Page 32 of The Pucker and the Princess
She grins. “Well, anytime you want to provide me with tickets, as long as I’m around and available, I’ll happily come and take you out for a drink afterward.”
I return her smile, holding my glass out for her to clink hers against mine again. “It’s a deal.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marissa
Dozer’strue to his word, and I end up at hockey games more than I’d ever be able to go on my own—sometimes multiple times a week. Usually, though, I just go to the weekend games that are in Seattle.
The weeks where Dozer’s on the road feel strangely empty. I make an effort to find friends other than Dozer, but it’s difficult. People here are nice enough—happy to give a recommendation for a coffee shop or a place to get good brisket—but no one extends invites to hang out. And no one here knows what good brisket is. I’ve tried so many barbecue places based on people’s recommendations for something good, but these people have clearly never had good barbecue in their lives.
I’ve finally found my footing at work, though. It’s taken nearly all of the three months I’ve been here, but my team members have developed a grudging respect for me. I’ll take it. I don’t need them to be my friends—and I wouldn’t expect them to be, though being friend-lywould be nice—I just need them to respect meenough that we can all work together. Since I’m good at my job and treat them fairly, in my experience, hostile coworkers eventually come around. Mostly.
Fortunately, despite the initial hostility, it all settled pretty quickly, and we’re keeping both the clients and the central office happy with our performance.
Which is the other reason making new friends is difficult—I work a ton, and when I’m not at work, I’m either spending time with Dozer—he’s even come with me to the garage to hang out while I work on my car—texting with Dozer, or watching Dozer’s hockey games. Even when he’s away, I like to have the hockey game playing while I’m at home, once or twice even missing most of a Cowboys game so I could watch him play.
For someone who’s just my friend, I really should rein that in.
It’s just … I don’t want to.
I like Dozer. I like hanging out with him. He’s fun and funny and sweet. He doesn’t pressure me or expect things from me other than to also be fun and funny and kind. If I were in the market for a boyfriend, he’d be the perfect candidate.
But that would probably ruin everything. Because things are always great in the early days of a relationship, right? When you’re getting to know each other and focused on having fun and not letting people see your crazy side.
Once those early stages turn into a relationship, though? That’s where it all goes sideways. The expectations, the demands, the need for constant contact, the refusal to give as much as he takes …
What we have right now is perfect.
So perfect, in fact, that it makes it hard to want to spend time even trying to find other people to hang out with, even though I know I should.
Where, though? Where would I even find these elusive people? I could try going back to the Salty Salmon on my own, but since I go there so often with Dozer, I don’t want to spoil it by using it to find other friends. Plus, there’s the whole, a woman in a bar chatting with a man is obviously trolling for a date or a hookup mentality that so many seem to have. And I’m not. I wouldn’t be. I just want friends!
Women friends would be nice. But I have no idea where or how to find adult women to be friends with in a new city. My friends back home are women I went to school with, either in high school or college, when it’s easier to make friends in general.
I’ve thought about joining a group or class of some kind, but I haven’t found any that sound really appealing—not that I’ve looked very hard.
But maybe this is fine. Maybe having one friend and spending the rest of my time at work or working on my car is enough. At least for now.
“Marissa!” Mom says when I pick up her call. “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in ages!”
Grinning, I shake my head. “I talked to you the other day, Mom.”
“Well, sure. But I haven’t seen you in months, and I’m still adjusting. Have you thought any more about what you’re doing for Thanksgiving?”
I put the hanger in my hand in my closet—Mom caught me in the middle of putting away laundry—then pause, staring at thewall with my hand on my hip, my mouth hooked to one side as I think about Thanksgiving again. “Not really,” I say on a sigh. Mom’s been badgering me since the beginning of the month to come home for Thanksgiving.
“It’s right around the corner,” she reminds me. “Less than two weeks away. If you’re going to fly home, it’s going to be expensive at this point.”
On another sigh, I shake my head. “I don’t think going back to Texas is in the cards right now, Mom.”
She’s quiet for a second, then her sigh comes through the phone as well. “I kind of guessed. I was hoping …”
“I know, Mom,” I say when she trails off. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. I understand.”
“It’s just, I’m still getting settled, and?—”
