“So, in conclusion, I’d like to thank you once more for coming here tonight. It means a lot to not only me, but to all the thousands of fighters, the survivors, the strong men and women that have been affected by your generous donations. Without your support, we would not be able to save lives,” I finished. I stepped down from the podium, walked across the stage, and took my seat next to the president and CEO of the Hope is Love Foundation—all the while wondering when I would finally be able to change into sweats and eat ice cream from the quart with Vero.
I loved my job—don’t get me wrong—but devoting sixty hours a week to promoting donations for cancer research was not only physically draining, but mentally draining, too. And suffering a recent breakup with my lover-turned-gay, the only thing that motivated me was spending Saturday nights with the Fab Four, gossiping and eating fried foods.
The Fab Four, our cheesy nickname for our posse, consisted of my three best friends since high school and me. Every Saturday, we met up at one of our houses and chatted about that week’s events. Vero always brought the appetizers, I took care of the alcohol, and Jules and Remy worried about dessert. This particular Saturday, I was hosting.
After all the clapping died down, I grabbed my bag and coat and began saying my goodbyes. I kissed Jason, the CEO, on the cheek and told him I’d see him on Monday. He smiled and nodded as I asked the valet to bring my car around.
My phone buzzed.
Kirsten, how bout Diesel tonight instead of your place?
Vero :)
Ugh. I hated clubbing, especially after a day like today. If we went, I’d have to go home and shower, dry and straighten my hair, do my makeup, and it would be at least an hour and a half until I was ready. I flipped open my phone and typed a quick reply.
Why not staying in and watching movies like we normally do?
I pulled into my little Brownstone and let myself in. Instead of texting back, she called just as I was changing into my pajamas.
“Kirsten,” she whined, “Will you please come with us? It’ll be a nice change, you know? We can dance and get drunk and then Marc-Andre can be our designated driver and we can all flop onto bed and get laid.”
It sounded like she was already wasted.
“Vero, I’m tired. I’ve been working all day and I just got home. I’d have to shower and—”
She cut me off. “You don’t need to get showered. Everyone’s going—Me and Marc and Remy and Jordan and Jules and Kris. And don’t worry, you’re not going to be the third wheel, so don’t give me that crap. We’ll be there in a half hour, so see you then!”
She hung up, leaving me exasperated and crabby.
***
“What?” I shouted. “I can’t hear a thing you’re saying!”
We’d been at Diesel for over three hours. Vero and Marc were in the VIP room making out, and Jules and Kris were in the middle of a competitive dance off against each other. Jordan and Remy had gotten into a fight earlier, and the entire time we’d been there they were trying to make the other jealous by dancing with random people.
Now, I was left standing by the bar and talking to the bartender lamely. He was trying to tell me something about some guy that was staring at me, but I couldn’t here a word he said because the music was blaring.
“I said, that guy,” he started, leaning in closer to me so I could hear him, and pointed to one of the guys that I’d seen Marc talking to earlier, “has been checking you out all night.” I looked at the guy. He was looking intently at his straw and mixing his drink with it.
“Oh has he, now?” I asked.
The bartender wiped the counter and laughed. “Yeah, he has.”
“Think I should go talk to him?”
“Yeah, he seems like a nice guy,” the bartender said, shrugging nonchalantly. “He’s a regular,” he continued, “and never once have I seen him here with a girl. He’s always sitting over there with the rest of the Pens, usually drinking a Coke and Rum and talking to the other players.”
Pens? Players?
Maybe “Pens” was a nickname for their group. And players? So he was a player but yet he never hung out with women? Was he gay? I had a bad experience with that… I’d never hung out with Marc-Andre much, and when I did, we never talked about his friends. Marc was nice enough, though, so I figured I’d give this guy a chance.
I downed a shot and flipped it upside down. “Thanks, Bartender.”
“Anytime,” he laughed.
I sighed and walked over to the guy that had been checking me out, apparently. Could it be that my skirt was short and my shirt tight? Or could it be that I had a dazzling personality and a good heart?
Neither, I thought. I was probably the most conservatively dressed woman there. But then there were the stripper boots…guys usually liked those.
“Hey,” I said. “Haven’t I seen you in GQ?”
What a lame pickup line.
He looked at me nervously. “Um, yeah, you probably have,” he chuckled. “I’m Sidney Crosby.”
Suddenly it all came to me. Pens. Players. The hockey team. This was Sidney Crosby! Holy shit! I’m standing in the presence of Sidney Crosby!
“Oh, I, well, hello,” I replied. “I’m Kirsten Damits.”
“Damn it?”
“No,” I laughed. “My last name is Damits. D-A-M-I-T-S.”
“That must have sucked in high school.”
“Yeah, it did,” I agreed. I sat down across from him at the booth and crossed my legs, getting comfortable.
“So, now that I’ve already embarrassed myself with the whole GQ thing, I might as well just keep making myself a fool…”
“Go on,” he prompted.
“Well, that bartender told me that you come here a lot, and that you never once have left with a girl,” I began awkwardly. “So, uh, you’re not gay, right?”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled mysteriously. “Why? Does that turn you on?”
“Quite the opposite,” I said honestly. “My ex and I were engaged when I found out he was gay, so I’ve kind of had a bad experience with that type of thing.”
He smiled at me, his dimples showing. So adorable.
“You’re a pretty interesting girl, Kirsten. I’ve been watching you all night.”
“That sounds a bit stocker-ish,” I replied. “But what have you seen?
“Well, in addition to your awesome last name, you just have that air about you. Not pretentious or anything, but there’s just something about you. Like, you’ve only had two drinks the entire night and one shot. And you’ve been talking to the bartender for a while, trying to, at least. And the way you’re dressed—you look sexy but reserved.”
“Sexy but reserved? Nobody’s ever described me that way.”
“Well yeah. Everyone else is dressed like a slut, with their shirts too low and their skirts not even covering their butts. But you’re dressed so that the guy has to imagine what’s underneath. Your shirt actually fits you and your skirt shows off your legs, but not in a whorish way. And those boots…” he grinned.
So it was the boots.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked.
“Definitely a good thing. It shows that you respect yourself and demand respect from others. I like that in a girl.”
“Wow, for a guy, you really think things through a lot.”
He laughed and pretended to be offended. “Well when the rest of my friends are off and planning how to get laid, I’m just left to sit over here and let my mind wander.”
“I like that in a guy,” I said back, referring to his comment about what he liked in a girl.
We sat there and talked for a while, the minutes passing by so quickly. I looked at my watch—11:15 pm. It had been a long day, but I wasn’t ready for it to end.
“Kirsten, it’s loud in here,” Sid pointed out.
I looked into his eyes for a minute too long, and suddenly I was captivated. He was charming and thoughtful and everything my ex wasn’t.
I sighed. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” I asked.
He seemed confused. “I’m not into one night stands…”
“That’s not what I was referring to, Mr. One Track Mind. Actually, I was thinking we could go somewhere where we could hear what the other was saying. Like a diner or something.”
He laughed. “A diner. I’d like that.”
He stood up and held out his arm for me to loop mine in. I liked his old-fashioned ways—he wasn’t into meaningless sex, he liked a modest girl, and he was a gentleman.
“I should probably let one of the girls know I’m leaving, first.”
“Alright. Oh, and did you want me to drive? I know that Vero picked you up and all.”
I didn’t think about that. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not a problem. I’ll go get the car and meet you out front?”
“’Kay,” I agreed.
I ran over to Remy to let her know that I was leaving with Sidney Crosby and that we were going someplace to talk and eat. She raised her eyebrows at me—something people had been doing a lot—and told me she expected me to call her later.
I met Sidney out front as planned, and he opened the door to his Jeep Commander for me. He turned the radio on and told me I could put whatever channel on.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” I asked him.
“Alright, I know it’s odd, but I really like to listen to pop stuff.”
“Wow, Sid the Kid listens to Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. That would make for some nice headlines,” I joked.
His face got a little red, but it made him look even cuter. “Whatever.”
“So, where are we going?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“Um, I’m sorry, and if it’s an inconvenience I totally understand, but do you think we could stop by my apartment first so I could change real quick? I’ve been in these clothes and boots all day, and to be honest, I’d really like to just throw on some jeans and a tank top.”
He smiled. “That’s doable. I’ll need directions, though.”
“Sure.”
***
When we arrived twenty minutes later, I unbuckled and opened the door. “I’ll just be a minute, but if you want to come in, feel free,” I offered.
He followed me into the house and stood by the front door. I threw my keys on the little table by the door and slid off my boots. Ah, it felt good to be back to my normal height.
“Want the grand tour?” I joked.
“If you’re willing to give it.” He was playing along.
“Well,” I began, leading him into the kitchen, “this is the kitchen, if you couldn’t figure it out. That’s the dining room,” I said, pointing towards the table and chairs in the adjoining room.
“This is the family room, which is where I spend most of my time,” I continued.
“Nice fireplace,” he complimented. “You’ll have to show me how it works sometime.”
Flirting already?
I smiled, pushing my bangs out of my face. “I’d like that.”
We walked around the rest of the first floor, and I showed him the game room downstairs. I figured it would be his favorite. I had a 64” flat screen hanging on the wall, with Steelers memorabilia plastering every open space. The mini-bar was to the left of the room, and the two leather coaches were positioned in front of the television. My laptop was set up in the corner of the room, even though I had an office upstairs. I liked to work while I was watching football games.
“You know, as much as I love this room, I’d like it a lot more if there was some Penguins stuff hanging up,” Sidney said.
“Well, Sidney, I’ll get right on that.”
“You can call me Sid.”
“Random, but okay,” I laughed. “Do you want me to finish showing you my house, or are you just going to stay down here for eternity?”
He pretended to look sad. “Fine, I guess I’d like to finish what we started.”
I led him back up the steps, through the hallway, and up another set of stairs to the loft. The way the house was set up, the second floor was designed to resemble a loft, with the balcony hanging over the den.
“Jeez, are you the only one living here?” he asked.
“Currently. There used to be someone else, but like I said, I had a bad experience.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to prod.”
“No, it’s fine. Anyways, here’s my room,” I said, opening the door and letting him step in. My walls were painted a deep red, and the cherry furniture was chosen to match the décor perfectly. My bed was against the wall with the windows, which was designed to look like one big glass wall. He wandered over to my nightstand, which had framed pictures of me and the girls, and one of me and my brother John.
“Is this your brother?” he asked, pointing.
“We look that alike?” I laughed.
“Yes. Same brown hair. Same brown eyes. Same nose. Same smile,” he said, stepping closer to me. “But you’re much prettier,” he whispered.
He was about to lean down to kiss me, but for some ungodly reason I stepped back. I opened my closet and grabbed the first pair of jeans I touched.
“I’m going to go change real quick in the bathroom,” I said awkwardly, gesturing towards the room next door.
“Okay, but can I jump on the bed while you’re gone?” Sid asked. He looked serious.
“Um, sure?” I replied, shrugging.
I changed into my jeans and tank top and slid on a pair of flip flops. I grabbed my fleece hoodie off the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around my waist. I glanced over my reflection in the full-length mirror, and was about to leave when I realized my hair was still up in a tight twist; I must’ve looked like a nun to Sid. I pulled it down and brushed it with my fingers. Thankfully the waves laid against my shoulders perfectly, and it looked like I’d let my hair just dry naturally in the sun. I ran the mascara brush across my lashes and swiped some lip gloss across my lips.
There, I thought to myself, much better.
Finally ready to go, I went back into my room to tell Sid we could leave. He was sitting on my bed, looking through a photo album with pictures from the cruise Jules and I had just gone on. It was an attempt by the girls to help cheer me up after the nasty breakup. They’d even paid for the whole thing and taken care of packing for me. I loved them more than my own life for being there for me.
“Looking at you, I would have never guessed that you were active like this,” he said in somewhat disbelief, pointing to a picture of me and Jules waterskiing.
“Thanks Sid. I’m glad to know I look like some fat pig that doesn’t get exercise.”
He looked shocked. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean that. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen. I just meant that you’re so sophisticated and everything, and you just seem like you’d rather listen to opera or something than go waterskiing.”
“Wow, so I’m fat and boring. No wonder I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, teasing him. He took me seriously, though, and the color of his face resembled that of my walls.
“Okay, now that I’ve dug myself into this hole, is there any chance you still want to go out with me tonight?”
“Sid,” I laughed. “I’m kidding. I get the whole ‘your looks are so deceiving’ thing a lot. Don’t worry about it; it’s cool,” I assured him.
“I really am sorry, Kirsten.” He seemed so genuine and sincere.
“Sid, honestly, I’m fine. I guess it has been a while since I’ve worked out, though. And, I mean, I did eat a piece of cake tonight, so that makes it even worse. Come to think of it, all I did last night was read. So you are right, anyways. I am fat and boring.”
I was still teasing him harmlessly. He looked like he was about to cry, though, so I decided that maybe I should stop harassing him. But damn, he looked so cute when he was confused.
“Oh my god, Kirsten, I am so sorry. I know I’m a guy and I suck at saying the right thing, but I really did not mean to insult you. Seriously. I think you’re really beautiful and sexy, and not boring in the least. So just get any notion that you’re, um, pleasantly plump out of your mind. You probably have a better six-pack than I do, anyways,” he laughed nervously.
I smiled. “I’m sorry for teasing you. It was so much fun, though. You look pretty cute when you’re upset, though.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even said that about you.”
I smiled devilishly. “But you are right about one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“I do have a better six-pack than you.”
***
At almost 12:30 in the morning, we finally left my house.
“Where to?” Sid asked, starting up his car. Even though we’d stopped at my house, we figured that we might as well carpool, since Sid could drop me off on his way home.
“When I was little, I would always go to this one diner called Ritters. They had the best grilled cheese and jukebox!” I said excitedly, even though I was tired.
“I love grilled cheese, so that sounds perfect. And a nice juke would be nice, especially compared to the music blasting at Diesel. Do you know how to get there?”
“Please, I could get there in my sleep,” I bragged.
I gave him directions, and we were about five minutes away when I was overcome with curiosity.
“Sid, even though we just met a few hours ago, I feel oddly open with you.”
“I feel comfortable around you, too.”
“Okay, then can I ask you a question?”
“Anything,” he said, making a left onto Small Street.
“The bartender at Diesel said that he’s never seen you leave with a girl before. And you made a comment about how the music is blaring there, so why do you go there? I mean, if you’re not hooking up and stuff…”
“Not every guy’s life is centered around sex, Kirsten.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He was so forthright.
“I wasn’t insinuating that,” I replied.
“I know. I just go to have something to do. The only time I ever really get to do what I want is in the summer since it’s the offseason, and even then I’m kind of a homebody.”
“Hmm. I pictured that the star of the Penguins hockey team would have girls crawling all over him.”
“Looks like we’ve both assumed some things tonight, then,” he said, laughing.
“Guess we’re even.”
We pulled into Ritters and Sid opened my door for me. I wasn’t used to such chivalry. He held out his hand for me and bowed down. “Shall we enter the diner, Mademoiselle?”
“Thou doth desire to enter thee diner, your fair Sir,” I said, giggling.
We got settled and ordered our grilled cheeses and coffees—black, no creamer or sugar. The diner was pretty empty late at night, so Sid didn’t have to wear his trademark beanie as a disguise.
We stayed and played get-to-know-you games until well past two in the morning. I told Sid about my traumatic love story, my family, and the girls that were my pseudo-sisters. He told me about how he lost his virginity—tragically—and talked about the NHL and how demanding his career is. It was late, though, and I felt like I could fall asleep at any minute.
“Sid, do you think you could take me home now?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. “But can you answer a question for me first?”
“Yeah, what?”
“What’s the name of your ex?”
My stomach sank and I could feel my throat closing in.
Because that was the one question I couldn’t answer.
