“That sounds interesting,” Dana said. “If not promising.”
“You’re a smart girl, Dana.” He flashed his dimple, and I felt myself slip a little further under his spell. That smile could melt glass. “See, I have a QuirkBox. But no TV. Bridger and I were a good team — but the TV was his.”
“QuirkBox is a game console?” I asked.
He nodded. “Anyway, if you ever want to play, I would hook it up in here. It only takes a second.”
“Well, go ahead,” I said. “Give it a shot.”
“You’re the best,” he said, a look of joy on his face. “I’ll be right back.”
The door fell closed, and we heard the sound of Hartley thumping back across the hall.
“Big fan of gaming?” Dana asked me.
“No,” I grinned. “However…”
She laughed. “I think we should call him ‘Hart-throb’ from now on. I’d better get ready for this audition.” She went into her room to have a fashion crisis.
“Video games aren’t really my thing. I’ll just watch,” I told Hartley as he hooked it up. From the couch, I had a nice view of his backside.
“Suit yourself.” A minute later, the game lit the big screen, and a team of incredibly realistic hockey players in Bruins jerseys took the ice.
I leaned forward in spite of myself. “That’s Anton Khodobin! You can see their faces?”
Hartley chuckled. “Yeah, but I know it’s not your thing.” Balancing on his crutches in front of the TV, he held the controller in his hands. At the sound of the buzzer, there was a face-off, which Hartley’s player won. His team was skating against the Islanders, and Hartley passed the puck from his center to his left wing.
A tense moment followed, when the Islanders’ defenseman got his stick on the puck. But Hartley snatched it back with a grunt of satisfaction. He skated forward, lining up a shot. The goalie lunged, but before I could see what happened, Hartley moved his shoulders into my line of sight, and the screen disappeared behind his body. Without thinking, I pushed off the sofa to move around him.
And I fell.
In the split second before I hit the floor, I realized my mistake. It still happened once in awhile, and only when I was very distracted. I would actually forget that I could no longer stand unassisted, and hurl myself to the ground.
I went down with a thump, my arm making an exaggerated smack onto our makeshift coffee table.
Hartley’s head whipped around. “Shit, are you okay?”
“Sure,” I said, my face getting hot. “Just, um, clumsy.” I rubbed my arm where it had hit the table. “Look out,” I said, nodding toward the screen. The Islanders had stolen the puck and were breaking for Hartley’s goal. When he looked away from me, I quickly hoisted my butt back onto the couch.
He paused the game, and then turned around again, studying me.
I looked down at my hands.
“Heads up,” Hartley said. And when I looked back at him, he tossed me the controller, which I caught. “What team do you want to be?” He gave me a huge smile, just the kind that made me feel all squishy inside.
“Pittsburgh,” I answered, without hesitation.
“Good pick, Callahan,” he said, grabbing the other controller and pulling up a menu on the screen. “This will only take a second to set up. And then you will learn from the master.”
There were many things I would have liked to learn from “the master.” But that night, I settled for a video game called RealStix.
The next time Hartley came over to play hockey, I was ready for him.
“Do you remember how to do this?” Hartley asked, handing me a controller.
“I think so.”
This time, we sat side by side on the sofa, with Hartley’s cast balanced on the coffee table. He pressed “play,” and our two players stared one another down for the face-off. The digital ref dropped the puck between us, and I hooked it with my stick. Then, after passing to my wing, I skated toward the goal.
Hartley’s goalie came into view. I angled towards him, the puck aiming toward the right hand corner of the net. On the screen, Hartley’s guy inched over to cover that side. I faked to the left, and the goalie swerved right on cue. I slammed the puck right again and sent it into the goal.
Then I giggled as the fake crowd went wild.
“What the fuck, Callahan?” Hartley paused the game. “You deked my goalie?” Slowly, his surprised face evolved into a wicked grin. “Hold on, girl. You practiced, didn’t you!”
I fought against my own smile. “Wouldn’t you, if you were me?”
“Jesus Christ, you’re going to pay for this…” Then, with some kind of ninja speed, he leaned over and grabbed my arm, raising it up. Before I even knew what was happening, he had his fingers under my armpit, tickling me.