Page 10 of Forbidden Puck
Yeah, it's true, I give Lance a hard time over Lindsay. Part of it is because I miss my wing-man. Lance and I used to have a lot of fun at the clubs. And that's what I thought us living together would be like … instead, he's always spending his time with Lindsay.
But the biggerpart of it is that I don't get how a guy in our situation can get all hung up overonespecific girl. All we have to do is walk into any club in Boston, and everyone knows who we are. Girls start giving us the look—these big, inviting eyes—practically pleading with us to come over and talk to them. Hell, they'll do that even if they're at the club with their boyfriends. You'll see her boyfriend just turn absolutely white with insecurity, and he'll jealously wrap his arm around her and try to rush her out the door to some other bar. It must suck, knowing a girl would throw all your history aside that quick, just for one night with a famous athlete. And that's no exaggeration. Some girls absolutely will cheat on their boyfriends if it means a single night with one of us.
So that being said, how could a guy fall for one chick? I truly don't get it. How would he ever know that she was actually into him, theperson,and not just the hockey player? What makes Lance so sure that Lindsay is actually intohim personally, and isn't trying to further her modeling career?
I got out of bed and walked over to my treasure chest. I ran my fingers over the smooth, snake-skin leather before I popped open the latches. They clicked free with a solid and satisfyingthunk.I lifted the heavy lid and peeked in.
I could've settled down with any one of these girls if I wanted to. The hell would be the point? How would I ever know she's actually interested in me, and not just in love with the idea of being with a pro athlete?
I shut the lid and closed the latches.
***
After dinner with Ilya and his girlfriend, I made it home later that evening. I walked in, expecting to find Lance and his sister, but the place was dark and no one was home.
Huh. Wonder when she's supposed to be here? He didn't say.
I was still in the shower when I heard a banging at the front door. I shut the water off and jumped out of the shower, running to my room to quickly dress.
“One minute!” I yelled as I sprinted past to my room.
I jumped into a pair of boxer-briefs and threw on a well-worn pair of jeans. But the knocking on the door did not stop.
“I'm comin', I'm comin'!”
I raced out of the bedroom before I had a chance to put on a shirt.
I swung the door open and was greeted by a new face. Of course, I didn't need longto solve the mystery. She wasn't anywhere near as tall as Lance, but it was clear she shared his DNA, from the athletic build to the fiery but golden hair. She didn't look like him in the face, though—thank God for her sake!
“You must be Honey Badger,” I said warmly.
“Oh, lord,” she said with an emphatic eye roll. “Iguessyou can call me that. But my name is Ella.”
“Ella it is, then. Can I grab your bag for you?”
“Please!”
I hoisted her bag over my shoulder and followed her in. She moved like a long, slinky cat on the prowl. She wore a snugly fitting pair of denim jeans, a simple spaghetti-strap tank-top, and ballet flats.
She stepped into our condo, wide-eyed, seemingly inspecting and appraising every surface and detail. And for a moment, it seemed as if she was aware of nothing else.
I cleared my throat, and just like that, she shot me a surprised look and remembered that I existed again.
“Oh, sorry, where are my manners? Lance said your name was—what was it? Sonar?” Her nose scrunched up while she tried to remember. “Metal Detector?”
“Metal Detector, yeah. How'd you guess?”
“I know you're lying!” she squealed in a tone that was partly playful but partly serious.
“I'm just joking. It's Radar. Or Ryan, whichever.”
“Radar it is, then.”
We shook hands for the first time, but it struck me that I already knew her somehow. I guess that always happened when you met your best bud's family; there was a familiarity as soon as you set your eyes on them.
Ella had a heart-shaped face. Although her individual features were soft, when taken together, there was a certain hardness to her face. She looked, I dunno—tough? Capable? Independent? Something like that. She wasn't the type oftee-hee I'm-so-impressed-by-yougirly-girl that I'd been so used to meeting ever since I went pro. Tell you that much. Instead, her whole essence seemed to pose a challenge: 'are you ready for this?'
I had to admit, she was cute—for being related to Lance, I mean. Not that it made any difference whatsoever.
