Page 18 of The Pucker and the Princess
Pressure forms behind my eyeballs, and I feel the tears on the verge of letting down. But I’ve cried enough over that man, that relationship, and all the parts of myself I gave up. I’m not going to do it anymore.
Scrubbing away the burgeoning tears, I sniff, but it’s a giveaway.
“Oh, Marissa,” Mom says, her voice brimming with sympathy. “You’re a wonderful daughter, and you’ve grown into such a wonderful woman. It’s okay to let other people see and appreciate that about you. I don’t care if you date this hockey player or not. But I do want you to start putting yourself out there again. You’ve spent so long focusing only on work and your project cars—and those are wonderful things! And I don’t want you tostopworking on either of them. But now you’re far away and all alone. I want you to make connections. To open yourself up to people again. Even if you’re not ready for a romantic relationship, find some way to make friends, okay?”
“I will, Mom,” I promise, my voice still hoarse with unshed tears. “I will.”
CHAPTER NINE
Dozer
I don’t seeMarissa for several days. I think about texting her, especially when I’m alone in my apartment at the end of the day. I’m most tempted when I’ve been away for a game and come home to my dark, empty condo.
Is she a night owl? Would she still be up? Would she be willing to talk to me over text? What about come over and have a beer?
Normally I wouldn’t think a woman like her would drink beer. But given how handy she is with tools and fixing a car … Solid chance she’s a beer drinker on top of drinking fruity cocktails when the opportunity presents itself.
And let’s be real, fruity cocktails are delicious. I don’t understand those dudes who think they’re too manly to drink a cocktail, calling them “girly drinks.” At home, I mostly drink beer because it’s easy to pick up at the store. But if I’m somewhere serving cocktails? You better believe I’m gonna get one.
Which, thinking about that, makes me wonder what Marissa would think if we went out somewhere and I ordered a cocktail. Would she think less of me?
Jenny did. And so did a few other women I’ve dated, parroting those same ideas that men should drink beer and whisky or tequila shots. Not the fun ones, either.
Why aren’t men allowed to enjoy delicious cocktails? I work hard. If I’m paying for it, I’m going to get what I want, and fuck anyone else’s ideas about how that makes me look.
“Yet another reason that I should just stay away from women for now,” I mutter to myself, grabbing a sparkling water and a snack from my fridge. I have a game tomorrow, so no alcohol for me tonight.
It didn’t used to make a difference, but since I hit thirty, I feel the alcohol more the next day. Even if I’m not hungover, my reaction time is slower, and I make dumb mistakes.
With our eyes on the Stanley Cup, we can’t afford mistakes. Not even in the preseason. And especially not preventable ones.
And there’s another reason I should just leave Marissa alone. Even if she didn’t care if I drank cocktails, she’s still a distraction I can’t afford. My focus needs to be on hockey.
Women never caused you to make mistakes on the ice before …whispers a little voice at the back of my mind. It’s the same voice that tells me how hot she is when I see her. And when I’m in the shower.
It’s the voice of my little head, the one who only cares about getting laid.
“Shut up,” I say to my dick. “I’m not taking relationship advice from you anymore.”
Because that’s what’s gotten me into trouble before. Following my dick to beautiful women who pretend to like me.
Marissa doesn’t pretend to like me, though, whispers that same voice again.
And … yeah. It’s hard to argue with that. She busts my balls and doesn’t seem all that impressed by the fact that I play hockey.
Which is weird for me. Girls have been impressed by me playing hockey ever since I was old enough to care what girls thought about me. So to have a woman find out and act like it’s as commonplace as being a teacher or a banker is new and different.
I kinda like it.
And that’s why I’m so tempted to reach out to her. I think if she were just perfect and pretty—which she definitely is—I could easily keep my distance. But she feels safe in a way I’ve only experienced with Tina, my teammate Nick’s wife. Though Anna, the chick our former teammate Troy Easton got together with over the summer, gave off similar vibes.
If—and that’s a big if—I decide to get into a relationship again, that’s the kind of woman I need. Someone who’s not overly wowed by my career. Who has their head on straight and isn’t swayed by the false promises of fame, even fame by association.
Maybe Troy had the right idea—wait until retirement to settle down.
I’ve still got years left in me, assuming I don’t wind up with some kind of catastrophic injury—knock on wood. But eventually agewill catch up to me. Right now I’m still having fun with hockey. I know the older guys start groaning and moaning more—and I’ve found myself joining them a time or two since preseason started, which has been a shock. I always heard the guys over thirty complaining and groaning, especially before morning skate, and thought they were ridiculous. Milking their age. Acting like turning thirty’s the end of the world.
But now …
