Page 49 of The Pucker and the Princess
Yeah, she’s at the game—I got a text from Tina that she found her during the intermission between the first and second periods—but she’s in no way acting like her normal self.
The game’s over. We squeaked out a win in overtime, but no one feels much like celebrating. This is a team we should’ve beat with no trouble. We’re ranked far better, have more points this season so far, and yet they had the lead for over half the game. We had to fight for both points we scored, and when we still hadn’t scored by the end of the second period, I was starting to get worried we wouldn’t score at all.
I guess we all felt that pressure. Coach didn’t even say anything, which is somehow worse than a rant about how his grandma’s beer league could play better than we are—though, honestly, based on the stories he’s told, his grandma’s a badass, and it’d be an honor to have my ass handed to me by someone like her.
Nick was the only one who said anything when we came in after the second period. “They shouldn’t be able to beat us. We’ve won the last three times we’ve been up against them. Get your asses in gear and score some goals.”
Bozeman managed to sink a sweet goal just after the third period started, tying us up for the rest of the game. Then our good captain himself managed to land a goal in overtime, securing our win and ending what turned out to be one of the most grueling games we’ve played all season.
“They must’ve stepped up their training since we played them last,” Bouchard grumbles, dropping into his seat and bending to take off his skates. I haven’t even sat down yet, fishing out my phone in hopes of a text from Marissa first. Though I’m disappointed she didn’t message, I’m happy Tina did. At least I know Marissa actually came. Even though she texted that she was going to—which I took as a huge win—I wasn’t a hundred percent sure she wouldn’t change her mind at the last minute.
When I saw her in the hall yesterday, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights who’d been struck by selective mutism. She didn’t say a word. I did all the talking, and I felt like a human bulldozer, crushing Bambi with every word. I kicked myself the whole way up to my apartment, second-guessing my move all night long. That probably contributed to why I played like such shit today. I’m tired. I barely slept.
I’ve always been able to set aside distractions once I step onto the ice, and today was really no different. But I can’t force my body to function on minimal sleep, unfortunately. And I couldn’t force myself to go to sleep last night either. Not when my mind was spinning like that.
But no woman’s ever made me lose sleep before.
“Guess so,” I mumble in response to Bouchard’s statement, and his surprised look at me lets me know I waited too long for normal conversation rules.
“You okay, man?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You seemed slower than normal today.”
I’m not generally known for speed—not like Abernathy and Bowers—but I’m not exactly slow, either. So for Bouchard to notice I’m slower today …
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
A shit-eating grin tugs at his mouth. “Aw, man. Don’t you know you’re supposed to wait to celebrate untilafterthe game?” He guffaws. “Partying the night before never ends well.”
“Ha.” It’s not a real laugh, though I try to fake it. “Naw, man. It’s not that. You know I’m not much for partying.”
“Not anymore,” he mutters.
I nod along because he’s right, I used to do that. But I’m not in my twenties anymore. That’s no longer as appealing as it once was. Not when I have Marissa to hang out with after a game or on my evenings off.
Except I don’t. Not anymore. Not since I fucked it all up.
But that’s what tonight’s about. Fixing things. At least I have Tina in my corner.
“Just plain ol’ insomnia,” I finish off, stripping out of my sweater and pads and heading for the showers. “Gettin’ old.”
“Man, you’re only two years older than me!” he shouts after me as I walk away.
“I know, you young whipper-snapper!” I call back, laughing at the, “Fuck you!” that follows me to the showers.
When I get back to my locker, I force myself to wait until I’m dressed before I pick up my phone again. If Marissa has texted, she’s texted. Staring at my phone won’t make one materialize, though.
I’m once again slightly disappointed to only have a text from Tina, though the content eases the sting a little.
Tina
I have Marissa with me. We’ll meet you at the family and friends area when you’re done
I’m not sure what black magic she’s worked to make that happen, but I’ll be forever grateful. I’ll have to ask Nick what I should get her as a thank you for her help that she’ll like and won’t be creepy.
But before I do that, I need to figure out how to get Marissa to stop hating my guts.
I hurry up and get dressed, mind racing but coming up with no good ideas. By the time I’m heading out of the locker room, thebest I’ve come up with is to just act like everything’s normal the way I did yesterday. That got me this far, didn’t it?
Maybe I’m just overthinking. Maybe she wants everything to go back to normal too.
