Page 6 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
Tate from Honey & Lavender comes to mind. The answer is unequivocally no.
There are thousands of miles separating me from my mother and the rest of the family’s badgering, so I can take a deep breath, but like my bad habit of blurting things likeCrocsin a crowded room, my answer toDo you have a date?is ill-conceived. Let’s just say my finger slips across three buttons on the keypad instead of two in response.
Me: Yes.
If cell phones had tires, mine would be bald right now.The Margo is Still Singlegroup chat gets a lot of mileage out of thatwhopper as they badger me with questions and speculate about my mystery date.
This time, my finger slips over thepower offbutton.
As the reality of what I just did sets in, I realize that I’m going to have to do something about it. Or finally cash in that one-way plane ticket to Timbuktu (wherever that is) that I’ve fantasized about buying during moments like this. I’d get on that bird and never look back.
But then I remember I have two hockey tickets for tonight. I invite Juniper. I’m not going to say she’s my only friend in the city, but her fantasy league group call earlier reminded me that she’s a major hockey fan.
I’ve got my fingers crossed that I meet someone who hires me for a super fancy and important event, so maybe I won’t be able to go to Maxine’s wedding after all.
My hometown of Cobbiton,a suburb of Omaha, hosts the Nebraska Knights arena, so I’m no stranger to hockey, in so far as I know how to spell it B-O-R-I-N-G, and that there are ice skates and sticks involved.
Seated in the VIP box at the Empire State Kings arena, only partway through the first period, I realize I’ve been W-R-O-N-G.
Juniper literally jumped up and down when I told her about the tickets. She’s a hair stylist and I’ve referred her expertise for a couple of events, but she’s not the jump up and down type. More like the wear-all-black, strut confidently through a crowded room, and get not-trolled by her family type. I’ve never seen her jump, no less do a happy dance.
When one of the guys with sticks rushes down the ice, she hops to her feet along with the rest of the people in the buildingand screams obscenities. Scratch that, only half the people are shouting. The rest are smiling maniacally because the action favors their team.
Juniper isn’t a delicate flower, however, I’ve never seen her this, how shall I put it? Animated. Eyes sharp and fists in the air, she, along with the rest of the fans, come unhinged as they bellow and bark at the players, the referees, and each other. The guys on the ice are burly and I’d avoid getting on their bad side. They’re masculine. Strong. Tough. Able to take a hit and keep on going.
Juniper drops down next to me and says something that sounds like, “Sports word, sports word, sports word.”
“I had no idea you were so into hockey.” I guess I brought the right person to appreciate these free tickets.
“My brother played in college then quit whenShestole him from us.”
Juniper refers to she-who-shall-not-be-named who absconded with Juniper’s best friend and twin, aka her brother. Supposedly, they live in Thailand, a country where hockey probably doesn’t exist. I mean, they might have ice hockey there, but I’m pretty sure it’s in the tropics which presents a problem, what with the ice and all. Then again, until now, hockey wasn’t part of the United States of Margo. New things happen all the time ... and I think I like this new thing, well, at least the eye candy on skates.
Even though they’re mostly hidden under padding and jerseys, I can tell the players are powerful. The kinds of guys who could sweep a gal off her feet and not say something like,Whoops. You’re heavier than I expected.Yeah, that was Boyd. Mistake number one.
The hockey players aren’t bulky, just big. Especially the goalie. He’s either massive or the goal isn’t regulation size.
When he blocks a shot, three of the guys on the Knights team tear off their helmets and shout at him like barbarians. Like he slayed a dragon and saved the village. I can’t be sure, but I think this is a good thing.
It’s hard to tell with all the equipment, but from the glimpses I get and the shots on the jumbo screens overhead, the goaltender resembles a Viking Highlander hybrid. Blond hair, green eyes, and a light smattering of freckles.
After the crowd settles down, which is a very relative statement since they’d be classified as lunatics in any other setting, I say, “I’m not sure who I should be cheering for.”
Not tearing her eyes from the guys in silver and purple, she says, “New York, obviously.”
“But I’m from Nebraska.”
Without looking away from the action on the ice, Juniper taps her chin. “Hmm. I see the conflict of interest.”
While a guy from each of the teams gets put on the naughty step, er, penalty box, Juniper returns to planet earth, rather than orbiting in the insanity that is the hockey-sphere.
“My brother isn’t a sports bro. More like a sit-and-be-pretty boy. I mean, he does stuff like shop, tell his wife how gorgeous she is, and update his social media on the hour—I hear he’s having some success as a ‘House Husband’ and is developing quite a popular viral lifestyle and food hack following.”
Juniper snaps her head in my direction. “Don’t tell me he’s @GerardsLuxeLife? It’s been all over my feed. If my man decided he wanted to be a house husband, I’d build him a dog house in the backyard to live in.”
I chuckle. “My dad is big into golf, which counts as a sport but is sort of solo like running cross country, which was my thing in high school.”
“We should go for a run in the park again sometime soon.”
