Page 39 of The Pucker and the Princess
In answer, I shove his shoulder, though he barely wobbles despite the fact that I caught him by surprise.
He laughs. “That’s a good handshake,” and he does it back.
“Can I join the club?” Barlowe asks, standing and shuffling closer.
Narrowing my eyes, I look him over. “I dunno, man. That’s up to Tina. Well, Abernathy first. He has to decide if he wants you around his family. But Tina’s the one you have to really win over.”
“She’s the final boss, huh?” Barlowe asks.
Bouchard guffaws again. “Something like that.” Turning back to me, he meets my eyes. “But about your friend. She likes hockey?”
“She does now.” Something like pride swells in my chest at that. She’d never been to a hockey game before our opening night, but now I’ve got her decked out in Emeralds gear and attendingmatches on a regular basis. We’ve spent many evenings watching hockey highlights together so she can ask me questions and I get to explain the finer points of the game. It’s really fun.
Jostling my arm, Bouchard cackles some more. “I bet she does. But you two …” He wiggles a finger at me, letting me fill in the blanks.
Something dark twists in my belly, and my brows pull together. “I told you. She’s just a friend. I’m not dating anyone right now.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I decided to shoot my shot?”
My breath seems to freeze in my lungs, a band constricting around my chest making it impossible to breathe at all. “Sure. If you want,” I manage to choke out at last.
Bouchard doesn’t seem to notice my sudden inability to breathe or speak normally, though Barlowe gives me a curious look.
Coughing, I pound my chest with my fist and shake my head. “Sorry. Breathed in some spit.”
“Don’t do that out on the ice, man,” Bouchard quips, clapping me on the shoulder before heading for the ice.
Barlowe gives me a look, eyebrows raised. But I just return his stare with a deadpan one of my own. With a shrug, he turns and leaves as well, and I follow behind them.
Let Bouchard shoot his shot with Marissa,I tell myself. It’s not like she’ll say yes. She’s not dating right now either, remember?
But the thought of him asking, and worse, of her maybe saying yes has my breakfast curdling in my stomach.
It’s unfair. I know it. I have no claim on her. And if someone else wants to date her, I have no right to stand in the way. But theidea of her dating one of my teammates is galling. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
I wait for days that stretch into a week, and then another, and still Marissa’s made no mention of Bouchard asking her out. Did he get her number at Thanksgiving when I wasn’t paying attention? Because I’m not sure how he’d ask her out otherwise. And if he didn’t, why bother asking me if I’d mind if he did?
But the fucker hasn’t said anything else—not to me, anyway, and from Marissa’s silence on the subject, not to her either.
Part of me wonders if hehasasked her and she just doesn’t want to tell me. Because she’s worried I’ll get mad or something. But why would I get mad? We’re friends. We’re not dating. She has every right to date whoever she wants.
I just don’t want her to date my fucking teammate.
And I’ll be honest, at least with myself, I don’t really want to hear about her dating anyone else, either.
Nor do I want to examine the reasons for those feelings or the deeper meaning behind them.
Christmas is only a couple of weeks away at this point, and I’ve been on the road most of the last week. Coming home and collapsing is top of mind, and if Marissa’s up for hanging out and watching a movie or something, so much the better.
Sure, I could do that on my own. But that holds little appeal right now.
I shoot her a text after climbing into my car, and see her response when I park my car at my place.
Marissa
I’ve got a six pack of pilsner I bought today from a local brewery. I’ll bring the beer and some snacks. You pick the movie
My smile is irrepressible as I climb out of my car, sending a quick reply.
