they were rolling in a clothes dryer.

“That’s nice,” he said and then left.

Nicky stared into the display, trying to picture the delicate charm against Devin’s skin. It would look beautiful – it was beautiful in and of itself.  But without asking the price he decided against it.  He hoped Devin wasn’t the type to look around the locker room and pick a guy because he’d spend money on her.  Of course, any of them would.  They were programmed to operate that way.  But there had to be something Nicky could bring her home that didn’t make him that guy.

____

Later in the day, wandering around near Washington Square Park, he found it.  Without noticing they had strolled onto the NYU campus.  It was indistinguishable from the city really, but the university bookstore was flying multiple banners. 

“Maybe they have an international section,” he said.  John Carlson shrugged like all books might as well be Swedish for how much he wanted to read them.  It bought Nicky the out he was looking for.  “Catch up with you guys in a few minutes.”

The shop was stuffed to overflowing.  It was part gift shop, part supply store for students and part regular bookstore.  Nicky had never seen blenders shelved next to markers and calculators.  On the second floor, he found what he was looking for.

Oh America, he thought.  No less than three full aisles of NYU branded clothing stretched out before him.  Not just sweats and hats, but socks and bathing suits and bedspreads.  It looked like the Caps pro shop.  He spent two minutes picking out a t-shirt for himself – simple gray with an NYU logo – and twenty picking out something for Devin.  In the end he settled on a bound leather photo album with New York University embossed tastefully on the cover.  She had so many photos online, surely she’d have some printed as well.  He turned the pages, wondering if it would ever hold a picture of the two of them.

____

“You are a mess,” Brian said.  He leaned over into Devin’s cubicle.  She looked up from the document she was proofreading to see her hand noisily drumming her pen on the desk.

Hmmm, didn’t notice that.  She put the pen down, pressing it to be sure it went still. 

“Ants in your pants?”

“Just distracted.”

“Let me guess.”  He came around the wall and leaned against her cabinet.  “Your boyfriend hasn’t scored in, oh… eighteen games and you’re hoping tonight might be the night.”

Devin hadn’t been thinking about Nick’s scoring drought, but she had been thinking about Nick.  She blushed and stuttered at the same time.  “He’s not my… how do you know that?”

“I think you can bet online how many games he’ll go scoreless.”

She slapped his leg.  “Not that!”

“Facebook, baby.  Socially acceptable stalking.  Not that I’m stalking you.  And if I were, I would probably give up now.”  He smirked.  “Can’t compete at that level I’m afraid, just a lowly old copy editor.”  He crossed his arms and his ankles emphatically, feigning resignation. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said clearly. 

“That ought to last ten minutes.”

“I…,” she stopped, wondering why she was defending herself or how much she wanted to share.  Brian was a cool guy; they hung out after work sometimes, and he had a long-term girlfriend so he was just giving Devin shit.  And she didn’t want to lie about it, necessarily.  “I have never even met him.”

Brian raised one eyebrow in the international sign for Excuse me?

“You know one in five couples nowadays meet online.  I saw it in a Match.com ad.”  He nods affirmatively.

“We didn’t meet on Match.com!”

“Okay, HockeyPlayersWhoNeedDates.com or whatever sites you visit.  ILoveSwedes.net.”  He laughed at his own joke.  “AtLeastIScoreOffTheIce.org.”

Devin put her head down on the desk laughing.  There was something embarrassing about online dating, even if everyone did it.  Like people who found someone the old fashioned way could hold it over you.  Meeting someone online sounded a lot like shopping for shoes – you could see what looked good, but not how it fit you.

“We’re not dating,” she said again.

___

After dinner, Nicky kicked Semin’s butt at Battlefield 2: Band of Brothers and left Mike to take his spot against Erskine, the reigning champion.  It was nearly ten and the perfect excuse to have his own room for at least a few minutes.  In the hall, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and instinctively pushed his hair behind his ears, neatening his appearance.

Like she can see me, he scoffed.

But that’s how it felt: like a real date.  Something he should have to plan and get dressed for.  An opportunity to impress her and get to know her and… and fail miserably, of course.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

Nicky had dated.  He’d had a few girlfriends, though none in Washington because his first few seasons had seemed so hectic.  Endless road trips, his parents visiting all the time, holidays to plan for and the few precious off days spent trying to heal bruises and aches too numerous to count. 

Some guys fed off the life – the more action, the more they acted.  One or two nights a week were all they needed because they made those nights count.  Nicky moved more slowly, letting things build, and by the time he got a third or fourth free day, weeks had passed.  There were girls who would wait, of course, but none of them had been right.

Looking at Devin’s profile picture, he wondered if she’d be the same: disappointed by what he could offer and frustrated that his life was often not his own.  He considered if it was better not to start something you weren’t sure you could finish.  Maybe he would never give her that photo album, never even see her smile in real life.  Maybe it was better that way.

Devin: You’re early!

I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you, Nicky wanted to say.  But instead he typed You are too.

I’m jealous you had crepes for lunch.  That picture made me hungry.

They were great.  I am so popular now.  Do you have another place for tomorrow?

Before a playoff game?  That’s a lot of pressure.  I’ll think about it.  What else did you do today?

Thought about buying you a present, bought you a present, thought about not giving you the present, he rattled off in his brain.  To Devin he said Hard practice today then just walk around, I love New York for just seeing the places.

Did you practice entering the zone on a rush?

Nicky laughed out loud.  She really should be an assistant coach.

Yes.  Still I need to score your goal.

____

Devin winced.  Brian had been right about Nick not scoring in eighteen games.  The commentators and press were all on about it, about not delivering in the playoffs.  As long as they won it was a dull roar.  God forbid they lose, she thought, I will punch anyone who says a word against him.

Brian’s right, I am a mess! she admitted to herself.

Between chat messages, she did a Google Image search for pictures of him.  There were thousands, but the first few pages were always the same.  That blond hair to his chin, boyish face trying to make a serious impression.  He smiled with his mouth closed – Devin wondered if his crooked front teeth made his self-conscious.  She thought they were adorable.

And here he was still talking about getting a goal for her.

You’re playing really well, goals will come.  It must be frustrating.

Yes and when I try more it is only harder.

So stop worrying about my goal.  But you should do an intermission interview so I can see you.

My English sometimes is not very good.

I can find a hundred interviews with you online and your English is great.

Writing is easier.  More time for thinking.

Devin sighed.  There was a really good chance that she would never meet Nicky.  That he never intended that at all, even after all this talking.  And flirting.  We are flirting, right?  How do people flirt in Sweden? she wondered.  Still, Nick was a Capital.  She was a copy editor at an ad agency.  There was little more to go on than they both liked hockey and that certainly wasn’t going to take them down the aisle.  She ran through the possibilities for the ten thousandth time: he’s bored, he’s lonely, he wants to practice English, he’s tired of always hanging out with his teammates.  Any reason made more sense than he wanted to date her.

Are you still there? he wrote.

Yeah, sorry.  I’m here.  What are you doing now?

Just talk with you.  Mike will come back soon, maybe watch a movie.  We go to bed early, like old people.

Haha.  You must go out on off nights.

There is was, launched into the conversation like a missile.  Free time means time to meet new people, right?

____

Nicky looked at the message, all innocent in black and white pixels.  In his mind it flashed like a neon sign.  He knew he wasn’t great with girls.  Maybe not even good.  But the message was so clear even in English he could see it: ask me out.

“I want to,” he said out loud to the empty room.  Eventually he would have to man up and meet her, or he might as well stop this right now.  He would end up hurting himself either way – trying and failing or letting himself get this wrapped up only to walk away.

It had only been a few days, three pictures, two restaurant recommendations and a a few chat conversations.  It had only been two games.  In the course of his life, often measured by the number of games since or until something, the number won or lost, two games was nothing.  He had known her for less time that it took to break in a pair of gloves.

But he was into her.  Whether he cut himself some slack or not, Nicky had a crush on Devin.

“Please work,” he spoke again.  He had one, and only one, clever idea.

Who comes to games with you? 

My roommate Mel.  She’s a big fan too.

Nicky could have rolled off the bed in relief. 

For game 5, I can get tickets for you and Mel.

There it was - not bring a friend who might be a guy, or bring a blind date or bring your burly biker boyfriend. 

____

Devin squealed and pressed her face into a pillow.  Mel was going to freak out.  Game five could be the most exciting thing ever.  Besides meeting Nick, of course.  She waited, but he didn’t offer anything more.

We would love to.  I would love to, she answered.

Tomorrow after the game we fly right home.  I can message you next morning about tickets?

Sure.  It will be awesome to see you play.

“It would be more awesome to see you pre-game in your suit and post-game celebrating your series win,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud could make it come true.

Cool.  Good night, Devin.  I hope we win for you.

Night Nicky.  Good luck tomorrow!

She closed the dialogue box to avoid seeming like a creeper.  Facebook told you when someone had shut the text window, which she always found odd.  Socially acceptable stalking indeed.

When is it socially acceptable to ask someone out?!  She kept a little scream inside.  If he brought them to game five and didn’t meet them… well she wouldn’t know what to think at all.  Maybe he was warming up to it.  Maybe he’d tell her in the message.  Maybe he had a size two blond girlfriend who baked cookies from scratch and wore lingerie made from unicorn mane.  She knew absolutely nothing about him.

The box popped open again.

I forgot.

“OhmyGodaskmeout!” she shouted rather loudly.

What is another place for lunch?

This time, Devin grabbed the pillow before she screamed.

____

Nicky needed a reason to post something to her wall tomorrow, a reason to communicate.  Game days were serious times and simply saying hello would reveal how much he was thinking about her.  It would give him away.  But lunch was the perfect alibi.

Try Cafeteria on 7^th and have the macaroni and cheese.

Cool.  Have a good sleep.

You too, Nick.

He looked at the shopping bag sitting atop his suitcase.  She’d definitely get the presnt.

____

Mel knocked on the door as Devin was shutting down her computer.  Apparently her screams had not gone unnoticed.

“That was not the sound of you making a date.”

Devin flopped back into her pillows.  “How about a date with you? To gave five?”

“SHUTUP.”

“Nicky offered us tickets.”

Mel gripped the edge of the dresser till her hand was white.  “And he offered you a tour before and to take you out after with the whole team.  And me.  Plus a chalet on a fjord and all the lingonberry jam you can eat.”

All Devin could do was shake her head.  “Tickets.  That’s it.”

“Hmmm.”  Mel’s face twisted into a confused look.  “Maybe because it’s the playoffs.”

“Maybe because there’s nothing going on here and I’m just crazy.”

“Still, tickets to game five.  That’s serious.”

“Serious date night for you and me.”

Mel tilted her head.  “Too bad I only put out for Brooks Laich.”

_

Two

Well that was a disappointing end to the Caps season.  Hope I can make you feel a little better till September rolls around.
____

The trip to NYC was easy and Nicky joined some of the guys to walk around the city.  Spring was in full effect, people looked happy even in their hurry and things were opening after the long, harsh grasp of winter.  They took cabs up to Central Park, planning to stop for lunch and work their way back toward their hotel.

New York was one of Nicky’s favorite cities to visit.  It always reminded him of how small things seemed at home in Sweden - how clean and orderly.  But New York was more exciting. 

As they walked and window shopped, watching the people and the bustle that never stopped, Nicky’s mind drifted to Devin.  On Facebook there was a photo of her near shopping at Columbus Circle.  They passed Rockefeller Center, where she’d gone ice skating.  She’d climbed on a stone lion at the Public Library.  Always smiling.

So stupid, he told himself.  You don’t even know her.  But he thought she’d like the horse drawn carriages along the Park and the hot chocolate truck he saw parked at a corner. 

“What are you looking all mooney about, Backs?” John Erskine asked very loudly, catching the attention of their little group.  “Did you get laid or something?”

He blushed.  He always blushed.  That’s why they teased him.

“Ooh, Nicky’s got a girlfriend!” John Carlson chimed in, making kissing noises.  He was such a child.  Nicky let it die out without sharing much, but when they turned the next corner Mike appeared at his side.

“You are a space case today,” Mike confirmed.  Nicky just shrugged.  Getting ahead of himself was one thing but telling someone else, even Mike, would break the spell. 

“I’m just thinking about the game.”

Mike smacked Nicky on the back.  “You have no game Nicky, and that’s not what you’re thinking about.”

Nicky made a point to talk more next last 10 blocks, just to shut them up.  And when they reached the corner of 33rd and 5th, he steered them toward a hamburger place.

“My friend recommend this place, said the burgers are best ever,” he told his teammates.  Actually Devin had said the root beer floats were the best ever, but he didn’t think that was enough draw.  She’d promised the guys would not be disappointed with the food.

“What friend?” Mike asked.  Ninety-nine percent of their social circle was shared.  The other one percent was Devin.

“You don’t know them.”

Late lunch meant it was easy to get a table for six.  They tucked into various burger creations, along with regular and sweet potato fries, extra pickles and everything else on the menu.

“Good call, Backs,” Brooks Laich said.

“Very... smart... friend,” John Carlson added with a mouthful of food.

Nicky reached back to grab a menu from the nearby pile.  He positioned it on the table and snapped a photo with his phone.  The Facebook app was already open.

“That for your friend?” Mike said suspiciously.

Nicky shrugged, tilting the screen away.  “Just to remember where we eat.”

He posted the photo to Devin’s wall and logged out - it wouldn’t be the first time if one of the guys stole his phone.  Lunch was as good as she had promised and he didn’t have to pay because he’d steered them toward a winner. 

Too bad I can’t have a root beer float, he thought.  Not during the playoffs.  But maybe someday I’ll come back here with Devin and... oh shut up.

They killed more time walking across town, then had a team meeting and some other duties before dinner.  Carlson moaned about being full from lunch then polished off an entire side of beef.  Nicky ate lightly, knowing that it was good to wake up hungry on game days.  Conditioned by their schedule, the guys were all tired by 10 PM.

“Watch whatever,” Mike said, heading for the shower.  When the water came on, Nicky felt safe enough to open his laptop and log in.  There was a little red 1 on the notification bar.

Devin Mills: Glad you liked lunch.  Tomorrow you should try the crepes at Ecole on 9th Ave.  Rest up!

Nicky scribbled down the name of the restaurant and quickly logged off.  He’d think of something to write back and send it later, when Mike fell asleep.

____

“Any love letters from your boyfriend today?” Mel asked.

Devin was settling into the couch, laptop open.  She knew she’d be disappointed if Nick hadn’t replied to her comment.  But that’s stupid.  I’m getting mad when he’s not waiting for my messages.  Like I’m clearly waiting for his.  It had been so... real chatting with him.  Yes it was online but it was almost like an actual conversation with an actual person.  Not the wild idea of some famous hockey player.  She made a face to cover her real expression. 

“He did send me a picture from lunch.  They went to a place I used to love in school.”

“He’s in love with you.”

Devin laughed, feeling giddy at the prospect.  Her heart fluttered a little when she say the red notification – but then saw there were 6, not 1.  What?

All the comments were on Nicky’s photo that he’d posted on her page.  So caught up, Sophie had forgotten than anyone who saw her profile could see his post.  But no one looks at my page!  She and Nick had no mutual friends, would not have appeared in anyone’s news feed.  Apparently she was wrong.

Is there something you want to tell me?!?!?!? said a co-worker.

No wonder you don’t return phone calls said Jeremy from next door.

Catfishing yourself, Dev? her brother asked.

The rest were the same.  Devin quickly deleted the responses hoping Nicky hadn’t seen them.  She didn’t want to bother him or scare him away.  He was obviously quite private and this was exactly what couldn’t happen.  Her mouse hovered a moment but she couldn’t bring herself to remove his photo post entirely.

“Sorry Nicky,” she whispered, clicking on his name.  One more look at his profile... if he could see how many times she viewed his Facebook, that would be enough to lock her up for life.

His photos were just so vague.  They were obviously selected with care to eliminate anything worthy of sharing... and so eliminated any signs of real, messy, silly life.  She got the impression that Nick had a goofy side - how could you not, hanging out with Mike Green? - but that didn’t translate onto the web.  And you don’t even know him, she reminded herself.  You’re making all this up.

Mel leaned back into the room.  “Stop perving!”

Devin laughed, mostly at herself, and headed to bed.

____

She looked over her shoulder into the mirror.  The #19 on her back had never looked so good.  Crazy pants, she teased herself.  But even so she headed for the kitchen with a camera in hand.

Mel took it and set up a shot.  “For your mail order bride profile?”

“Har har.”  But yes, a little.

After a mini photo shoot that would have made Victoria’s Secret proud, Devin finally had a photo that was both cute and sporty.  Mel leaned over her shoulder as she posted it to Nicky’s wall.

“Write: Score in NY and you can score right here in DC,” Mel suggested.

“No!  Slut!”

“How about: Practice putting one in my crease?”

Devin slapped her on the side of the head.  “How about: Good luck tonight.”

“How about: Get lucky tonight?” Mel tried.  Devin used her shoulder, arms and one leg to push her roommate into the hall and lock the door.  Five minutes or she’d miss her train.  The cursor blinked insistently in the little white text box.

Have fun tonight!  I’ll be cheering.

Send.  And she was gone.

____

The Caps had a light morning skate, then fixed up equipment and got prepared for the game.  After lunch, they went back to the hotel for pre-game naps.

Time to get our heads in the game, Nicky thought sarcastically as he opened his computer.  Mike was shuffling around in the bathroom.  What if Devin hadn’t sent anything - would he be able to sleep?  The tiniest things could throw him off on game days.  But if there was something, that might not be better.  His brain had hatched about every scenario, from meeting Devin to marrying her, like an endless filmstrip in his head over the last two days.

And you don’t even know her, he told himself for the thousandth time.  Just because some girl wears your...

But there it was.  Some girl, wearing his number.  And it definitely wasn’t nothing.

Facebook told him there were 7 notifications, but when he clicked only one came up.  Devin was looking over her shoulder; even in profile her smile was contagious.  His last name looked huge across the shoulders of her girl-cut shirt.  She wore dark jeans, standing in a kitchen he presumed was hers.  Someone must have taken the photo.  Nick quickly decided it was too centered, focused and clear to have been taken by a guy.  That close to Devin and he’s sure his hands would be shaking.  The short and sweet note made him smile.

Nicky thought about what to write back.  It looks beautiful on you or My number has never looked better.  But he couldn’t figure out how to compliment her without being too obvious – his English wasn’t strong enough to be subtle.  Everything came out sounding like a caveman.  He sighed, shut down the machine.

He would welcome sleep if he could dream about meeting her and knowing what to say.

____

The Caps lost a tough game 3-1 in New York.  Devin’s heart felt heavy and solid.  There was no need to panic about the season ending yet, but she had desperately wanted them to get this one.  It was her game.  It was their game: hers and Nicky’s.  Like their first date or their first kiss.

Or my first straight jacket, she thought.

Watching them leave the ice with heads down, she knew there was nothing she could post that would do any good.  Suddenly everything about it seemed inadequate, fake.  Some things had to be shared the old-fashioned way: in person.  Until then their “relationships” was simply a product of her overactive imagination and empty bed.

____

Losing sucked.  Losing in the playoffs was a hundred times worse.  It had been a pretty even game, but that didn’t matter.  Nicky hauled himself onto the bus and sat in shared silence for the ride home.  Everyone went right to their rooms and closed their doors. 

Nicky loved rooming with Mike, but having a roommate as a grown up was weird.  Most things kept private by normal people were everyday occurrences among athletes - hell, they walked around naked all the time, so boundaries went right out the window.  Guys brought girls back to shared rooms, took care of themselves when there were no girls... it seemed like anything would go.  Except secretly chatting with a someone you’d picked up online.

Mike flipped on the TV.  Nicky climbed into bed with his laptop and leaned against the headboard.  A handful of people had messaged him - but none were from Devin.  All his friends back home had been following the game, even in the early morning hours.  He spent a few minutes reading their notes so he wouldn’t have to lie.

“Whatcha doing?” Mike asked, not bothering to look over.

“Got some emails.”

Nicky checked his page - Devin’s photo was still there, looking like a stake through his heart.  He hadn’t been exceptional tonight, probably hadn’t gotten much camera time.  She must be disappointed in him.

Devin: Hey.

The box popped up in the bottom corner and Nicky’s whole body tensed.

Sorry about the game.

Nicky: Hi.  Sorry I didn’t get your goal.

I don’t care about that!  You guys played well.

We play okay.  Be nice to have 3-0 lead, not so much stressing.

You’ll have 3-1 after game 5.

Nicky knew what had been nagging him all day.  Game 5 would be back in Washington.  He should invited her.  He wanted to - wanted her to see a playoff game, get the VIP treatment, something that only he could give her.  He wanted to meet her and see that smile in person.

But after tonight’s tough loss, it was hard to imagine that being a good idea.  What if they lost?  What if he played badly and ruined his chance?  On TV it was easy to get away with a mediocre game because the camera dictated what viewers could see.  In the arena she could follow him through the whole game.  And probably wouldn’t want to.

What do you do after the game?

After we lose, just hang around.  Watch TV or a movie.  What are you doing?

Washing my Backstrom shirt so I can wear it again for game 4.

Nicky made a noise, somewhere between a sign and a moan, didn’t quite catch it in time.  He hoped the sound of Seinfeld’s laugh track covered it up.  She might as well have turned up and hugged him for how good that felt.

Ask her to game five, his brain said.

Wait, I need to think about this, he answered himself.

Think?  I’m your brain.  I say do it.

No, I need more time.

I’m going on strike, his brain decided.

Even under direct orders, Nicky chickened out.  But he did do something.

Nick: Maybe we can talk tomorrow?  We have curfew at ten.

Devin: Okay, ten. Go to Ecole for crepes and tell me how you like it.

It will be good.  You make me very popular today for lunch.

This place is better, you’ll see.  Goodnight, Nicky.

He logged out, stupid grin on his face.  He kind of had a date.  A first date.  And he didn’t have to worry about getting distracted by her smile or her hair.  Of course, he already was distracted.  Now he could think about kissing her the whole time and she wouldn’t be able to see it on his face.  He’d only have to hide it from Mike.

_