Page 98 of From Fling to Ring

Not that I tell anyone that, either.

It’s somewhat of a relief when the adrenaline rush of the season is over, even if your team isn’t the champion. I can’t lie though, the adjustment from the screaming fans cheering with unwavering passion to dead quiet is always something that takes a little getting used to.

The playoffs push a guy to his limits, and I’m no exception. The speed is intense, the hits are brutal, and the competition is unrivaled. I love it though, and give it everything I’ve got. After all, every play could be the difference between victory and defeat. It’s what I love about this sport.

Talk about a rollercoaster. The pressure and weight of expectations beats down on a guy, all fueling the desire to hoist that championship trophy. It’s filled with endless highs and lows, and while we didn’t win this time, I have to say, as corny as it sounds, that playing alongside my teammates is the real reward.

Now, it’s time to recharge and get even stronger for the next season. I don’t get to sit around on my ass, not that I’d want to do that anyway, but the off-season pace is much more sane. There will be workouts, skills training, camps, and clinics, but I’ll have more time for my volunteer work and my family, and of course, Lucy. I even suggested we go back to Paris to resurrect the trip I pretty much cheated her out of. We won’t be letting Frenchie know we’re coming, of course. She burned her bridges down to the damn ground.

53

TYLER

Interesting development with Daphne—the woman was deported back to wherever she came from, somewhere in Eastern Europe. Turns out the team pressed charges that she unlawfully entered the player area of the arena on several occasions to stalk Chuck. Poor guy, he never saw it coming and then she got her hooks in him but good.

My sister is thrilled that things are going well with Lucy. I swear, she likes her better than she does me now, making all kinds of plans for the two of them to hang out and do things together without even thinking of including me.

I don’t mind though. Lucy can be the sister Ruby never had.

Speaking of Ruby, my cookie-baking habit is no longer a secret. She entered me in some kind of charity baking contest and I freaking won. I’m now the hockey-playing baker, and the organization is putting out a fundraising cookbook with me on the cover, titled Mom’s. They’re even going to put a photo of Mom in it to celebrate her recipes. To be honest, while I’m now tickled, I was at first opposed to the idea. But the team thinks such wholesome activities are good for our image, even though the guys have been giving me no end of grief. I did bring a bag of cookies to our last practice, and while a couple folks ribbed me, once they started wolfing down my goodies, they shut right up.

My secret is out, but it could be worse, right?

Ruby, being the pushy little sister that she is, has mentioned on more than one occasion that I should propose to Lucy. I’m not opposed, of course, but Jesus, give a guy some time. Ruby even gave me our mother’s ring to propose with. It was supposed to be her’s, but she wants Lucy to have it.

I’m so honored to have that pipsqueak for a sister.

I tried to tell her to keep it for herself, but she likes the idea of Lucy wearing it. She says it may bring us the kind of good marriage our own parents had. I’m not superstitious like that, but if the ring conveys some sort of good luck or blessings, who am I to say no? Ruby’s holding onto it for safe-keeping because she apparently thinks I’m some kind of idiot who loses valuables, but I’m fine with that. She’ll fork it over when I’m ready to pop the question.

Lucy’s apartment is still sublet to the guy who took it when she left for France. She told him he could stay as long as he wants since she’s crashing at my place.

Well, I shouldn’t say crashing at my place. That sounds like a temporary arrangement.

This shit is permanent. As in, forever.

54

LUCY

“Michaela, I so appreciate your offer. But I just don’t think it’s right for me.”

I squeeze her hand across the table where we’re having lunch, thrilled she got funding to re-open the Freekly, and even more so that she offered me a position the second she did.

But I don’t want to go back.

She holds up a finger. “I understand, honey. But keep in mind, you can always take on some work as a stringer. You know, take an assignment here and there.”

“That would be great. I love working with you and having the opportunity to do it again would be massive.”

Our lunch is delivered and I dive into my turkey club like a starving animal. “I loved the food in Paris, but they don’t have anything quite like this.”

Michaela daintily dips into her salad and manages to take a bite without disturbing her lipstick. I have no idea how she does it.

She dabs the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin, even though there’s nothing to dab. “So, what’s up with the book? Iris tells me you have a new concept. She’s happy you haven’t thrown in the towel altogether on writing something for her.”

I agonized over it but when I finally committed, it felt good. Really good. Much better than my previous idea ever felt. “I’m so psyched about this, Michaela. This time, instead of writing a book about jerky men, I’m writing about finding and keeping a good guy. Peppered throughout with my smart-ass perspective on dating and love, of course.”

Her eyes widen. “I like it. I can see plenty of dishy real talk mixed with a big dose of humor and empowerment.”

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