Chapter Thirty-One
Lindsay
Confession #17: I might be a puck bunny again.
Okay, according to the exact definition, maybe not so much. My interest wasn’t primarily motivated by sexual attraction to the hockey players anymore.
Just one player, and I did enjoy other aspects of the game. I wasn’t the hugest fan of how much anxiety coursed through my body at the thought of the team losing. I already had trouble not resenting how little time we’d been able to spend together this past week—hockey ate up Ryder’s days and evenings, and even when we’d caught a few hours here and there together, he was more distracted than usual, muttering plays and worrying about the outcome of playoffs. If they lost, it’d feel like a waste, not to mention Ryder would be crushed.
“Get him, get him,” I said, leaning as if that’d help Ryder get to the guy from the other team who was breaking for the goal faster. “That’s it!”
I leaped to my feet as Ryder blocked and swung at the puck, sending it toward Beck. “Woo hoo!”
The end of my shout came out on a hoarse shriek. Ten minutes into the semifinals game, and my throat already felt raw from cheering and screaming. Somehow I’d gone from willing to do almost anything to score a hockey player, to avoiding them at all costs, to spending all my time trying to keep my hockey player happy, including praying for a win.
Man, he looks hot out there. I knew exactly how the muscles under those pads looked and moved, and a hot flush swirled through me as I thought about all the amazing things he could do with that body.
The boys set up their offense, passing the puck back and forth, and Lyla, Whitney, and Megan stood to join me as we cheered for them to score. When Beck got the puck, Lyla wrapped her hand around my arm and tucked her head on my shoulder.
“I’m too nervous to watch,” she said, but she peeked, her fingers tightening on my upper arm.
A quick pass to Dane, who cut across and sent the puck into the goal.
Megan shouted as she bounced on the balls of her feet, Lyla and Whitney cheered, and I got in on the action, adding the earsplitting whistle Mom taught me—it certainly gained attention.
Then we all hugged like we’d helped our boys out on the ice, and I liked to think we had in our own way.
“You’re going down, Quinnipiac,” Lyla called. “Just wait till Lindsay’s boyfriend smashes your face into the wall.”
I smothered a laugh. Lyla’s version of trash talk was always a bit different from the rest. I liked how she called Ryder my boyfriend, though—I couldn’t hear it enough. I was seriously close to being the girl who drew her and her boyfriend’s initials in a heart with a plus sign and an equals True Love Forever, like I was in high school. Except back in high school I never would’ve done that.
When Lyla looked to me, I assumed for backup, I shouted, “That’s right! Nobody messes with my boyfriend!”
We giggled and dropped back into our seats. Happiness tingled through every inch of me. When I first started hanging out with these girls and slipping into the hockey world again, I’d been too scared to fully believe my life had changed. Too afraid that if I let myself think I had friends and a guy who was as crazy about me as I was about him, that when I inevitably found myself alone again, I would no longer know how to deal. But these girls kept showing up, even on the days when our boys were too busy with hockey to hang out. We already had plans to head to the Howl at the Moon piano bar after the game to celebrate our win—we refused to discuss any other option. I’d even worn the same outfit I did for the quarterfinals game since they’d won that night.
Which meant I was now not just a hockey fan, but a superstitious one. I guess that sounded better than puck bunny.
I glanced toward the area where I used to frequent, and several of the usual suspects were there. Misty and her temporary, until-a-guy-paid-her-attention friends. Other girls I recognized. New girls who were flashing lots of leg and cleavage despite the chilly temperature of the rink.
I sorta wished I didn’t understand them anymore, but part of me still did. Sometimes it took a lot of effort to capture a guy’s attention—not everyone was as persistent as Ryder. I wasn’t judging, either. If it made them happy, go sexual revolution and all. I just hoped that they were, in fact, happy. That they didn’t get their hearts broken, and the guys they hooked up with at least treated them decently. But I knew there’d be a few who’d accidentally fall head over heels. Who’d be treated poorly right afterward—just kicked to the curb like they meant nothing.
Residual hurt rose over the times I’d been treated that way, when it took everything in me to convince myself that it was okay, because I’d been in control. I tried to focus on the other times, the ones where mutual fun was had and both parties walked away satisfied. Live and learn, right? That was the important thing.
I looked back at the girls next to me, all three of them leaning forward and watching the game with intense expressions. I’d heard parts of their stories, and I knew they’d had their fair share of bumps along the way to falling in love. I also knew it wasn’t always easy for them to find time to spend with their boyfriends. Or for Megan’s brother to resist the urge to kill hers when Dane got a little too handsy in front of him.
A grin stretched across my lips, and the tingly blissful vibes I’d felt this past week multiplied. These girls loved their guys with their whole hearts, and I wouldn’t call any of them weak. I wished I could stop waiting for things to go south, but a part of me still struggled to believe fairy-tale relationships were possible. That the happily ever after in books belonged only to fiction.
But my beliefs were slowly changing and reshaping.
Hope took hold, and instead of pushing it away, I held on to it.
After all, there were jobs around here, and I’d bet money there was less competition for newspaper spots in Boston than New York. Cost of living would be cheaper, too. Maybe I could find something and stick around for a couple more years. Did that make me naive? Desperate? Weak?
The other team broke for their goal and I scooted forward, my focus turning back to the game. Ryder slammed into the guy from the opposing team who’d gained possession. He hit the boards with a loud thwack, and Hudson swooped in, stole the puck, and took off in the other direction.
When we scored again and the other team called a time-out, Ryder looked up into the stands. He tipped back his helmet and shot me a smile that made my insides go all melty on me.
I blew him a kiss, and just like that, my plans shifted. I’d start applying for jobs here, so that even after I graduated, I could keep dating Ryder and see what happened. We owed it to ourselves to at least try, right?
A prickling sensation tickled my neck, that feeling of being watched, and I glanced around to find a guy somewhere in the forties age range staring at me. He looked familiar, but it took me a couple of seconds to figure out why. I’d only seen him from a distance last game, so I couldn’t be sure, but I was almost certain it was Ryder’s dad. He had Ryder’s same dark hair and general build, but his features were more angular, and instead of warmth, the guy radiated a cold, calculating vibe.
A memory tickled my brain, this strange déjà vu sensation I didn’t understand settling in.
But then the whistle blew, the game clock started again, and I turned back to the game, trying to ignore the unsettling cold lump that’d formed in my gut.