Page 60 of The Charlie Method

“I’m kind of scared, but yes.”

“Once a month, everyone has to post a picture in the chat for Dad Bod Day.”

Yikes. I’m picturing love handles and pot bellies when Gigi bursts that bubble by adding, “They like to argue about who has the most abs.”

“Oh, right. Your dad’s a hockey player,” I say to Blake. “Yours is too, Gigi?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, he dabbled.”

Blake snickers, which tells me Gigi is underplaying it and her dad is probably the greatest player of all time.

“Okay, back to this horrible decision you’ve made,” Gigi says. “You can’t go out with a football player, Blakey. He’s only going to break your—” She cuts herself off, eyes widening. “That was tripping!” she shouts, jumping to her feet.

Other fans are screaming their agreement. But there’s no whistle. The players keep skating and smashing into each other. It’s hard to make out the names on their jerseys. I can only catch a glimpse when they’re in the face-off, crouched over, but it seems like the one always handling it is Ryder.

“Don’t make me come down there!” Gigi yells at the ref.

“Uh-oh,” Blake says. “Wife mode activated.”

“Wait, what?” I’d noticed that Gigi was wearing a ring, but it didn’t occur to me it might be aweddingring.

Although itison her wedding ring finger…

My inner bitch is quick to mock me.Sharp as a tack, Charlie. There’s a reason you’re in STEM.

In my defense, I don’t know a lot of married college seniors. I’m sure they exist, but nobody in my circle is married at this age.

“That’s my husband down there,” Gigi explains, flopping back into her seat after her tantrum. “Number 62. Ryder.”

“So you’re Mrs. Ryder?” I tease.

“Mrs. Graham-Ryder, thank you very much. I promised my dad that I won’t drop the Graham unless Wyatt gets married and has kids to pass the name along to.”

That sends Blake into a fit of laughter. “Because that’s happening.”

“Hey, there’s a chance.” Gigi grins at me. “My twin brother is not the settling-down type. So if he stays eternally single, my kids will just have to be Graham-Ryders.”

As the two of them continue to chat about Wyatt, an itchy sensation travels along my spine. The feeling that I’m being watched.

I glance around, trying to pinpoint where the intense stare energy is emitting from, but everyone in my vicinity is focused on the game. The only exception is a solo guy whose face I can’t make out because he’s engrossed in his phone. All I see is a head of black hair and a dark eyebrow that either has a white scar running through it or it’s just the bright lights reflecting off it.

I still can’t shake off the weird sensation, but I force myself to ignore it.

There’s a face-off on the ice below. The puck drops, and Mr. Graham-Ryder snaps it up. The players zoom after him with a speed that leaves me dizzy. I can barely keep track of who has the puck, let alone what they’re supposed to do with it. I watch as the little black disc flies across the ice and players chase after it like their lives depend on it. Every few seconds, someone is slammed into the boards, and the whole crowd cheers or groans, depending on which team did the slamming. It seems like the whole point is to hit people as hard as possible and then occasionally remember to try to score.

“This is way more aggressive than I expected,” I say over the cheers. “Why is it so aggressive?”

“Because it’s hockey!” Gigi laughs, clearly loving my confusion. “It’s all about getting physical.”

Physical is one way to put it. I wince when I notice a particularly jarring hit against a Harvard player.

I raise a brow. “That seemed unnecessary.”

“Nah. Beckett’s just showing them who’s boss.” Gigi’s eyes are bright with approval. “Considering how laid-back he is, he’s a shockingly good enforcer.”

I grimace. “Ugh. Beckett? I know that guy. He’s in my environmental science elective.”

“Not a fan?” Gigi sounds amused.

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