Page 2 of From Fling to Ring

And now she’s looking at me. With a big smile. Heading my way. The nosedive my evening took when I spotted her is now headed for a crash landing.

This is not good. I don’t need any drama, nor does the rest of the team. I could make a break for it. Turn and leave.

But that’s exactly the kind of spectacle the PR guy is trying to head off tonight.

I heard something like this happen to a guy on another team. He broke it off with a woman, and yet she kept coming around all the time like they were still together. I know this can happen to anyone, attracting a borderline stalker, but this woman made trouble for the guy and his whole team. Daphne’s not like that, I’m certain of it, but then what the hell is she doing here?

I throw her a little smile and wave. With a glance to the side, I see my buddies and wingmen Rake and Jonas watching with great interest. They’ll be having a field day with this at my expense later, no doubt.

“Oooh, would you look at that,” Rake says only loudly enough for the three of us to hear.

“What’s your play, buddy?” Jonas adds.

I am normally a quick thinker. Fast on my feet. It’s what I’m known for. And yet, at this moment, my white-soled athleisure sneakers are stuck to the floor like someone glued me there. I couldn’t make a break for it if I wanted to.

How is it I’m so freaked out by a one-hundred-ten pound curly-haired brunette?

And that’s when I realize she’s not heading my way. Just my general direction. Nor is she smiling at me. Just my general direction.

No, she’s smiling at the guy next to me, Chuck, our newest player, and all-round nice guy.

He waves at her over the crowd, then dives into the throng to meet her halfway.

And plants a big kiss on her lips.

Okay.

I get it now.

She’s with Chuck, and I’m an asshole.

Does he know I dated her? Probably not, that’s how new he is. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t be too happy knowing that when things didn’t work out with me, she glommed on to him, the new guy in town who doesn’t know a soul except for his teammates.

I’m not gonna be the one to tell him.

A sharp elbow to the ribs jolts me out of my thoughts. “Dude, look who Daphne’s with now.”

Like I’m fucking blind or something.

“I’ll be damned,” Rake continues. “Can’t say I blame her, though. I mean, Chuck’s a serious trade-up after your sorry ass.”

I side-eye Rake and throw a scowl at Jonas, who I have no doubt is equally enjoying what could become an uncomfortable situation if all parties don’t behave like the grown-ups we supposedly are.

Jonas tilts his head and rubs his overgrown beard. “She’s probably thrilled to be with a man who can actually get a hard-on.”

Yup. These are my best friends.

“Thanks. You’re right on all accounts, as always. And may Chuck have much success with her. They have all my blessings.”

With dramatic flourish, Daphne throws her arms around Chuck’s neck like she hasn’t seen him in years. She squeezes her eyes shut after making sure we’re watching and doesn’t let go, not even when Chuck does, his arms hanging by his sides like he’s waiting to be released.

I turn my back on the spectacle, and try to block Rake’s and Jonas’s view, because they are staring and pointing with no attempt at discretion.

Exactly what I wish they wouldn’t do, which is exactly why they are doing it.

They’re making a bigger deal out of this than even Daphne, who I am sure loves rubbing my face in the fact that she landed a new San Francisco Aftershocks player five minutes after I gave her the heave-ho. So, I dance from foot to foot, moving in the guys’ way so they can’t see past me.

We call them ‘Puck Bunnies.’ Well, I don’t use the term, it’s rude and sexist, but some other guys on the team do when they refer to the women who bounce from player to player, hoping something sticks with one of them. It happens in every pro sports team, kind of like the groupies who follow around a rock band. Aside from the free tickets, I’ve never understood the attraction. We all may play a mean hockey game, but other than that, we’re just normal, boring guys.

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