Page 50 of Perfect Score

Heat rises up my neck at the thought of it. I'm not prepared for an ambush.

We each take a seat next to one another at a vacant table covered in a red tablecloth with a white rose centerpiece and abandoned cups and plates from the previous guest who sat here.

She turns to me and places her left hand on my wrist as it lays on the table.

“I have to admit to you that I was very nervous about who my Brent was bringing to my birthday party. When he told me he was dating someone, I nearly had to pinch myself in case I was dreaming.”

“It’s been that long since he’s had a serious girlfriend then, huh?” I ask, though I already know that this is why she was going to set Brent up this weekend.

She raises her eyebrows as if to say, “I’m sure you already know the answer to that,”… and I do. Or at least I think I do. Ignoring Brent's existence hasn’t been easy with the tabloids loving him.

Between being the hometown hero in San Diego and one of Seattle’s golden boys, Brent seems to pop up everywhere I go in both of those two cities. Either the local news station is talking about his latest hockey accomplishments, or some picture of him leaving a restaurant with a woman ends up on my social media feed. Add the fourteen-foot billboard of his face a few blocks from my apartment, and it feels as if the universe is constantly taunting me about one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I had to field text messages and phone calls all night from my friends asking where Brent and I were since we hadn’t shown up.

“I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it is that you’re the one dating Brent. I always had a hunch that you two would end up together. And I honestly can say that I don’t think Brent would consider settling down with anyone but you.”

Wait, what?

My eyebrows stitch together as I stare back at her with confusion.

He wouldn’t consider settling down with anyone but me?

Why would she even think that? It’s been years since I’ve seen her and even longer since the days when we used to sit in the same section cheering on my high school hockey team.

“I’m sure that if he and I hadn’t bumped into one another, he would have eventually settled down with someone,” I say.

She pats my wrist.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, honey. He had it so bad for you in high school. I couldn’t believe it when he told me that he wasn’t going to take you to prom after all. I just about smacked him over the head. And then, when he told me that you and Liam got back together, I told him that it served him right for letting his chance go by.”

She knows about prom?

“Hold on,” I say, leaning in closer. I check over my shoulder to see if Brent is anywhere nearby, but when I catch him being circled by a bunch of older men chatting him up, I know I’ve got a few extra minutes before he comes back over.

If Gran knows something about why Brent didn’t show up that night… I need to get it out of her before he can intercept our conversation. “Do you know why Brent canceled on me that night?” I ask.

Her eyes widen at my question as if she can’t believe I don’t already know the answer.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he just said that he had to work on his slapshot. I assumed it had something to do with his new NHL contract, but I don’t understand why he couldn’t have done it any other night. Why couldn’t he take one night off? Couldn't it have been a different night other than our senior prom that he asked to take me to?”

Gran doesn't look happy at my explanation of how things went down. There's a disconnect between our two understandings, but she knows more than I do—I can see it in her eyes.

“He told you that the real reason was that he had to work on his slapshot?” Gran practically yells.

I lean in a little closer. “Yes, but it never made sense to me, and he never gave me a better explanation… even after all these years later.”

Thankfully, the music is loud enough that only a couple of people from the table near us look over. When they see it’s Gran getting worked up, they blow off our conversation.

I’m not surprised.

She’s always been the most spirited in our cheering section of the hockey games, and my guess is that the people at the other table know her well.

Gran whips her head in Brent’s direction and glares over at him as she shakes her head in disappointment.

He’s too busy shaking hands with the small group of male residents who are beginning to swarm him at the beverage table.

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