Page 23 of From Fling to Ring

She’s kind of scaring me.

I turn back to the rink to clap and cheer, like I am actually following what’s going on, which I so am not.

We sit back down and Ruby turns to me, completely civilized, unlike sixty seconds ago. I still really want my hotdog, but I might miss something. “Hey,” she says, “if Tyler doesn’t have to do much press stuff, we’ll go out to my favorite burger place on Fillmore Street as soon as he’s done. He said you were coming. You don’t want to spoil your appetite with a hotdog, ya know?”

“He said I was coming? How come I don’t know anything about this?”

She shrugs. “Oh, you know Tyler. He’s not a detail person. He probably thinks he invited you but actually forgot. He’s a pain that way.”

Typical. Guys like him are always expecting people to just fall into line and follow them anywhere they want to go.

The game wraps with a tie, which I’m sure is a disappointment, assuming teams always prefer to win. Since they didn’t exactly lose, though, I don’t have a sense of how good or bad it is—could it be a majorly depressing outcome? Or just kind of a bummer?

I decide to ask Petal later. She might have some insights. If Tyler’s upset about the game, I don’t want to make it worse with dumb questions.

I follow Ruby through a labyrinth of hallways, which she navigates like a pro. I have no idea where we are, aside from somewhere in the arena, and if I had to find my way out on my own, I’d be totally screwed. We finally reach a spot where other family and friends are waiting for players, and take a seat on a bench.

Just as I’m wondering whether Tyler carts around his sister for ‘wing-woman’ cred, he comes out of the players’ area where we are waiting. Ruby runs to him and throws her arms around his neck. They squeeze each other with closed eyes, and it’s impossible to miss how close they are.

Dammit. I’m supposed to be finding fault in this guy. Not appreciating his attributes.

He releases his sister and approaches me with a huge grin that, I have to admit, makes my stomach flip. “Hey, Lucy, did you enjoy the game?” he asks, giving me a little peck on the cheek.

I glance at Ruby for her reaction, but she’s busy ogling the other players leaving the locker room, all cleaned up and dressed nicely after the big game.

“Who’s ready for burgers?” he shouts.

He takes Ruby’s hand and then mine, and with him between the two of us, we make our way out of the arena.

11

LUCY

“My God, this is good,” Tyler says, wiping burger juice off his face.

His beard, considerably more full than it was when I saw him two days ago, has a couple gray hairs growing right in the middle of the chin area.

He probably counts on them as part of his seductive charm.

“Tyler, what’s with all the beards on the players? Is that a coincidence? Like GQ said they were ‘the thing to do’ and you all jumped on the bandwagon? Or is it something you guys coordinate? Like twelve-year-old girls wearing the same outfit to school?” I steal one of his fries after Ruby does.

“Off my fries, both of you,” he sighs, play-swatting our hands. “The beard thing is a tradition we do every year. And you’re right, it’s just like twelve-year-old girls coordinating their clothes, exactly like Ruby did when she was that age. Exactly the same, except, as far as I know, none of us players have ever been twelve-year-old girls.”

Ruby giggles. “Hockey has all these weird traditions and superstitions. Lucy, did you know the guys are fanatics about how they put their uniforms on, how they lace their skates, stuff like that? They have to do it the ‘lucky’ way or risk losing. For example, right skate first, then left, or vice-versa. If they don’t, and the hockey gods are displeased, all hell breaks loose.”

“Hey, there’s good reason for that. Don’t make fun, Ruby. I’ll make you take the bus back to Dad’s.”

She elbows him in the side and he pretends to be hurt.

Their sibling-esque vibe has me charmed. I can’t lie.

“Hey, how come your dad didn’t come tonight?”

Ruby and Tyler look at each other. “You tell her,” he says.

Lucy takes a deep breath. “Dad won’t come to a season opener. He thinks it will bring the team bad luck. So, he was out playing poker at the neighbor’s.”

“Really? Talk about superstitious. What about your mom?”

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