O Captain, My Captain.

"Hello?" Chelsea smiled turning the volume up on her phone to hear better.

"Hey," Nealer said sounding almost like he was out of breath.

"What can I do for ya?" Chelsea asked.

"What?"

"Like why are you calling me?" she giggled.

"Oh," he said. "Just wanted to make sure I had the right number. This is Chelsea, right?"

"Why would I give you a fake number?" she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, checking her reflection in the mirror that hung above the dresser.

"Uh, I don't know," he stammered. "Your eights looked like threes and I just wanted to make sure it was you."

"James."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you really calling me?"

"That obvious, huh?" he said shyly.

"Teensy bit," she reached for her hairbrush and began brushing through her long, freshly-showered blonde hair.

"I don't know, to say thank you?" he didn't sound too confident. "I had a really good time? I'm not too good with these kinds of things."

Chelsea set the hairbrush down back on the dresser and stepped back to take a closer look at herself. In her eyes, she knew she had the potential to be pretty but otherwise thought of herself as your average girl from Northern Pennsylvania. There was nothing special about her that typically caught the eye of male onlookers. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was mostly dull and lifeless other than the rare occasions where she would actually take the time to put some effort into it. Her physique was slender but she always felt there was room for improvement to get into better shape. The only thing that set her apart from most girls her age was her personality. She had always been taught that confidence was the key to getting you anywhere in life and that's what she set forth in life to be: confident. But other than a sassy personality, she thought of herself to be basic. So why the hell was THE James Neal of the Pittsburgh Penguins on the other line calling to thank her for a good night? It was mind-boggling.

"Well for starters, I should be thanking you," she said finally. "Not only for showing ME a good time but for paying for my dinner last night. Because I don't make jack shit on a teacher's salary."

"It was the least I could do," he said. "After some of the shit I said at dinner. I really didn't mean any of it."

"Stop," she said coldly. "You've already apologized like a million times. I'm over it. Let's move on."

"Sorry," he said softly.

"No need to be sorry," she said, this time her voice a little friendlier. "Trust me, I understand. You want to come off a certain way to portray yourself as someone you're necessarily not. I know you have womanizer-tendencies but I know you're not a complete jackass."

"Thanks," he laughed.

"No really!" she protested. "I'm not nearly as confident as I come across as."

"Bullshit."

"Seriously," she sighed. "Can I let you in on a little secret? I know we literally just met less than 24 hours ago but I feel like I can trust you. I know that sounds weird but just go with it."

"You can tell me anything," he said reassuringly.

"I hide behind my words too," she said.

"What do you mean?" he sounded confused.

"What you did at dinner last night? I do that shit all the time. Truth is, I'm so insecure about myself sometimes and I think being kind of a outcast-ish is the only way I can go about dealing with those insecurities."

"What are you insecure about?" he sounded generally interested.

"About everything!" she exclaimed. "About the way my hair looks, does my makeup look okay at all times, are my clothes just a little too revealing? And most of all, you. I've been wracking my brain ever since you dropped me off this morning why last night happened."

"Chelsea," he said. "I can assure you that you shouldn't be worried about any of those things. You looked beautiful last night and I'm sure you look beautiful all the time. And last night happened because we have something. Like chemistry or a spark, fuck, I don't know."

"But why me?" she was suddenly beginning to realize just how needy she was sounding. "Of all the girls in the world why are you calling me about some bullshit about making sure this was a legitimate number? There are much prettier girls out there that would be more than willing to be with you."

"Because I like you!" he blurted. "I can't exactly explain it but it was just so different with you. You talked to me about meaningful stuff last night, not just about hockey. You're talking to me about meaningful stuff right now. You trust me and you have no idea how happy that makes me."

"You like me?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I really do. I can't place a finger on why but I just do. Why else would I want you to come down and spend next weekend with me?"

"Because my sister's dating your teammate and you felt bad? I don't know."

"What? Do you think because one of us is dating someone it's up to the rest of us to get acquainted with their older sister? That's not how things work, Chels," he said. "I like you because you're easy to talk to and absolutely gorgeous. Whatever insecurities you have should be completely nonexistent."

"Wow," she said.

"What?"

"You...you're just so my type, but not. You act like a complete asshole on the surface but on the inside you could not be any more opposite. It's refreshing," she admitted.

"I'm gonna take all of that as a compliment," he said hastily.

"It was meant as one."

There was a long pause before either of them said anything. They were both absorbing the conversation they were having and taking into consideration that they were both extremely alike. As collected and confident as they seemed on the outside, their insecurities seemed to somehow hinder their success when it came to having relationships with people.

"So what would you like to do tomorrow?" Nealer finally asked.

"Uh, you have a game tomorrow" she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeahhhh, but it's an afternoon game and I'm free all day after that. When are you planning on heading back home?"

"Sometime tomorrow night I suppose. What kinds of things do you guys do after games?"

"Nothing too serious. We normally just grab a bite to eat or go to the bars if we don't have a flight to catch," he responded.

"Dinner would be nice," she said. "Ya know, to make up for some of the shit you said last night."

"Thought you wanted to move past that?" he laughed.

"I do," she bit her lip and sat down on the bed. "But I'm always down for a free meal with an extremely handsome hockey player."

"Dinner it is then," he said. "I think Cappy's hookin you guys up with some V.I.P. guest passes so you can just meet me down by the locker room after the game."

"Perfect," she practically purred. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, James. One more thing?"

"Anything."

"Good luck tomorrow."