Page 67 of From Fling to Ring

Goddammit. I’m a jealous fuck.

Never thought I’d see the day.

The woman who I’m not even supposed to like, who I am also not supposed to go out with once her ninety-day expiration date arrives, is talking to other men, and it’s pissing me off.

This is fucked, on so many levels.

I didn’t text her, I didn’t call her, all in the interest of cooling my own damn jets. And what happens?

She doesn’t even fucking notice.

When her back is to me, I get up and quietly make my way to the door. I know it’s a pussy thing to do, but I have to get out of here before I lose my mind.

This shit is out of control. Or at least, I’m out of control.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

33

LUCY

“Hey look, that’s Tyler’s dad up there, Mr. Brooks.”

Petal and Gilly look where I’m pointing, up toward the family suite, and Tyler’s dad is hanging over the barrier, waving at me like I’m a long-lost friend.

“Oh my God, he’s so cute! He’s an older version of Tyler,” Gilly says. She dramatically blows him a kiss. He’s surprised at first but blows a kiss back.

“It’s fun up there, but I like being down here in the stands. You really feel the excitement of the crowd,” Petal says.

I couldn’t care less where I sit at the games. I barely understand what’s going on as it is. When Tyler talks about a practice or game, I pretend to follow him. I figure I’ll pick up the workings of hockey at some point but by the time I do, we probably won’t even be together.

My stomach lurches and I push that thought out of my mind. I’ll worry about that shit another day. Right now, I’m here with my besties, acting like I am the San Francisco Aftershocks’ number one fan. I am ready to scream and shout, even when I don’t know what the hell is going on.

Beside me, Petal vibrates with excitement. She’s been at this longer than I have, and since she’s married to a hockey player, knows she’s in it for the long haul.

Me, not so much.

“Now girls, remember, our team is in the dark jerseys and the visiting team is in white.”

“Ohhh,” Gilly says, nodding.

“I don’t know why the Aftershocks colors are so ugly,” I say.

Oops.

Not only do Petal and Gilly throw me dirty looks, but the man in front of me and the woman to my right do so too.

Note to self, do not say anything disparaging about the team.

I lean closer to Petal, having learned my lesson, and lower my voice. “Seriously. Those yellow shirts are the color of baby poo.”

Her head snaps in my direction. “Really, Lucy?”

Oh. Okay.

The players get introduced to fanfare so great it’s only drowned out by the roar of the crowd at the puck drop. The players snap into frenzied movement that’s graceful, but savage at the same time.

I can sort of see what people like about this sport. It’s completely insane.

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