Page 3 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

Dread coalesces in a ball in my stomach. “Uhh …”

She gives me a look I can’t interpret. “Trust me, Anna. I won’t steer you wrong.”

“You know,” I muse aloud, acting like I’m talking more to myself than to her, “con men always tell their marks to trust them.”

She cackles again. “The difference is,” she quips, “you don’t have anything to lose!”

CHAPTER THREE

Anna

While I privately thought I could possibly lose my dignity if she put me in something ridiculous, I find myself in the Red Arrow—a bar on the edge of downtown—an hour later wearing an outfit I never would’ve put together without Brit’s help. It works, though, and I’ve gotten endless compliments from the other women who’ve come to girls’ night.

She’s dressed me in a white tank top and swishy floral skirt, with a white gauzy button down over it. Except she had me leave it unbuttoned and instead had me tie it at the waist and roll up the sleeves. It’s summery and pretty and shows off my curves in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable, but when she told me I looked fantastic, I couldn’t argue with her. She tried to get me into the pair of nude heels I keep at the bottom of my closet for the rare occasions I feel like wearing them, but let me stick with my strappy flat sandals that I wear to work.

Girls’ night is a small crowd, which is a relief, and as boisterous as Brit can be, they’re not a rowdy bunch. Or at least not any more rowdy than the bar’s other denizens. It’s busy tonight, all the bar stools full and most of the tables as well. Loud music blares over the speakers, but not loud enough to cover the clack of balls at the pool tables in the other half of the bar and the general laughter and chatter.

Brit and I were the last to arrive, enthusiastically flagged over by the other attendees of girls’ night. I halfway expect them to shout, “Brit!” at the sight of us, like they do in that old sitcom my dad used to watch, Cheers. They apparently take turns camping out and claiming tables on Friday night, holding the fort until everyone else arrives.

Two seats are open at one end of the tables, and I grab the end one because it’ll be easiest to get out of here when I’m ready to leave. But I almost immediately regret my decision when I’m introduced around and discover that the women on Brit’s other side are Amanda and Stephanie, the owners of the local yarn store, Fuzzy Fibers. I nearly ask Brit to switch places with me, since I love their store. I’ve purchased a few things since I moved here, but I brought a sizable stash with me that I’ve been working on knitting through on my own.

Sarah, the manager of The Christmas Emporium, sits across from Brit with her younger sister Nora on her other side with her friend Hailey. I was a little surprised about the last two since the group tends to skew a bit older with everyone else in their thirties at least. But she’s apparently been hard at work at her summer job and took her older sister up on the invite to come along, asking her friend to tag along too. The two of them sit at the end opposite me, talking more with each other than anyone else.

Glancing their way indulgently, Sarah leans closer to Brit and me. “Between the three of us, I didn’t expect Nora to come when I invited her. I think she’s tired of being at my parents’ house, though. She’s the youngest, and with everyone else out on their own, she’s kicking around there all by herself, and I don’t think she likes it. She practically jumped at the chance to join us.” Sarah laughs like that’s both surprising and ridiculous.

“Well, why wouldn’t she?” Brit asks, banging her palm lightly on the table for emphasis. “We’re amazing!”

“Hear hear!” calls Amanda, holding up her glass of beer. Brit, Sarah, and Stephanie all clink glasses, while I chuckle at their antics.

Amanda leans around Brit. “Anna, right?” she asks. At my nod, she smiles. “You’ve been into the store once or twice, haven’t you?”

Nodding again, I lean closer. “Yes! I love your shop. It’s a good mix of local treasures and solid workhorses.”

Amanda beams. “That’s exactly what we were going for.”

Catching on that we’re talking yarn, Stephanie leans in. “Oh! Yes! I recognize you now. You usually have on a hand knit in the winter, don’t you? But of course you wouldn’t when it’s sweltering like today. Can you believe how hot it’s been?” She fans herself dramatically, and everyone makes similar noises about how hot it’s gotten before it’s even July.

I lapse into silence, sipping my drink—a cosmo, because I don’t drink often enough to know what I like other than something sweet. And I’m the very definition of a lightweight. One drink is enough to make me feel warm and chatty. After two drinks I’m downright tipsy.

And the only time I’ve gone beyond two drinks was with my ex-fiancé. He viewed my aversion to getting drunk as some kind of challenge, and so one year for his birthday I agreed to go out drinking with him. We took an Uber to a divey bar with a live cover band where he plied me with alcohol until everything felt spinny and my normally terrible aim with darts devolved into something that would’ve been dangerous had it been an old-fashioned dart board with metal-tipped darts. Fortunately, we were using boards made of plastic mesh and the darts that have plastic tips and stick in the little holes, so anyone in the unfortunate path of my wild aim would’ve gotten an unpleasant surprise, but nothing genuinely harmful.

Thankfully, my wild throws only hit the wall behind the dart machine.

Glancing around, I spot a couple of dart machines in the corner past the pool tables. I always had fun playing darts, though I haven’t done it since Jared and I broke up. Part of me wants to now, but I’m not sure anyone else would want to join me and it’s less fun to do alone. Plus, it brings back memories of Jared. And though those memories are of fun times, any memory of Jared is sensitive and painful even now, three years after he left me at the altar.

I slurp down the rest of my drink in an effort to distract myself. But I’ve been sipping at it for a while, and there’s not much left. I’d only planned on having one drink and then leaving—which is why I sipped so slowly. I figured if I could drag out the one drink long enough, no one would be able to object to me taking off.

But if I go home now, I’ll be stuck with the memories of Jared, and I’m so tired of being stuck in those spirals with no escape. I need to stay until I can shake off his ghost and go home happy, or at least neutral. It’s gonna be a two-drink night after all.

And why shouldn’t it be? I’m here to have fun, aren’t I? Sure, everyone knows each other better than me, but they’re not ignoring or excluding me. It’s not their fault I’m just as content to hold down the end of the table and observe.

Hell, maybe if I have another drink, my natural reticence will let up and I’ll be able to join in like a normal person.

Sighing, I stand, needing to shut up the soundtrack of Jared in my head telling me that I’m more fun after a couple of drinks anyway. That normal people don’t have so much trouble socializing.

Maybe I’m not normal. Maybe it is strange that I’m perfectly content to spend most of my free time alone, engaging in solitary hobbies that bring me joy. But who cares? I’m not a total recluse. Look at me now, joining in a girls’ night! Yeah, okay, Brit had to twist my arm a bit to get me to come. But I could’ve stood my ground and refused. The truth is, I’ve always been curious about these things, but I’ve always felt like I wouldn’t fit in. That I’d go out and they’d think I’m weird and never invite me out again, so it was easier to avoid it altogether.

But no one’s acting like I’m strange. I’ve had nice conversations. Brit and Sarah don’t mind when I interject something. But a lot of it’s had to do with the politics of the downtown business district, so while it’s fascinating to listen to, since I’m not a business owner, I don’t have anything to add. And as far as I know, Dr. Banks doesn’t involve himself with the downtown association, saying we’re two blocks away so can’t consider ourselves part of downtown, and that it’s more for restaurants and tourist shops anyway. Well, to be fair, his description of the shops is far less charitable, but that’s beside the point.

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