Shutout

Chapter 2 - Logan

He nods at my request for water, pushing off the island to a cabinet above the stove, "You can sit at the island if you'd like. I would offer my actual kitchen table, but I wasn't expecting company, so it's kind of covered in shit."

"That's okay. I don't even have a kitchen table, so you're technically ahead of the game," I carefully perch myself on an island stool, watching him limp his way around the kitchen to get me a glass of water.

He chuckles, sliding the cup in front of me, "You've lived there a total of what? Two months? That's nothing; this table occurred in the past few years when I saw it at Goodwill. Don't sweat it," I offer him a small thanks for the cup, "Okay, this is really embarrassing to admit since you're in my house and everything, but I'm really shit with names. Could you please remind me of yours?"

Okay, so I wasn't the only one, "Logan Klickers...and, um, yours?" I sheepishly ask from around the rim of the glass of water.

"Kane Jenkins," I watch as he quickly pulls out his phone and types something really fast before pocketing it again, "It's nice to formally meet you again, Logan—" a loud timer goes off from the stove, cutting him off, "Nice timing."

On his fridge freezer is a large whiteboard covered in what I assume are normal reminders. Things like, 'submit Buzz article 7/22' and 'eggs, granola, cheddar cheese.' But there are also very weird reminders like, 'NEUROLOGIST IS NEW: DR. BRADFORD' and 'BACKDOOR LOCKED.'

I watch, feeling bad for not being able to really help at all, as he pulls the two pans of enchiladas out. He places a fat one on a light blue ceramic plate and another on a similar plate. I can physically see the steam rising from the food as he crosses back to the island, sliding one plate in front of me and the other beside me.

"I would give it a minute to cool. They're chicken with red sauce, so it's a bit spicy. Let me know if you need more water or something."

Kane grabs his own hydro flask from the kitchen counter before making his way to the stool next to me. I really, really want to cut into it and take a bite despite the heat, but I know that would probably result in third-degree burns, so I sit pitifully, staring at the food.

"Where did you move from?"

I glance away from my food to Kane, who looks pitifully down at his food before back up at me, "Maine."

"Oh, cool...work, right?" I nod, deciding to just cut into it to get the inside to cool, too, "Do you mind if I ask what you do for work?"

I shake my head, not bothered to talk about it, "I'm a hockey player. I recently got transferred to the Indiana Cardinals at the end of last season."

"No way, like you're a professional athlete?" When I look back at Kane, his face looks so much younger all of a sudden, innocence beaming from his astonished features.

"Yeah. NHL. Mmh, four years now? Yeah, this is my fourth season—this upcoming season."

"Holy shit, that's kind of crazy. I have a professional athlete in my house. Boy, would my stepfather be proud," He laughs, one that somehow doesn't sound like any others I've heard. Almost like it is a fake laugh, but the expression on his face makes it clear that it's genuine, "For context, I've always been professionally unathletic," He stops eating momentarily to again pull out his phone and types something the speed of light before putting it down on the island like that never happened.

I chuckle, "Professional, huh? Guess we're both professionals then."

Kane's head bobs, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit as he starts to cut into his enchilada as well, "Yeah, but I'm not making money off of my professionalism."