Page 34 of What If I Hate You
I muster a smile. “It didn’t feel very victorious. And I’m not sure I rattled him. I mean she was beautiful…the blonde.”
“Uh, and you’re not?” Ella scoffs. “Girl, have you seen you?”
I try to muster a smile. “Thanks, Ella.”
My best friend clutches my fingers. “Seriously, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, badly. “It was just…a moment. I’ve had worse. Plus, I slapped him. Hard enough to leave a mark.”
She laughs. “That’s my girl.”
“It wasn’t exactly my finest moment,” I tell them. “ I don’t even know why—I mean, I do—I just…I don’t want to be that girl, you know? The one who gets so rattled by a man’s opinion she commits battery in the bathroom of a dive bar. I get enough of the hate at work. I’m used to it. In fact, if I wanted to keep a running list of the times a man has tried to put me down or make me smaller so they feel better about themselves, I’d have to digitize it and get a fucking search bar. I guess I just didn’t expect the same behavior from one of the players.”
Marlee’s face softens, a little parental but mostly pissed. “That’s what gets me. You work so hard. You’re better than all those old men in the media lounge, and you're still the one being subtly cut down beneath the surface. It’s not fair.” She exhales a sharp breath, then pulls me in close until our foreheads nearly touch. “If you ever want me to set fire to his car, I’m only a phone call away.”
“Umm, please let me help?” Ella raises her hand like she’s auditioning to be a felon’s plus-one. “I’ve got a bunch of those little liquor bottles at home. Just saying.”
I snort and flick a crumb from my lap. “That’s why I keep you two around. Built-in arson squad.” But in truth, the resentment only flickers now, eclipsed by a kind of exhausted confusion that I can’t seem to shake.
On the ice, Barrett blocks three shots in a row from Bodhi Roche, stopping the third right on his kneecap. He barks at Bodhi, just a single, cutting word, but the whole team freezes like they just heard gunfire. Then, as quickly as the tension spikes, it’s gone and they’re skating again like dutiful little soldiers. For a second, his head tilts up. Just a glance, but he knows exactly where to look. Our eyes meet, and the force of it nearly knocks me off my stool.
He holds the stare a second longer than is appropriate, a dare and an apology and, maybe, something like regret. I look away first, which is a new brand of humiliation for me, but I don’t want him to see that I’m still thinking about him. About that word. About the goddamn bathroom and everything that came after.
“He’s looking at you,” Ella sing-songs, a lilt of pure glee in her voice. “Literally, right at you, not even trying to be subtle.”
I shove her arm. “Shut up. It’s probably just because he wants to murder me with a stray puck.”
“No, that isn’t murder energy,” Marlee says firmly. “That is, I’d-like-to-pin-you-against-the-glass-and-hate-fuck-for-three-periods-straight energy. I’d know it anywhere. That’s how my ex looked at me at the hot dog eating contest that one time at Harold’s, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle, “and then he threw up on your shoes.”
Marlee’s face goes dreamy and nostalgic. “Which is what love really feels like.”
We all laugh, but the edge of nervousness in my chest gives me away. Barrett’s already back to drills, mask down, expression vanished, like he’s decided to never let anything human slip through again. I finish my coffee, then start gathering my bag. “Gotta go prep for my noon hit. Don’t want to give the network any reason to swap me for a bimbo with frosted tips and an overbite.”
Marlee and Ella exchange a look. If there’s one thing I hate more than Barrett’s brooding, it’s my best friends’ silent judgment. “Just don’t let him off easy,” Marlee says, grabbing my forearm as I stand. “Make him squirm. It’s what he deserves.”
I nod, but my heart’s not in it. I can already see the interrogation headlines printed across my eyelids.Rivers Grills Cunningham After Skate Meltdown. I’ll play my role this evening, lob the snarky question, and he’ll volley it back with a sneer. The two of us reenacting some weird, career-long Kabuki dance in front of the same ten reporters and their digital recorders. Nothing ever changes, in this league or in this life.
It’snight two of the team’s away stretch and the locker room is a zoo before tonight’s game. Reporters, camera guys, and a couple of the new digital interns all jockey for position while the guys scuttle around in various stages of undress. In any other life I would be drooling over these half naked men walking around the locker room tossing their masculinity around like rebounds on a basketball court, but tonight I have a job to do.
The first thing I do is make a beeline for Griffin. He’s always good for a sound bite, and anyway, his habit of getting half un-dressed before talking to media means he doesn’t mind being on camera with his shirt off. Unlike, say, the grizzled, cold-blooded goalie I’m currently boycotting.
“What’s the vibe today, G?” I ask, clicking on my recorder and aiming my best I-am-not spiraling-into-a-personal-vendetta-right-now smile.
Griffin grins, a dimple popping in one cheek. “It’s all business. Cincinnati’s got speed, but we know what we have to do. No dumb penalties, keep the puck low, and let Bear do his job.” He winks. “You can quote me on that.”
I jot it down and move over to the next stall, where Bodhi is taping his stick with a look of Zen concentration usually reserved for Buddhist monks or first graders trying to color inside the lines.
“Roche, you feeling strong tonight?”
He glances up, hazel eyes quick and bright. “Always. You see the way Bear stopped my hits in practice this morning? The man’s in a mood, and I’m betting he wants to break a record tonight.”
It’s not lost on me that the guys all seem to be mentioning Barrett in their interview responses. It’s almost as if they’ve planned this.
“Think you’ll help him out?” I ask, keeping it light.
“If by help you mean light up the scoreboard so he actually has to work for it, yeah, I’m doing him a favor,” he says flashing a cocky grin.
