Page 41 of The Ex Puck Bunny
When karaoke starts, I finally have a moment to breathe, which mostly involves me inhaling a soda and making sure my eye makeup isn’t making me look like a scary raccoon.
“You’re lucky that you got table twelve,” Leah says. She’s one of my coworkers and also chugs a soda.
“How’s that?” I ask, belatedly realizing the way she’s batting her eyelashes.
“Because that’s like half the Knights team.”
They’re all behemoths with athletic builds and eachrepresents men’s hair lengths and facial hair styles, ranging from short to long and beards to freshly shaved. What’s with hockey players and hair?
“Don’t date hockey players.” Again, this warning is mostly for me.
She says, “But they’re so attractive in a masculine, brawny way.”
Grady and my conversation about not judging books by their covers comes to mind. “If I were to be looking for someone, and I’m not, I’d want someone with a big heart, caring, and loyal. Who’ll unfailingly do what’s right . . . and keep all the creeper customers in line.” I scowl at table six who’s been camping out all night with free popcorn and soda refills, ogling us girls.
“Sounds like you’re describing a cinnamon roll,” Leah says.
I almost spit out my sip of soda. “You can’t date a cinnamon roll.”
“Sure you can. Well, not the pastry. But someone like that. Maybe on the outside, they have a bit of a rough edge. Crisp. With a good bite.” She demonstrates this by taking an imaginary taste of something tough with the side of her mouth.
Gleaning what she means, I nod. “But on the inside, they’re soft and sweet.”
“Yup, but not around the middle.” Leah pats her belly.
“You don’t have to worry about that with hockey players.”
Does this make Grady a cinnamon roll?
She asks, “So who’s the new guy? It looks like you know him.”
How she was able to notice that while the rest of us were running around is confounding. My mother and I speculated about who’ll someday take Mrs. Gormely’s place as the town busybody. Maybe Sophia has competition.
Answering Leah’s question, I say, “Uh, yeah. He’s one ofmy brother’s best friends.” I should correct myself and add, Derek’sonlybest friend now that Trey is on ice.
Leah continues, “Is he single?”
Emerson, who I’ve worked with a few times, says, “Heidi doesn’t date hockey players.”
“Why? They’re so hot. It should be called Hotkey.”
Emerson laughs.
I do not. Okay, maybe a little inside.
“If you’re looking for someone who is emotionally literate, never mind available, caring, and kind, skip the hockey players,” I say as my gaze lands on Grady.
His head slides in my direction as if he senses I’m looking at him. Like an idiot, I offer a little wave.
“But they’re also tough and confident,” Leah says.
“And big and dumb.”
“How old are you again?” Leah asks with a laugh.
“Ha ha,” I say dryly. “Twenty-six.”
“I’m going to list twenty-six reasons why hockey players are hot.”
