Page 70 of Puck You Very Much
“Let’s play hockey, whaddaya say?” I asked and slapped a puck to the opposite end of the rink.
Levi swooped in and snatched the puck before me, and I lunged forward to steal it back. When he kept the puck, I stayed on him, trying to overpower the meathead, but it felt like I’d slammed into a brick wall.
God, he was big.
He broke away from me, soaring down the ice at a pace faster than anyone his size had a right to possess, and I chased him. Only when he neared the net did I finally catch up with him. He swung around the net, hugging the boards. I tried checking himagain, meeting a worse fate than before. This time, I landed flat on my back and found myself staring up at the lights.
Then I saw Levi towering over me, laughing uncontrollably, in that oh-so Levi Dunn way.
“You like the ice so much you’re gonna lay there all day long?” he asked.
I didn’t answer him. That remark proved the trait that made him Levi Dunn in the first place.
I climbed back to my feet, thankful for the embarrassing fall. That should’ve created the perfect distraction from Levi’s unexpected and uncomfortable suggestion.
What was I supposed to say? That I’d fallen head-over-heels in love with the enemy? That we were ga-ga for each other? Better yet, we would be getting married, and I wanted Levi Dunn himself to walk me down the aisle. That last part sounded like the perfect Larkin Lion answer, but I couldn’t let him dig in any deeper.
“What happened, bro?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Must’ve slipped and fallen.”
“Like they’ve been dropping banana peels on the ice?”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
“It’s either that or… you’re in loo-o-oove.”
He stuck his tongue out so far that I worried it would fall from his mouth.
Remember a minute ago when I said I hoped my fall would foil Levi’s uncomfortable suggestion?
Well, fuck that.
“Just admit it, bro,” he said. “Your life will be a hundred million times easier.”
“Hold on, timeout.” I made a T with my hands. “What makes you so damn sure I’m in love with anyone?”
“It’s written all over you, bro.”
“What, am I wearing a sign or something.”
“No, but you might as well be. You’ve been super distracted lately, like your mind’s been someplace else, but not in a bad way, you know? Plus, you’ve got that dumbass look in your eyes.”
“That dumbass look is my normal look.”
A shit-eating grin stole over his face, and I wanted to have that comment back badly enough to add it to my Christmas wish list.
“Words aren’t always needed,” he said, “but I can tell what your deal is clear as day and, remember, I’m the guy that crushes beer cans on his forehead.”
Maybe I should’ve come right out and said it but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell Levi he was right, even if there was apparently a first time for everything.
Wait, what the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t tell Levi that, and not for the reasons you might think. Conceding to that blockhead would mean follow-up questions, digging deeper and deeper for details. Maybe I wouldn’t tell him right away that I wasn’t in love with a woman, but he would probe until he reached that point.
And then what the fuck would I do? You see, all my life I’ve suffered from this really bad habit of telling the truth. I could’ve saved myself a boatload of misery if I’d at least been willing to fib, let alone bastardize the truth.
“What’s her name?” he asked.
I said nothing. Compare my lack of response to the Miranda rights. Anything I said or did could and would be used against me in a court of law. Only it wouldn’t be the normal court of law with the scales of justice and picture of the President. It would be Larkin Lions court, with Ryan Detenbeck presiding, while wearing a black gown and dumbass powdered wig.
