Page 1 of Puck Prince

1

CALLIE

“Alexa, play ‘Powerful Women’ playlist,” I shout at the Echo Dot the moment I walk into my cousin's empty apartment.

Kennedy and I were supposed to drink wine—the wine I navigated an utter shit show of college kids and Friday night partiers to procure all by my pathetic lonesome. We were also going to order Thai food, my go-to in times of meltdown. (It’s also my go-to on any given night. I’m a slut for pad woon sen.) We were then supposed to sit on the couch and yap endless trash about all the men we—by which I mean Kennedy—have unwisely dated and/or slept with.

But thanks to Tinder or Bumble or whatever app Kennedy scraped her next social experiment out of, none of those plans are going to happen.

“Okay,” Alexa answers with her faux-human realism. “Now playing ‘Trouble’ by Taylor Swift.”

“Are you serious right now, Alexa?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Skip, Alexa. Skip with a vengeance.”

I toss my keys, purse, and two bottles of wine on the counter. A rosé, because Kennedy refuses to drink booze unless it tastes like candy, and a cab sauv, because I only drink alcohol that does its job.

As punishment for abandoning me, I might drink Kennedy’s bottle, too. Whether it’ll end up being punishment for me or her, no one can say.

After the week I’ve had—no, the year.The life—I was looking forward to girl time. Time to let the walls crash down and get some feel-good, familial support from my cousin.

Kennedy and her dad are the only real familial support I’ve ever had.

My own parents missed out on the selfless love and affection gene. My dad’s eyes were always glazed from the pressure of domesticated life, and my mom kept her peripherals locked on other men. I learned very quickly not to count on anyone but myself.

Kennedy is the exception, but tonight, I can’t even count on her.

I pop the cork from the cab while Pink’s “Rockstar” pours through the speaker. It’s still not exactly the take-no-shit, kill-the-patriarchy, it’s-okay-to-drink-alone vibe I’m trying to cultivate, but it’ll have to do.

Truth be told, I might be beyond the help of female power ballads. Shit is bleak. Ken is nowhere to be found, and my only company is Delilah, who, as a black cat, is a literal omen of worse luck yet to come.

Right on cue, Delly curls up in my lap and starts snoring like I’m one of those elderly people from that one news story, knocking on death’s door.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I look down at the world’s fattest cat and sigh. “Whatever you do, Delly, never fuck someone you’re working with.”

Delilah offers a disinterested blink, which I take as an enthusiastic,Please continue, O Sage One.

“Even if he is a tall, ripped, obnoxiously handsome hockey center… with dark, messy hair, olive skin, and velvety blue eyes that can undress you from across the room.Especiallynot a man like that…”

I let myself drift back to the memory of Spencer—only for a moment—before yanking myself back out of it and taking a healthy chug of wine. “Enough of that. Forget that. In fact,fuckthat. Never date men you work with and never date men in sports. Period.”

When I look back down, Delilah is gone.

I could handle drinking wine alone in someone else’s apartment while my work life falls apart and my love life remains nonexistent. But confiding in a cat who got bored and walked out mid-conversation? Safe to say this is a low point.

“You know what? No.” I take another swig of wine for good measure and then cork the bottle. After that, I march over to where I dropped my suitcase and pull out Ophelia.

Traveling to my cousin’s house with a purple silicone magic wand in my suitcase could be yet a lower low, but I choose to seeit as the intersection between great planning and a slightly more pleasurable future.

With sex toys like this, who needs friends?

“I don’t have to wallow in pity. I don’t have to hate myself. I can do whatever I want,” I announce to absolutely no one. “Because fuck the past.”

No one, not even the cat, responds. Fuck that, too.

I shimmy out of my leggings and leave them in a puddle at the foot of the couch. Yes. Yes, this is how I am going to spend my evening. This is a great idea. The first one I’ve had in a while.

“And fuck men in the hockey world who think they own the whole damn industry while people like me see to it that they’re even physically capable of playing every day.”

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