Page 130 of If All Else Sails
“Debatable.”
“The social media manager for the Appies used them asinspiration.” He pauses. “I might have watched some of their videos on YouTube.”
When I gasp dramatically, Wyatt kisses me until I forget why I was teasing him in the first place.
Though the teams are out of town today, I’m giddy when a staff member with a bright smile is waiting to give us a private tour. This has my brother written all over it. Wyatt probably called him to call in a favor.
We get to sign the fan wall on the outfield and even go inside the locker rooms, where I sneak a picture of the caddy of toiletries next to the sinks.
Wyatt shakes his head at me. “Of all the things to take pictures of, why?”
“Because when will I ever have a chance to know what kind of deodorant the Savannah Bananas use,” I whisper.
“Are you going to take pictures ofmydeodorant?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he asks, sounding offended.
“Who’s to say I haven’t already done it?”
After he buys me half the gift shop and picks out a jersey for himself, Wyatt drives us to Tybee Island, where we eat delicious seafood on the upstairs deck of a crowded restaurant.
Ask him about it now, I tell myself as Wyatt cracks a crab leg, butter dripping down the back of his hand.Just ask how soon he’ll go back to Boston. And what he’s thinking about this. About us. Maybe he has a plan.
But maybe he doesn’t. Or maybe I won’t like the plan.
I don’t know what it looks like to be the girlfriend of a famous hockey player. Or how to do an adult relationship of any kind. A long-distance one, no less. So instead of asking questions, I eat hush puppies like they’re about to be discontinued.
Stuffed with amazing food, Wyatt and I walk hand in handalong the ocean, leaving our shoes by the beach access. I squeeze his fingers and lean a little closer with a sigh. We didn’t get to do this at Carolina Beach because we were busy pretending we weren’t together in front of Jacob, Eli, and Van.
But as we walk, the questions and worries I’ve been stuffing down grow larger, gathering like storm clouds. How does a long-distance relationship work? I barely have actual relationship experience. Will I travel to see him? Does Wyatt have time to see anyone during the season? Is he into phone calls or FaceTime? What about texting? How will he respond if I send a string of GIFs?
Do I need to learn hockey things—like, more than the puck goes in the net? Probably. The idea gets me a little excited. I could do what I did with sailing just with hockey. A total deep-dive immersion. I wonder if hockey has terms as ridiculous asbaggywrinkle.
But perhaps the most important question of all: Do I need new clothes? Are there specific items I’ll have to buy—like WAG pants? Is there some kind of hockey girlfriend supply store, or can I just use Amazon? Or maybe hockey WAGs don’t wear pants. Maybe they wear short skirts and dresses.
Will this require me to consistently shave above the knee? Am I going to—
“You look like you’re constipated,” Wyatt says, and it shocks a laugh out of me.
The ugly kind you wish you could suck back in. I’m embarrassed until I look at Wyatt and see the warm amusement in his eyes.
“Not that I would know,” he adds quickly.
I almost say,But maybe if we stay together, you will.Then I remember we’re talking about constipation, so I snap my mouth closed.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks.
“Pants.”
“Pants?”
I give him a tight nod. “Pants.”
He looks like he’s about to add a follow-up question or ten, but then he pulls his buzzing phone out of his pocket. I see Jacob’s name across the screen and suppress a groan.
“I’ve got to take this,” Wyatt says in the kind of serious voice that makes me immediately think something terrible is happening. Like Wyatt is being traded to a team in Europe.
