Page 11 of The Kiss Class

I immediately know what this means. “No way. I’m not dating a hockey player.”

Ilsa clicks her tongue. “What’s wrong with a hockey player?”

“Where do I begin?” I tilt my head, prepared to count the reasons on my fingers. They’re all too familiar with Ricky.

Ilsa says, “Nolan is kind, thoughtful, a big ole cinnamonroll, who works with charities, donates to good causes and is responsible with his money. Plus, no record of being a player of any sort.”

The Frenchman defenseman my father mentioned comes to mind.

Anna says, “Sounds like you did your homework.”

Ilsa bounces a little as if she thinks I’ll appreciate this because I’m the studious one and all.

“As I said, I have homework and cookies to bake and time to spend with my wicked sisters.”

Anna breezes past my comment. “Back to the blind date. He’s in finance, has a 401K, and no criminal record.”

“That all sounds great, but?—”

“We didn’t forget about love, obviously,” Anna says as if that’s the most important ingredient as she gets a little generous about adding cinnamon to the oatmeal cookie dough. “Oopsie.”

“But that’s something that comes with time. First, you have to get out of your books and onto the ice.” Ilsa spins me on the counter stool.

I wrinkle my nose because she sounds a lot like our father. When it comes to true love, you can’t tick items on a list, and I certainly don’t want a hockey player. They belong in the penalty box.

“Dadaszek isn’t going to like you trying to hook me up with someone from the team.”

“Technically, Nolan isn’t on the team. He drives the Zamboni.” She makes sparkle fingers because that also means he dresses up like a knight in shining armor between periods. It’s not the team mascot, but it’s a team “thing” that fans love, along with throwing corn cobs (or fruit, whichever is available) on the ice.

Anna’s eyes widen. “I always wondered who was under there.”

“There are a few ice-resurfacing knights, but Nolan seemed sweet. It could be a love match,” Ilsa sing songs.

The timer on the oven dings.

Anna hops to her feet. “First, we have to get you ready for your blind date.”

While they pilfer our respective closets to find me the perfect outfit, I protest. “Can we not do this? I just got home.”

Ilsa pulls out her makeup pouch. “It’s going to be fun.”

Pouting, I say, “If Dadaszek finds out, he’s going to lock me away in a tower like Rapunzel.”

“While that would be a good excuse to let your hair grow longer, Dadaszek knows Nolan. He’d approve. I just know it,” Ilsa says.

“And when he meets Richard, he’ll have a third victim to whom he can subject his hockey obsession.” Anna wears a smug grin.

“Who?” I ask, inclining my head.

Anna clears her throat. “Richard.”

“Like Ricky?” I grit my teeth.

“He might go by Richy,” Ilsa suggests.

Anything but that. I blurt, “Or Chard.”

It cannot be helped. We all burst into laughter. I can’t be mad at my sisters. They’re trying to help. But I’m not exactly thrilled by this surprise turn of events.

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