Page 17 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

No, I didn’t, just like she didn’t know how my former life often called to me, telling me I used to be happier. Less bitter. Less sexually frustrated for sure. Back then I’d also been seeking my self-esteem from other people, which negated the very definition considering “self” was right there in the word.

No doubt Whitney only saw a woman scorned, and while I’d played that role and held on to my grudge for too long, for my health, I couldn’t completely let it go, either.

The second we stepped inside the building, the buzz of the crowd and beat of the music made conversation nearly impossible. I took in the mix of people, several familiar faces from my past three years of being involved in the hockey circuit.

This was a mistake…

As if she could read my mind and see the urge to flee written on my face, Whitney re-looped her arm through mine and pulled me deeper into the sea of people, over to where Lyla and Megan stood.

“Hey, girls!” Whitney hugged one and then the other, then gestured to me. “You guys remember Lindsay?” They nodded at me and I lifted my hand in a lame wave.

“Hey,” Megan said, flashing me a big smile. “She went with Dane, Ryder, and me when we saw that play the other night. Wasn’t it amazing?”

“It was,” I said, because that was the truth. The curious look Whitney gave me made it clear that Ryder hadn’t divulged that info when he’d convinced her to get me to the party. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I was sure it probably wasn’t something I should obsess over.

“Glad you decided to join us,” Lyla said. “I don’t know how many of these you’ve been to, but my best party advice is to not open conversations with stories about your cat. If you have one. I suppose if you don’t have one, though, that still applies, as it’d be weird to bring up a pet you don’t have.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” I sometimes rambled—especially around Ryder, which frustrated me to no end—but Lyla was the queen of rambling. Or maybe it’d be categorized as more rapid-fire fact giving. Once, I’d rhetorically asked, “What are the odds?” and she’d given them to me based on her research. I’d also heard quite a bit about her cat, Einstein, before. Whitney occasionally talked about him, too, and since I’d been experiencing bouts of loneliness, I’d momentarily considered becoming a cat lady. Didn’t that and being a book editor just go together? Might as well get a jump-start on my future.

“See? All the cool peeps are here,” Whitney said, nudging me with her elbow. “Aren’t you glad you came?”

Memories of past parties flickered through my mind as I looked around, and a tight band formed around my chest. “Actually, I’m second-guessing it even as we speak.”

“That means you need to dance,” Lyla said, and before I could explain that dancing wasn’t in my repertoire anymore, they dragged me onto the floor. The girls moved to the music and eventually, albeit reluctantly, I joined in, swaying my hips to the beat.

“Don’t you guys have boyfriends you’d rather be dancing with?” I shouted over the music.

“They haven’t made it over from the rink yet.” Lyla added a shimmy to her words. “But they’re not the biggest fans of dancing. Not this kind, anyway, and while I’ll admit I like being pressed up against Beck during a slow song, I also love a good fast one now and then.”

Megan was an amazing dancer, and I stopped moving to watch her. She smiled, then grabbed my hand and spun me around.

For a second, I wondered what game these girls were playing, being nice to me. Then I remembered that they were simply nice girls.

Off to my left, I caught sight of one of the hockey players—Henry Barnes, number eight, goalie—and I recognized the girl pressed up against him. Misty and I used to be as thick as thieves, puck bunnies in arms. I knew she’d stab me in the back if it meant snagging a guy’s attention and getting it off me, and honestly, I’d pulled some pretty low moves myself, so the feeling was undoubtedly mutual.

The thought of our past competitions sent a sick sensation through my gut now. If Misty still wanted to play the game, more power to her. I hated thinking about how I used to be. Hated to think of the desperation I’d felt, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it’d showed on the outside, too, the way Mom’s did when she was around her man of the moment.

I shuddered.

“You okay?” Whitney asked as the song wound down.

I nodded and attempted a smile.

“Let’s get that drink I promised you.” She clamped on to my hand and pulled me toward the table covered in various forms of alcohol and mixers.

I downed the first drink she handed me in record time. I swore I could feel eyes on me, and my skin prickled uncomfortably. I couldn’t pinpoint who was responsible for giving me the ominous vibe, but a few guys were looking at me like an easy mark, while several girls glared at me.

Or maybe I was projecting.

Whitney handed me a freshly refilled cup, this one fuller than the last.

I took a healthy gulp and then glanced around, my paranoia growing. “Look, tell Ryder I had to go.”

“Give it a few more minutes,” Whitney said.

“No offense, but why do you care if I stay? Hudson will be here any minute.” To my credit, I didn’t even flinch when I said his name. But I didn’t belong in this crowd anymore. This party only proved it—it shoved my past in my face and I didn’t like it. “And it’s nice that you and Ryder are friends or whatever, but he’ll get over it. In fact, he’ll probably have more fun if I’m not here.”

Whitney sighed. “Don’t get mad, but all you do is go to classes and work, and this is your last semester of college. Soon you’ll have even more responsibilities. You don’t want to look back and regret what you missed out on, do you?”

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