Page 35 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Thank you, seriously,” she says, clicking her phone off and slipping it into her pocket. “For walking me to the car, but also for agreeing to do the videos. You wouldn’t believe how stingy the older guys are with their time. They act like having a family at home means they can’t spare an extra five minutes.”

“Ha,” I laugh, thinking of Grey. Of what Devon was like last season, and now even Brett. “What about you? You hurrying home tonight?”

“Just a normal Friday night with Josh,” she says, dropping the name so casually it’s clear I’m supposed to know who that is. I think of Finn, pushing me to ask Harper out, and my heart sinks. Of course, Josh could just be her brother. Or a cat.

“Though, I might do something for Halloween,” Harper adds, “after the game. Haven’t decided yet.”

Do people normally have weekly Friday night dates with their brothers?

We reach the door and push through into the cool Vermont night. I brace myself against the cold, glancing over at Harper to see if she’s warm enough.

“What about you?” she asks when I meet her eyes. Her eyebrows are raised, like she may have already asked that question.

“Oh,” I laugh, thinking about my apartment, and how I’ll go home, flop on the couch, and find an old hockey game to watch. If I’m feeling extra mean, I’ll pull up my own game tape and watch through it, slow-motioning to the exact moment it’s clear the puck will sail past my gloves, burying in the net behind me. “Same old Friday night for me, too.”

We reach her car—which is, adorably, a little yellow Volkswagen Beetle—and come to a stop just outside it, next to the driver’s door. If I was confident, like Finn insists I need to be, this is when I would ask about Josh. See if he is a cat. Ask to keep her company tonight, or to see her for coffee in the morning.

But I don’t. The moments stretches, then she bites her lip and clears her throat, turning jerkily to her car door and gesturing, her keys clinking in her hand.

“Alright, well,” Harper says, nodding at her car. “I’ll let you get to it, Sammy. And I’ll see you Monday.”

“Right. Yeah.”

I step back and wave as she climbs in, watching as she starts the engine up and slowly backs out. She holds her hand up, our eyes connecting for a moment as she puts the car into drive and leaves.

It’s only after the tips of my ears go numb that I realize I’ve been rooted to the spot, staring after the road where her car turned away, disappearing into the night.

Finn

Sammy does not look happy when he comes around the corner, hair wet, duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Luckily for him, Brett and some of the other guys took one for the team in attending the after-game press conference so he wouldn’t have to.

Not that the fans are particularly interested in hearing what they have to say. Ten minutes ago, when I was pushing my way through the crowd, costumed fans who all turned out for the Viper’s Halloween game were dejected, their cat ears dangling in their hands, they makeup wiped off their face.

Sammy draws near, and I take him in. His mouth is practically in a flat line, his body tense. Tonight was not his best performance.

It doesn’t make any sense—my clients don’t usually follow this type of path. Typically, it’s a pretty steady trend upward. Small declines, of course, but nothing like what it’s been with Sammy. I’ve never faced this kind of frequent regressions before.

And for some reason, it’s kind of thrilling.

I’ve always loved a good challenge, so when Sammy finally meets me in the hallway, I tip my chin up, look him in the eyes, and say, “You didn’t ask that girl out, did you?”

“Finn? I—” he starts, then his eyes widen when he takes a look at me.

I keep my hands on my hips, and it takes me a moment to remember that I too came in costume to this game. Halloween has always been one of my guilty pleasures—as a woman who essentially wears the same outfit every day, there’s something magical about being someone else.

“Are you—?” his face brightens for a fraction of a second. “You’re that girl. From Powerpuff...”

“I am thatwoman,” I counter, flushing. Admittedly, it’s a bold costume. I’m dressed as Sara Bellum, the secretary and power woman of the Powerpuff universe. My costume includes a tight red dress and huge, poofy wig of red curls, which is heavy and itchy, and I can’t believe I forgot I was wearing it.

Penny is surprised every year when I choose to dress up.

“It’s just not like you,” I can hear her saying through a laugh. “And Iloveit.”

Now, to Sammy, I say, “But we’re not talking about my costume. We’re talking about the fact that your poor performance tonight has something to do with your lack of confidence off the ice. With the girl you refuse to ask out. My guess is that you had a perfect opportunity and didn’t take it—right?”

The way his already-flushed face turns even more crimson is all the answer I need. Of course he didn’t—he needs a breakthrough. My mind flashes back to the scene in my office.

“I think you’re amazing. Funny. Kind. And I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day I’m around you is better for it.”

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