Page 84 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Juliet’s fantastic at this,” Ryan says. “She’s definitely meant to run PR.”
“Yeah, she is.” I feel a little pride puffing out my chest. It’s not earned, because this whole engagement is fake. But I’m proud anyway.
Ryan looks at me suspiciously. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, shrugging.
He grins. “You thought she was just a pretty face?”
“I thought she was a pain in my ass.”
“She’s that too. But she’s also smart as hell.”
Juliet turns to look at me, arching her brows and waving us over.
“Come show them what an enforcer does!” she calls. “Coach Ryan, can you play someone on the rival team?”
Oh,fuckyeah. I skate over, showing the kids a very light version of what an enforcer does when someone takes liberties with his team. Ryan squares up in front of me, grinning like he’s already planning payback.
I exaggerate the movements so the kids can see. Closing the gap fast, locking onto his jersey with one hand, and giving him a harmless but dramatic shove that sends him sliding back a few feet.
“That’s how you let someone know they’ve messed with the wrong guy,” I tell them, keeping it playful enough for the audience but still sharp enough that Ryan knows I could’ve dropped him if this were real. The kids laugh and cheer, and Ryan smirks like he’s dying to go another round.
I notice Juliet gets this kind of pleased, pinched look on her face every time that I take a minute to show any of the kids something. What’s running through her head? I can’t be certain. But her cheeks gradually grow bright pink as she watches me interact with a ten-year-old, teaching her how to hold her hockey stick when she’s moving across the ice at a clip.
When I look again, Juliet’s face is glowing like a coal, her eyes glued to me. Is she getting all hot and bothered watching me? Or is it a bit of baby mania creeping in?
Something is making Juliet swoon. Whatever it is, I lean into it. I crouch down to fix a seven-year-old’s skate that’s coming loose.
“There you go, buddy. How’s that feel?”
“Good! Can you teach me to fight like you?”
I laugh. “Let’s stick to skating for now.”
I give an older boy some gentle coaching on puck handling, showing him how to keep his head up while he moves the puck around cones. Even take a few deliberate falls just to make them laugh.
“Coach Hunter fell down!” a smaller kid shrieks with delight.
“I sure did. Good thing the ice is soft, right?”
Juliet watches all of it from the sidelines, her eyes soft in a way I’ve never seen before. She smiles at one point, unable to hide her actual genuine smile, and something unfamiliar twists in my chest.
I enjoy earning her approval. Having someone on the sidelines that not only sees me, but likes what I’m doing, feels indulgent somehow.
Of course, Juliet and I take a ton of pictures throughout the clinic. Holding hands while skating together reveals that she’s actually a pretty graceful skater. Better than I expected.
“Where’d you learn to skate like that?” I ask as we glide around the rink.
“Lessons from when I was a kid. My mom thought it would be character building.”
“Your mom was right.”
“Don’t tell her that. She’ll never let me forget it. She still blames the lessons for getting me into hockey.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
