NHL IMAGINES [SLOW UPDATES]

Eric Staal

for the sake of this, pls pretend he doesn't have kids

"So, how was training, babe?" You blow gently on your coffee, looking over your mug at Eric sitting across the café table from you.

"It was good," he answers blandly.

"Just good?" You sip your drink and wait for him to elaborate.

"Yeah," he nods. "Just good. Nothing to report."

"Okay," you digress. You drum your fingers on your coffee cup in agitation.

Eric shifts to pull his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen, types a quick message, then lays the phone face-down on the table.

You give him a puzzled look. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Y/N, nothing's wrong." He sips his coffee. "Just tired, I guess."

"Poor thing." You reach across the table to put your hand on his. You caress his knuckles with your thumb.

"I love you," Eric says quietly, picking up your hand and kissing it.

"I love you, too," you echo. Yet, in spite of the sentiment, you can't help the confused look on your face. He isn't usually so short with you, he likes telling you about practices, morning skates, interviews, all of it.

Right on cue, Eric's phone pings, drawing your attention as well as his.

Eric tilts the phone to look at the screen. He doesn't respond, but lays the phone back down. He looks at you and takes a breath before speaking. "So, what about you, Y/N/N? How was your morning?" He holds eye contact, waiting for your answer.

"Not too bad," you shrug, still holding his hand on the table. "Busy. One of my clients was panicked about her flowers not matching her place cards. I had to remind her that the place cards don't have any color on them. She'd forgotten what they look like." You laugh and take a drink, rolling your eyes. "Summer, it's my busiest season, what can I do?"

Eric chuckles, too. "Weddings make women crazy, huh?"

"Some women," you correct him. "They keep me on my toes. Wedding planning isn't an easy job, but someone has to do it, right?" You smile jokingly.

"But who plans the planners' weddings?" Eric asks with mock urgency, widening his eyes for emphasis.

You roll your eyes again, but are interrupted by the ping of his phone. You look at it, waiting for him to check it.

He glances at the phone, but doesn't reach to check it.

You decide to push your paranoia about the phone aside. He's acting strangely about it, but it's probably just a team thing. Nothing to worry about, you tell yourself. You just take another gulp of coffee and decide you'll ask him about it later, if he keeps being odd.

"Ready to get out of here?" Eric asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

"Um, yeah," you reply, finishing as much of your coffee as you can, while Eric rises from his seat and comes around to pull your chair out for you.

He slips his phone into his pocket and takes your hand, walking out of the coffee shop. The rest of the day, you're on high alert. You subconsciously make a note of every time his phone pings, whether or not he looks at it, and whether or not he answers. You barely even remember any of the errands you run, because you're too preoccupied by his damn phone, despite your resolution to ignore it.

Finally, you get home and can relax, hopefully pushing his behavior from your mind.

"Is pizza alright?" You ask, not in the mood to cook anything. You flop down on the couch, laying your legs across Eric's lap after he sits down next to you.