Page 8 of The Ex Puck Bunny
“What’s in the water here?” I push my cup away.
Why is everyone so aggro?
“You ordered a soda.”
“Maybe she spit in that too.”
He shrugs like it’s a possibility, then says, “Dude, that’s my sister.”
My lips part with surprise. “No.”
“Yes.”
I shake my head because I wasn’t only noticing her inside-out shirt earlier. “No,” I repeat.
“Yes. Heidi. My sister,” he says slowly, enunciating each syllable.
“She’s all grown up.”
He flings his hand dismissively. “Yeah. That’s generally what happens. You’ve been gone too long, man.”
I mean, she’s grown up,grown up. I remember her being Derek’s bratty little sister. When she had braces, she made her mother cut the corn kernels off the cob when she could’ve easily done it herself. She’d kick us off the ice in their backyard rink when she wanted to figure skate and we were playing hockey, then ten minutes later come inside after purposely roughing up the surface.
In high school, she joined the cheerleading team and dated football players—a few I had to help Derek keep in line when they got a little too frisky.
I was so focused on hockey, I never considered Heidi becoming awoman.
“Your sister,” I breathe as this fact catches up with me.
“I come in here just about every day and make sure no one gets the wrong idea.” His hand tightens into a fist.
“Yet, you give her a hard time about her shirt being on inside out.”
“You had a brother. You know how it is.”
Ihada brother. Past tense. Theo was about ten years younger than me and didn’t survive the car accident that put our mother in jail. When she got out, she was the same as ever—drunk—and wasn’t around too long after that.
I grunt, not wanting to revisit that part of town and wander down memory lane.
Heidi brings her brother a soda and then throws a straw at him. She’s physically fit and has nice curves. Loose pieces of hair come loose from her ponytail, framing her face. She has a little dimple in her chin that would be cute if she smiled.
I shouldn’t be noticing these details.
She says, “The nachos should be out soon.”
“Heidi, you remember Grady, right?”
“Of course,” she says in a measured tone.
I’m about to apologize for not recognizing her at first, but her glare keeps my trap shut. I might come off sounding arrogant if I acknowledge that—go pro in the NHL and forget all the little people or something.
Instead, I say, “Hey, next Lions game, we should have had Trey meet us here like old times—your dad too.”
Derek’s eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly, warningly.
Heidi storms off.
Then I add, “Maybe you should come in here less. She seems tired of waiting on you.”
