Pittsburgh

Though I had left the executive suite as though I was in a hurry to meet Evgeni, I knew it was going to be a while before he was finished being interviewed, showered and changed. Remembering to touch up my hair and makeup, I walked around for a bit, wading through the crowds as they chatted happily about today’s result. I headed to the First Niagara Club, deciding its restroom would be the best place to freshen up.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I wondered whether I was worthy enough to have Evgeni Malkin buy me a drink. I knew that I definitely wasn’t the first girl he has taken out for drinks, nor would I be the last: after only having met him once before, and being an extremely pragmatic person, I was definitely going into this situation realistically. Knowing that this may very well be the only time something like this ever happens with Evgeni, I decided to ensure that I made the most of it. I sprayed down some flyaways with the small can of hairspray I kept with me at all times; my naturally curly hair, which was an absolute pain to maintain, was always in need of touching up. Today I had styled it into loose waves that fell over my left shoulder, which thankfully had kept shape fairly well. I then touched up my eyeliner and mascara, careful not to smear any on myself like I always ended up doing. After applying a coat of lipstick and spritzing myself with perfume, I decided that I was as ready as I would ever be and left for the locker rooms.

Thankfully Evgeni would be taking a while; otherwise he probably would have thought I wasn’t going to show up. After having to ask three different people for directions and taking at least five wrong turns, I managed to find the locker rooms. There were several people already waiting, many of whom were women. I tried to look as though I wasn’t becoming increasingly nervous, nor conscious about how overdressed for a hockey game I must have looked; it wasn’t like I could explain that I had just come from a business meeting to everyone that gave me a weird glance.
Some of the players began exiting the room and either approached some of those who were waiting, or else headed off in the direction of the parking lot. I noticed that Patric Hornqvist was one of those players, and as he made eye contact with me, I smiled. Recognition lit his eyes as he returned the smile and approached me, much to the dismay of a leggy blonde who shot me a death stare.
“So, you’re the girl Geno was talking to earlier?” he asked me, his smile changing from friendly to amused.
“Yeah, I’m Audrey,” I told him, extending my hand to shake.
“Patric,” he replied, shaking my hand firmly.
I bit back telling him that I already knew who he was, instead choosing to go with “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. So how do you know Geno?” he asked.
“We met a few weeks ago; after the Islanders game. I left here pretty late and he offered me a ride home.”
“He didn’t try and… what’s the term? Get fresh with you, did he?” Patric asked, amusement lighting his eyes.
Knowing that he was joking, I laughed off the comment. “Of course not, he was quite the gentleman.”
“Hear that Geno?” Patric called, looking past me. “You’re a gentlemen.”
I turned to see Evgeni exiting the locker room, walking straight past the girls who had evidently been waiting for him and approaching us.
“Of course!” he said, giving me a smile. “I couldn’t let pretty woman get sick from bad weather.”
I blushed at his comment whilst Patric laughed. “Real smooth Geno, real smooth. I’m heading out to celebrate with a couple of guys – you two coming?” he asked.
I looked to Geno, not sure whether this was what he had in mind when he asked me to grab a drink with him after the game. Of course, I’d be happy to go with him, although hanging out with a bunch of hockey players out celebrating a 5-0 victory sounded like it could get pretty crazy pretty quickly.
“No, I take Audrey out for drinks – just two of us,” Geno replied, shooting me a smile that made heat creep up my neck, flushing my cheeks.
“Wow, Audrey! You were right: our Geno is a gentleman!” Patric replied with a laugh. “You two have fun.”
“We will,” said Geno; that smile never wavering from his full lips. “Don’t get too crazy!”
“I can’t make any promises,” Patric laughed, bumping fists with him before turning to me. “Nice you meet you,” he said, bending down slightly to give me a swift hug.
“You too!” I replied earnestly.
“You ready?” Geno asked me once Patric headed down the hall to his car.
“Let’s go,” I told him, giving him a shy smile.

***

“You hungry?” he asked me, again holding open the door of his car to let me in.
“A little,” I replied. In reality, I was absolutely starving, and as much as the prospect of going to dinner with Geno both excited and frightened me, there was no way I’d be drinking on an empty stomach.
“Good, I take you to nice place not far from here,” he told me shutting the door for me.
I snuggled into the leather bucket seat and strapped on my seatbelt, trying to calm my nerves. I tried not to look at him too much as he got into the car, switching on the engine. The more I did, the more I realised how good-looking he was.
“So I forget ask; you have good time at game?” he asked me, pulling out of the players parking garage and onto the road.
“Of course I did,” I replied, focusing on the road ahead of us in attempt to stop myself from ogling him for the entire trip. “You guys won, didn’t you?”
“We win last time and you not have good time,” he retorted in a know-it-all-tone.
“But it was a shutout this time,” I replied, playing along.
This earned me a laugh from him. “What about work problem?”
“That worked itself out, thanks to you.” I couldn’t help but notice that the hand he placed on the gearstick was only inches from where mine was resting on my leg.
“What I do?” he asked, puzzled.
“Scored the final goal,” I told him. Though I felt bad for name dropping him in order to get ahead in this business deal, and I really had no other cards to play at that point, I didn’t exactly want to tell Geno that. God knows I’m not the only girl that would have bragged about him buying them a drink, and I definitely didn’t want to come off as one of them to him, even if – technically – I was.
“Well it should be you buying me drink then!” he said, shooting me a playful grin.

Geno parked the car on the curb of a quiet street littered with cafes, restaurants and boutiques. After getting out of the car himself, he opened the passenger door and helped me out. A chilly breeze swept over us, causing goose bumps to erupt over every bare inch of my skin. At first I silently cursed myself for forgetting to bring a coat, but having noticed how cold I had suddenly become, Geno wordlessly put an arm around me and led me down the street. Butterflies seemed to erupt within me as we walked together: him with ease, and I struggling to stop myself from practically skipping. It had been so long since I had a date with such a sweet, gentlemanly, incredibly handsome guy, and I couldn’t help but feel totally at peace with the world around me. I smiled kindly to anyone that passed us, and it was only when a middle-aged couple stopped us to congratulate Geno on a fantastic game that I remember he was a famous NHL player.
“This is place,” Geno told me, stopping outside a lovely looking tapas bar.
He opened the door for me, and as I stepped into the restaurant, I was immersed in its warmth and amazing smell. It was already very crowded, and not knowing whether Geno had made a reservation, I wondered how long we’d have to wait for a table if there weren’t any available. I turned to ask Geno whether he had made a last-minute reservation, realising that he was talking in a low voice to the hostess, who after a few moments, led us to a quiet corner of the restaurant. As he pulled out my chair for me, I sat down, thinking that I could definitely get used to his gentlemanly charms.
“So, as promise, I need buy you drink,” he told me, smiling as he took a seat opposite me.
The hostess handed each of us a menu, telling us that she would send a waitress over shortly to take our drink orders.
“Well, seeing as we’re in a tapas bar, I’d be crazy not to have at least one sangria,” I told him, looking through the drinks list.
He laughed. “Sangria seem good drink for celebration.”
A waitress approached our table a few minutes later, taking our drink orders and asking how much longer we needed to the tapas.
“Is okay if I order them?” Geno asked me before the waitress could leave. “I come here before, know what ones are good.”
“Sure,” I replied with a smile, thankful that I was relieved from choosing between the varieties of tapas choices that all seemed so delicious.

By the time the waitress returned with a small jug of sangria, Geno and I were so deep in conversation that we hardly noticed her place it on the table. Though his English was broken, the animated way in which he talked was captivating.
“So, what Australia like?” he asked me when the waitress returned with our tapas. “I never been.”
“Australia is beautiful,” I smiled, thinking of my home country. “It’s like no other place in the world, and believe me, I’ve travelled to quite a few.”
“Is very hot there,” Geno said in that way of his that made it hard to tell whether it was a question or statement.
“Yeah, it can get pretty hot there,” I conceded. “But we have so many beautiful beaches to enjoy during summer… Of course, the ones without the stingrays and box jellyfish and sharks and blue-ringed octopi; you don’t want to go anywhere near there.”
I expected Geno to laugh at my joke, but he instead looked shocked. “Is dangerous to swim in Australia?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.
I laughed at how seriously he took my joke. “Well I mean yes, there are some pretty dangerous animals in Australian waters, but most of them are in the waters either right at the top or bottom of the country, or on the western side, near Perth. I’m from Sydney, which is on the eastern side; the beaches I grew up going to are amazing, and totally safe.”
“Sydney,” Geno repeated, his Russian accent elongating the word. “Is where big bridge is?”
“That’s the place,” I confirmed with a smile. “It’s such a beautiful city.”
“When you go back?” he asked me.
“I’ll be heading back there a few days before Christmas… I usually stay for about two weeks before heading back here. I try and head home again about mid-June but it really depends on work.”
“You family come visit here?”
“They’ve come here a couple of times; my dad’s a mechanic and my mum’s a school teacher so it’s hard for them to get time off too.” I sighed; talking about my parents always made me miss them terribly.
Geno picked up on this, motioning to the jug of sangria in order to change the subject. “You want more sangria?” he asked.
“Just one more glass,” I told him, offering it to him. “I don’t want to overdo it this time.”
He chuckled, pouring what was left in the jug into my glass. “You no that bad that night,” he assured me, handing me back the glass.
“Well that makes me feel much better.” I smiled, taking a sip of sangria.
I kept my resolution to let that glass of sangria be my last, and was even strong enough to resist Geno’s playful suggestion to have just one more. When the waitress came to ask us whether we were going to have dessert, and Geno requested churros to share, I had to subtly pinch myself under the table to ensure this wasn’t a dream.

After paying for dinner, Geno and I left the warmth of the restaurant and were met with the chilly air of an October evening in Pittsburgh. As I had hoped he would, Geno put his arm around me as we walked back to his car; the scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his body gave me a high that I just did not want to come down from.
When we got to his car, he unlocked it and held the door open for me, allowing me to reluctantly leave the warmth of his body and get into the freezing cold car. Moments later, Geno got into the car and turned on the heat. Warmth slowly spread through the car as we headed back to my place. I was glad that he was taking me home and not back to his place; as much as I was beginning to like him, I didn’t want to be one of the girls he took home and then never saw again.
We fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the car and the sangria I had drank almost lulling me to sleep. It had been a long and exciting day, and whilst I was in the car with an incredibly good-looking guy, I longed for the comfort of my own bed.

We pulled up outside my apartment building and Geno switched the engine off, pulling me out of my reverie. As he got out of the car, I grew nervous; I had no idea what the protocol was for the end of a date with an NHL player. He opened the door for me, holding his hand out once again to help me out of the car. Putting his arm around me, we walked to the door of my building.
“Thank you so much for tonight,” I said, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.
“Is my pleasure,” he replied, grinning. “My team win game and I take pretty woman out to dinner.”
I laughed, retrieving my keys from my handbag. “I had a really lovely time tonight. Congratulations again for winning the game; you were incredible on the ice.” I unlocked the door, pushing it slightly ajar.
“I am happy,” he said, reaching over to close the door. “And thank you.” As he took a step closer to me, I looked up at him, uncertain of what his intentions were; I noticed that he was almost a foot taller than me, even when I was wearing heels. “I would much like your phone number. I call you and take you out again. Maybe you come watch me play?” He took his phone out from his pocket and handed it to me, smiling.
“Sure,” I replied, taking his phone and keying in my number. I couldn’t help but smile as I handed his phone back.
“I call you soon,” he told me, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “You have good sleep, I see you later. Goodnight.”
“Good night,” I replied, hoping that he didn’t notice the blush that had crept to my cheeks. I watched him walk back to his car and wave to me before getting in and driving off down my street, hardly believing what had just happened.