Page 66 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

We left the arena before she could complain more.

We all went into the locker room as a group, and Bryson and I stopped and stared at the entrance.

“Wow,” he said. “This place is bare bones.”

“What, spoiled little Oklahoma Thundercats have better digs?” Eliska laughed as she shucked her skates.

“Actually, yes,” I admitted. “Way better digs.”

“Ol’ Cap here practically has his own throne in the middle of the room. Everyone brings offerings to it when he’s occupying it,” Bryson joked.

I flipped him off. “It was one time, Bryson.”

“One time is enough,” the little minx I was highly attracted to teased.

“And it wasn’t offerings,” I tried to defend myself. “It was my freakin’ birthday.”

“Birthday gifts. Offerings. Same thing,” Bryson teased.

I sighed.

“When is your birthday?” Merriam asked as she shoved her foot into Doc Martens.

I didn’t think it was possible to get cuter, but there she was accomplishing it.

“One week, three days, and four hours from now,” Bryson answered.

I looked at him with a roll of my eyes. “That’s right. But Christmas.”

“Your birthday is on Christmas?”

“Yes,” I answered, thinking it was adorably cute that she didn’t know. I hated to toot my own horn, but I was a big deal in our small town. It was a surprise that someone didn’t know every single thing there was to know about me. “You’re welcome to come to the game that we celebrate my birthday on.”

Her eyes widened.

“I can get you tickets,” I offered.

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“She’ll take them,” Gisela answered for her. “But maybe you should leave them at will call so that we can make sure she gets them.”

Merriam turned pink.

“She’s socially awkward and not so hot on using the features of her phone,” Gisela explained quietly when Merriam busied herself putting on her shoes. “You’re gonna have to work on this one, hockey boy.”

I shrugged.

The thought of working for this one set my nerve endings on fire.

“I think that I won’t have any problem with that,” I admitted.

Merriam stood up, Eliska caught up her purse, and Gisela hurriedly yanked off her skates and shoved them into her own bag.

Merriam cautiously walked toward me, her eyes nervously glancing up at me the closer she got.

I felt my heart rate pick up at her nearness and said, “What’s your favorite wing flavor?”

“Honey barbeque. Not the regular one, either. The really sweet one,” she answered. “Yours?”

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