Page 46 of His Jersey

Carlos’s sisteroffers a friendly wave and instantly weaves her arm through mine, leading us in the opposite direction. “Chuck said you needed an assist.”

I glance over my shoulder, but the guys are gone. “Chuck?” I ask, barely able to keep up with all the new people.

“My brother.”

“Carlos?”

They have the same laugh and hers echoes in yet another hallway we enter. “He’s been in love with Marisol for far too long and has been embracing all things Spanish-related. Our mom is Colombian, but we have the vocab of five-year-olds. Marisol is second-gen Mexican, so you can imagine how he’s trying to appeal to her heritage. Let me guess, he gave you a nickname.”

“Ella Bella.”

“That’s better than what he calls me.” But she doesn’t say what. “Brothers, am I right?”

“I’m an only child.”

“You’re lucky. I just wish all these hockey players didn’t think of me as a little sister.” She lets out a forlorn sigh.

I’m guessing that means none of them have ever blown her a kiss after scoring a goal.

“Despite what Chuck might say, my name is Leah.”

“Nice to meet you.”

We make a few more turns. I’m lost in the maze-like building before we take an elevator up a few floors. “Where are we going?”

“Where the food is, of course.” Her dark hair, pulled back in a high ponytail bobs as she leads the way.

We end up in a large room on an upper floor. A wall of windows overlooks the city with its sparkly lights. A woman around our age, dressed in a black caterer’s uniform, sets out a tray of sugar cookies decorated to look like hockey pucks with the Carolina Storm logo.

Leah says, “You should ask Jack about the New Year’s party they had here. I heard it was wild. Usually, after the games, the team hosts a get-together. A lot of the players go off and do their own thing, especially if they lose, but I figured we’d scrounge the dessert table instead of loitering in the hallway.”

My first thought is how much I already like Leah. My second fills me with worry.

“But are we supposed to be here? Are you dating someone on the team?” I belatedly realize probably not, considering her sigh earlier.

Again, she crows a laugh. “I wish. Well, not this team. I mean, I’m not going to be super picky because marrying a hockey player is my life goal.”

I wait for her to tell me she’s joking, but it doesn’t come.

“I live in Nebraska, so I’d prefer a Knight. I mean, doesn’t every girl dream of a knight in shining armor coming to her rescue?” Leah’s voice trills.

“Not in so many words, but I guess so.” I also think of finding Jack stuck in the sand and how he said I’d rescued him. Really, I just sat in the driver’s seat, but he wouldn’t have been able to get out of the hole on his own.

Now I’m here. My confusion and frustration wear off as Leah makes us a plate of goodies, complete with cookies, Rice Krispies Treats, blue velvet mini cupcakes, and pretzel rods coated in chocolate and sprinkles. Bark Wahlburger gets a butter cookie.

“So, are you sure it’s okay that we’re in here?” I ask, ever vigilant.

“You’re definitely welcome as the recently crowned ‘Puck Princess.’”

“Puck what? I thought it was puck bunny.”

“That’s something else. Technically, I’m a puck bunny, but not really.” Her nose twitches.

I squint, hoping she’ll explain.

“There’s nothing wrong with puck bunnies per se, but it depends on the team. For instance, the culture for some teams is a gal for every guy post-game. They’ll just pair up, go off, and—” She wiggles her fingers vaguely.

Jack and I kissed, and it felt genuine, but puck bunnies, players, and wiggle fingers—whatever those are—were not in the original, non-existent contract!

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