“No... no, it’s empty,” I replied, trying to smile back. I could feel my panties getting wet at just the sight of him. Oh God, what was happening to me?
“Thanks. It was Kylie, right?” he asked, digging into his enormous plate of lasagna, topped with what looked like an extra chicken breast, a dry salad on the side and a bottle of chocolate milk to wash it all down. Of course, I knew athletes expended an incredible amount of energy and needed a lot of food to make up for it, but to see that plate in front of me was just different. The man looked like he ate in a meal what I ate in a week!
“Yup, I’m Kylie,” I replied, hoping I sounded like a normal person. “I heard you’re a hockey player, I would have guessed athlete without that info if I saw you eating that,” I continued, motioning at his plate. I don’t know why I was so fixated on it. Maybe I thought that if I looked at his food, those confusing feelings of desire that ran through me every time I looked at his beautiful face would disappear.
“So the gossip has started already has it? This is actually a pretty small meal for me, now that I can’t work out the way I used to I have to reduce my calorie intake. This feels like a diet.”
“I wish my diets involved eating that much food,” I joked, and Daniel laughed.
“Come to the gym in the basement with me tomorrow, I’ll put you through a workout that lets you eat this much.”
“Are you asking me out?” I asked before I realized what I was saying, then instantly covered my mouth in surprise at my own reaction.
“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, and my eyes widened as my body tightened. There was no way to get out of it now.
“Fine. I’ll show up tomorrow and you can make me earn some extra ice cream for dessert.”
“I can’t wait. I never thought I’d find a pretty girl like you here in rehab. I guess I had a few pre-conceived notions about this place.” As it seemed so prone to do lately, a blush crawled up my face and I looked down at my food. A tingle of embarrassment and happiness crawled through me. I hadn’t felt happiness like this in a long, long time.
“Even us beautiful people can be broken,” I replied with a small smile, then changed the subject. “Do you ever get burnt out, playing hockey? That is, if I can ask you something like that.”
Daniel nodded as he shoved a big forkful of salad into his mouth. “Yup. When I think about it, I started playing hockey seriously, considering it to be a career, when I was about twelve years old. Before then it was just a fun thing to do with my friends, but when I was twelve I think I began to realize that if I really took it seriously I could maybe hit the big leagues, and that was when I began to treat it like a job. I’m 29 now, so it’s been seventeen years. For most people, who really start their careers when they’re in their early 20s, seventeen years is almost forty. Prime age for a mid life crisis, and I guess that’s what I’ve hit now, I’ve just done it ten years before most,” he replied with a small, sad smile. As I looked into his eyes, I could see the pain there. I wondered about what had happened to him.
“Do you know what happened to me?” he asked, curious. “I know it’s all over the internet, I just don’t know if you’ve read about it at all or looked it up, or follow hockey.”
I shook my head. I figured I’d tell the truth. “I looked you up, I read up until the part that involved your injury, and stopped reading. I figured it’s only fair to you.”
“Really? I really appreciate that, Kylie. I’m pretty sure you’re the only person here who hasn’t looked it up, four people have come and asked me about it in the last few days.”
“Well, those four people should have respected your need to heal here just as they have. I don’t like to talk about my past, I figure I have no right to look up other people’s without their permission.”
“Thanks, Kylie. I find it difficult to talk about as well, so I know exactly what you mean. But hey, it’s dinner time, no need to harp on about our problems. I’m going to bed early tonight, but I’ll meet you in the basement gym at 10 tomorrow morning.”
“Deal,” I smiled, watching as he got up from his chair, his plate now completely empty. I looked down at my still barely touched meal. What was it about this guy? Why was it that I could feel my nipples, hard and erect, pressing against the fabric of my bra, so hard they were almost painful? Why could I feel that my panties were soaking wet when we’d done no more than talk, and maybe flirt just a tiny bit?
I asked myself these questions and more as I forced the rest of my food into my mouth and went back to my room. Were they withdrawal symptoms? Was this normal? Why did I feel like I’d been hit by lightning every time I saw Daniel?