Page 12 of Puck Princess

“I hope you want appetizers because I ordered the menu.”

“I’m not hungry.” I hang up and dial again.

Kennedy dumps the bags on the counter and kicks her heels off. “You need to be hungry. You’re pregnant. I got it all—wings, artichoke dip, sliders, these weird Buffalo chicken egg rolls that are probably offensive to several cultures, but actually smell really good.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, hanging up and dialing again. With every missed call I leave, I’m wound a little tighter.

“Callie.” Kennedy raises her voice, and I look up at her. She waves a bizarrely orange egg roll at me.

“No thanks. I mean, later. I’ll eat… later. I just have to do something first.” I look at her for the first time since she walked in. “Why are you home if you’re dressed like that?”

Also, when did she get dressed like that? I was so preoccupied when I came home to pack I didn’t even notice what she was wearing.

She’s wearing a skimpy red dress with her hair curled and her makeup done. Kennedy doesn’t put in the effort unless she expects a return on the investment. The sun is still up, so she should still be hunting. Something isn’t adding up.

“I was going out with some of the girls from the team—kind of a post-game ritual. All the players are there, plus fans. And then the fans of the other team, and?—”

“Lots of men to ogle you in a short dress,” I summarize for her. “Again I ask, why are you home early?”

“Well, I got there and, despite the win, the mood was low. Your man wasn’t even there. Most of the guys were just nursing beers instead of doing the typical rounds of shots. The bases were loaded, but no one was playing, if you know what I mean.”

A win doesn’t feel as much like a win when two of the star players duke it out on the ice and one of them gets ejected from the game. Miles and Owen might not be able to exist in the same zip code after today, let alone in the same rink.

The Scythes might have just lost their center.

I glance down at my phone, but Summer hasn’t called. I’m starting to think she never will.

“The only eligible man in the whole place was some guy with a blue goatee sitting at the bar and Lance.”

“Gross.” I scrunch my face, grabbing a wing. “Goatee man, I mean. Lance is fine.”

“Lance is… Lance.”

“You still haven’t told me what your issue is with him.” I want to keep steering the conversation away from me, but I’m also genuinely interested.

“There’s nothing to tell.” She dusts off her hands and heads to the fridge for a La Croix.

“Is that why there’s so much tension between you? Why he keeps shooting his shot and you keep shooting him out of the sky like a duck? Because there’s nothing to tell?”

Kennedy lets the fridge door slam hard. “Lance is just— How do I put this nicely? The bane of my existence.”

“Butwhy? Something obviously happened between you two. We tell each other everything. We’re like sisters. You can’t keep secrets from me.”

“Says the woman who didn’t tell me she was pregnant with the secret love child of the hottest player on the team.”

I open my mouth to offer a rebuttal, but I got nothing. She’s right. And she’ll lord this over me until we’re both dead.

With that avenue closed, I go back to my phone, back to dialing Summer’s number and waiting.

“Who are you trying to call anyway?”

I get Summer’s voicemail again and hang up. “Damnit.”

Maybe I should just drive over to Summer’s house. Owen might be there, which might be weird since we made out and then he stormed away without a word. But I need to talk to Summer.

Kennedy crosses the room and snatches my phone out of my hand before I can stop her.

“Hey!”

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