"Tell me something about yourself."
The paper cup was only a centimeter from my lips, so I decided to take a sip of the warm, sweet liquid, let it travel down my throat, and settle in my stomach before I answered Taylor. All the concession stands and coffee shops in the arena were closed, as there was no game going on, but Taylor took me to the far wing of the arena. That was where the executive and management offices were, he told me, and there was a small café tucked among them. The hot chocolate at five bucks for a medium wasn't cheap by any means, but it was well worth it. Even though Taylor bought it for me—he flashed his card before I could even get my wallet out of my purse—I would gladly spend my own cash on it.
"What do you want to know?"
Taylor's head cocked to the side. We were sitting in the stands of the lower level, but unlike the patrons of a Storm game, we didn't have to drop a couple hundred each to be here. He was sitting one row below me, in a seat to my right with his body angled to mine and mine to his.
"I don't know," he finally said. "A lot of things, I guess. Let's start with how long you've lived in Winnipeg."
Oh. That was an easy question.
"All my life. I wish there was a more interesting answer, but there's just not. I was born here and am still here, obviously."
When I looked at Taylor, I wasn't expecting to see him eyeing me with a quizzical expression.
"Why do you sound self-conscious about it? What's wrong with living in Winnipeg?"
I shrugged. "I don't have an issue with Winnipeg, per se. It's perfectly fine. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter. Not a ton to do, which means the city really loves its hockey team."
"But?"
Taylor took off his Storm hat, curled a piece of black hair behind his ear and placed the garment back on his head.
But...I don't know.
Taylor wasn't far off with his accusations, but it was hard to verbalize my feelings.
"Well, I still live at home, with my parents, for one thing. And I think that's starting to bother me. Like there's an age where it's socially acceptable to still be at home and I've long surpassed that."
I usually didn't admit that to people. Instead, I had a tendency to inquire about other people's living situations, no matter how nosy it may make me look to relative strangers. Each time I found someone who moved out from home, my heart tended to sink. When I found others in a similar situation, I felt validated. I knew I was probably making a bigger deal than necessary about the whole thing, but I couldn't help it.
My eyes travelled to the floor where a flattened piece of pink gum lay next to my boot. I moved my foot away from it, not wanting to be one of the hundreds, if not thousands, who've already stepped on it.
"Who says that?" Taylor asked.
There was an innocence in his voice that made me think that he wasn't being sarcastic; he was literally asking who said it.
"I guess no one has really come out and said it, but read a novel, watch a movie. You're expected to move out, go to university, and not come back home. Even you, you're probably younger than me, and you're not at home. In fact, you're in a totally different country."
Taylor's head shook from ear to ear, as if he was stretching his neck, as he digested what I was saying.
"Are you seriously saying that you feel bad for living with your parents?"
Yeah? I mean, I guess? I wouldn't say that I felt bad, because I loved living with them, but sometimes I felt like it somehow discredited me as an adult.
I told him that.
"But aren't you going to school right now? It's not like you have all the resources in the world to support yourself."
"I guess. But I chose not to go away for school and live in residence or in cheap accommodations. I could've moved away but I stayed home."
"And why did you choose to do that?"
"Because there was a perfectly good school in my home city and I have a good family situation at home. There was really no reason for me to move out, and to be honest, I don't even think I wanted to. I wish I did, though."
Taylor looked at me like I was crazy. Hell, I probably was.
"Why do you wish that? Seems like a lot of people would love to have the support of a loving family."
I knew that, of course I did. I didn't mean to suggest that I wasn't grateful, because I totally was.
"Sometimes like I feel like I missed out on experiences, I guess."
"Maybe you did," Taylor said. "But people not living with their parents are also missing out on experiences with them. Just different experiences." He inhaled a deep breath. "Look, I know I moved out young, but I didn't move out of my parents' house just to move out. I did it because if I wanted to be a professional hockey player, I had to. If I was from Boston or Detroit or Toronto, any big hockey city, I might not have had to move out at such a young age. And by the way, when I first joined the development program in Ann Arbor, my mom moved out with me. It was important to her that I have family support there, and I wanted her there."
I didn't know that. I think I had built up a picture in my head that people—adults—who lived with their parents just didn't do great things.
"I guess that makes me feel a bit better," I reflected. "I have a bad habit of seeing whatever everyone else does as better than what I'm doing. I'm just too competitive for my own good. Like if I feel like I can't do something, I don't want anyone else to be able to."
Shit. Could that four-letter s-word describe my character?
"Yeah? You remind me of someone I know," Taylor smirked.
I looked at him with my head cocked to the side, ear practically touching my shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me that. I don't doubt for one second that you are extremely competitive."
Taylor looked—good god—and then his face grew serious again. "Seriously, though, don't be so hard on yourself. I get why it would bother you if you can't do something, but keep in mind that everyone wants different things and does things at their own pace. Just because you've never wanted to move out doesn't mean you never will want to. And when you do want to, I'm sure you'll feel more than ready."
I took a moment to look at the boy in front of me, really look at him. The way his arms were crossed and casually sat against his chest. The long legs that he couldn't stretch out comfortably in front of him. All of it.
"Taylor," I said, praying that what I was about to say wasn't offensive. "You're actually pretty wise, you know that?"
His lips cracked into a glorious smile. "Nah. It's just that all the people I know that are my age are in the hockey scene. And if I don't want to talk about hockey, I talk to adults like my family or my coaches or the training staff. They all seem to know the ropes of life pretty well."
The same could be the same for him. He was someone who made me want to share my insecurities. I feared that I had already said too much, however, so I kept quiet for a few seconds.
"How old are you, by the way?" I asked suddenly, hoping I wasn't being nosy. It was something I had been wondering for a long time, and he didn't deny that he was younger than me.
"Twenty. You?"
Really?
"Twenty-one. I thought people usually got drafted a little younger than that."
Taylor nodded. "Yeah, they are, typically nineteen. But the draft has this funny rule about the birthday cut-off to be eligible for the draft. Mine's in September and I was a few days too late to qualify for the previous year's draft. So, I was essentially the oldest in my draft class."
"Ah," I teased. "That's why you got drafted so high. Because you had the advantage of being the eldest and therefore played the longest."
Taylor laughed, a deep, happy sound that made me feel like I had just the teensiest bit difficulty breathing.
"Ironically, I probably had the least experience of everyone there. I didn't start skating until I was seven, when I told my parents that I'd like to play hockey after my uncle took me to a Kings game."
I stretched my legs in front of me, as my right leg was beginning to fall asleep.
"The psychology student in me says that was probably an advantage for you. You played hockey because you wanted to, and not because you were forced. I'm sure there are lots of parents who put their kids in skates at three in hopes of making them the best and then they just quit."
Taylor made a sound of agreement. "Yeah, I see what you're saying. But don't get me wrong, there are definitely some guys in the league who learned to skate before they could walk."
Right. Many roads lead to Rome, right? Isn't that the saying?
There was something he said before that caught my attention. His uncle. I wondered if they were close.
"Tell me about your family. Do you have siblings or cousins? You mentioned your uncle."
At the mention of the f-word, a wistful expression came over Taylor's face. Shoot. I hoped he was okay with speaking about them. Or did he miss them so much that thinking about them being miles away literally hurt?
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want," I rushed out.
"No, of course not. We're a real small, tight knit group, back home in Pasadena. It's just my mom and dad and my Uncle Mark. My Uncle is on my dad's side, but their parents passed away a few years ago. And then my mom—do you know she's from Spain?"
I nodded. "Yeah. SportsCast talks about that quite a bit, actually."
Even though Taylor hadn't told me himself, it wasn't that hard to guess his Hispanic roots. His thick, dark hair that curls at the ends, his rich eyes, and tanned skin gave him away.
"Yeah, so anyways, all her family is back there. From my mom's side I have two aunts, five cousins, and both grandparents. To be honest, though, I feel like I don't really know them. We hardly visit."
"Does your mom miss them, then?"
Taylor shrugged. "I'm not sure. She talks to them a lot over FaceTime, but I know she considers my dad and Uncle Mark family too, so I don't think she really feels like she's away from family, if that makes sense."
He watched me as I finished off the last little bit of hot chocolate. I had pretty much been drinking it the entire time he's been speaking.
"This was delicious, by the way. Thanks again."
Taylor's eyebrows moved an inch closer to his hairline. "Really? So many people say that's it's too sweet."
"Well, that makes sense, then. I have such a sweet tooth."
Taylor smiled. His smile was slowly becoming one of my favourite things and I didn't know how to feel about that.
"I could tell by the candies you had at your friend's dorm."
He remembered that?
"Do you like sweets? Let me guess. You're one of those people who is the furthest thing from a picky eater."
He nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I'll eat pretty much anything. Any type of food, sweet, salty, savoury, no matter the cuisine, I could like."
"I'm jealous," I scoffed.
Taylor's eyes narrowed curiously. "Why? You're a picky eater."
"Yeah, you could say that. I like pizza and chicken and pasta. And candy and chips."
"Solid choices," he said before he let out a laugh. "You didn't end up saying anything else about your family, except that you still live with your parents. Do you have a brother or sister?"
So, we were back to family. Mine, this time.
I nodded. "Yeah, one brother, Thomas. We're really close, I think, but he's eight years older so most of the time I feel like an only child with a brother. Because for the longest time I feel like I've received the bulk of my parent's attention."
"Why such a large age gap, if you don't mind my asking?"
"No, not at all. I think my parents had him a bit earlier in their marriage than they would have liked and then they had a few miscarriages and then me." I moved on quickly in case that topic made him uncomfortable for some reason. "Thomas is married and has two sons."
His laugh echoed into the empty arena. "You're pretty young to be an aunt."
"I know, right! And I was a teenager when they were born! It was kind of surreal. But they're both great." I couldn't help but smile when I thought of Max and Jack.
"That's something I can't relate to, having little kids around," Taylor mused. "Although I do volunteer at a youth hockey club once a week."
"Really? That's cool."
An uncomfortable feeling formed in my stomach and was growing more troublesome by the minute. Odd. Was it the hot chocolate? I probably shouldn't have drunk it so fast.
"Yeah. A few guys in the Storm organization were asked to volunteer back in August and I've decided to continue with it. Spending time with kids who have such a pure love of the game is fun. But I don't know if I'll be able to continue it with the amount of travelling involved with being in the NHL."
"Still, I think that's a valuable way to spend your free time."
Taylor stretched his legs out on the seat beside him. The thickness of his thighs distracted me for a moment. The effort it took for me to peel my eyes away was equivalent to trying to sprint through quicksand.
"Camille?"
Hmm? He was talking to me? For the past few seconds, all I could see and hear were his quads.
"Pardon?"
"I asked what you during your free time. For fun?"
I cocked my head to the side in feign confusion. "Fun? F-U-N? I don't know the meaning of the word."
Taylor chuckled.
"But seriously, I honestly don't know the answer to that question. When I'm not in classes, I'm studying. And when I have a few precious moments where I'm not doing either of those, I'm probably watching TV or reading."
An awful, sick feeling settled in my stomach. It certainly didn't help with the pain that I was already feeling. Talking about myself, my life, made me feel so lame. Like a loser. Like I was an alien to my peers because I liked to hang with my parents and do homework and spend time with my one non-family member friend. God, what a pity party I was throwing. I typically wasn't so down about myself. I loved my life. I was a studious person and thrived in an academic environment. I know I have good qualities.
I wasn't sure why I was in a weird mood but it was probably making Taylor uncomfortable. I looked down at the ground again. The gum was still there. Who would have thunk?
I didn't see the long, tanned finger until it was right in front of my face. Ever so gently, it touched beneath my chin and lifted my head so that I was making eye contact with Taylor.
What on earth?
"For what it's worth, I think you're pretty damn cool, Camille," Taylor said softly.
I didn't know what to say in that moment, but I knew exactly what to think. His large brown eyes scanned over my face and mine scanned his. A bit of dark stubble lined his strong jaw and accented his thick, pink lips. His eyes seemed to sparkle with every shade of brown and gold known to man.
Whether this was the first time I thought it, or just the first time that I admitted it, I wasn't sure. But I found Taylor Hudson to be pretty damn attractive.
And to think, I hadn't thought much of his appearance when I first saw him. What an idiot I had been.
"Thanks, Taylor. You're not so—"
"Hey, Hudson, what have I said about bringing girls here?" an unfamiliar voice yelled.
Taylor's finger dropped immediately and his head snapped to the direction of the voice. When I saw the large smile spread across his face, I immediately relaxed.
"Aw, come on, Dan, you said you wouldn't rat me out!
I looked over to the man called Dan. He was wearing navy blue coveralls and a worn-looking Storm hat.
"Dan, this is my friend, Camille. Camille, this is my buddy Dan. He drives the Zamboni for the arena," Taylor said.
Dan nodded at me with a wink. "I do a hell of a lot more around here than that, but the Zamboni is the coolest part, I can admit."
"I'm sure. It's nice to meet you," I said.
"You too, dear. Taylor, we still on for Tuesday at four?"
"Yeah, wouldn't miss it!"
"You're the best, Hudson! I gotta get back to work, but I'll see ya around."
We watched the older man exit the lower level gate into the lobby.
"What's happening Tuesday?" I asked, curious.
"Oh, I just like to meet him for coffee every once in while. He always has lots of cool hockey stories to share."
That's so am—Oh god. The pain. It's didn't let up; if anything, it got worse. It had moved from my stomach to my back and was absolutely wreaking havoc on my muscles. This type of pain came from a familiar devil, even though according to my app, it shouldn't be happening for a week.
That would explain the mood, too.
"You okay, Camille?" Taylor asked.
Great. Was I that freaking obvious?
"Yeah, I just need to use the washroom."
Fuck. Why did I say that? Now he probably thinks I have diarrhea. I'm an anxious person, so that's actually not too uncommon for me.
Definitely not sharing that, though.
"Yeah, sure. The public ones may be closed but I can take you to one."
"Thanks."
I followed Taylor up the stairs to the lobby and stood next to him as he used his fob to open a black door. I followed him down a long, narrow hallway that was clearly not available to the public. He used his fob once again to open a large room that was nearly empty except for a few chairs around the perimeter and a large whiteboard.
"There's a decently clean one in this room," he said, holding out his arm in the direction of the potty paradise.
As soon as I locked the door I pulled my pants down. And...
Yup.
Dark red stains in my underwear.
I didn't want to call it gross, because it's just a healthy, bodily fluid, but it was inconvenient. Thankfully, I can't leave my house without a few essentials, so I had an emergency pad stowed in my purse. And Advil. And a water bottle.
See? There were definitely times when I loved myself.
Unfortunately, though, the Advil's effects weren't instantaneous, so I still waddled back out to Taylor in immense pain.
"Better?" Taylor asked.
He was frowning and his eyebrows were knit together. He really cared, didn't he?
"Yeah, just my back hurts," I admitted. Lying was futile.
"Really? Okay, one second."
I watched in confusion as Taylor opened a closet door that I hadn't noticed before. He took out a purple exercise mat and tossed it on the floor. Then he opened another door and pulled out a small tube of... something.
"Voltaren," Taylor said, answering my thoughts. "I'm not sure if you've used this before, but it helps some of the guys when they have a muscle issue."
I had heard of the product but hadn't used it myself. "Sure, I'll try anything at this point. I already took an Advil."
My period pain varied in intensity from month to month. Clearly, this was one of especially painful ones, and it was impeding my ability to think.
Taylor nodded. "Good. Well, hopefully this will get you feeling okay again even sooner. Lie down on the mat, stomach down."
I found it cute that he needed to specify the way I should lie, but I did as I was told.
"I'm not sure I'll be able to reach my back, though," I mumbled. My face was laying on my folded hands.
"Duh, that's why I was going to apply it on you."
My eyes snapped open.
He must have sensed my hesitation because he asked, "Is that okay? I won't if you say no."
In slow motion I nodded my head. "It's fine."
"Okay, give me a sec." Taylor disappeared into the washroom. I heard the hand dryer run.
Holy shit. How awkward was this going to be? Taylor Hudson touching my body, while I had my period. After I admitted to myself that I find him hot.
Technically, I had said attractive before, but same thing.
"I'm back. I just wanted to heat up my hands so that they're not too cold."
My god, this man. The squirty sound of cream leaving the bottle filled the room.
"I'm going to have to lift your top so that the cream can touch your skin. Ready?"
Yes.
No.
As I'll ever freaking be.
When Taylor Hudson's lubricated hands hit my bare back I wanted to fly and melt at the same time. His hands were large and smooth and tough and strong.
"Am I getting it?" his voice sounded strange.
Fuck me.
"Mmm hmm."
As his hands roamed over the especially sore spots my eyes fluttered close. Jesus, Mary, and Joe Pesci.
He worked silently for the next few minutes and I did my best to not moan.
"Good for now?" Taylor asked.
Surprisingly, the pain in my back was now significantly less. A dull throb instead of a hard kick.
"Yes, thank you so much."
"Great. I'm just going to wash my hands and then I'll take you home."
I nodded.
But I was already gone.