Page 5 of Three Pucking Words
Suddenly, his athletic build makes sense. His thick thighs fill out his jeans a little too well and his equally thick arms are roped with solid muscle that must have taken a long time to mold to the perfection they are.
I suck in a breath.
As soon as we’re alone, the man I’ve spent the last three hours going tit for tat with over our favorite colors (blue for him and purple for me), our favorite foods (we both love pizza, although he has the audacity to like sardines on his), and music preferences (oddly enough, we both enjoy pop), rubs the back of his neck like he’s suddenly shy.
“Remember how I said I dabbled in sports?”
I let out a shallow breath and move my head up and down silently.
“I’m in town for the game,” he explains, toying with the half-empty beer glass in front of him. Is that his sixth or seventh one? I’ve lost count. Maybe he’s drunk, and that boy is mistaken.
“The game,” I repeat dumbly. Realistically, he could mean he’s here to watch it. Plenty of people travel for big matches like the one tonight.
But in my gut, I know that’s not what he means. “You’re a hockey player,” I surmise, swallowing the acid rising in my throat.
He leans forward, frowning. “I’m Bodhi.”
That’s not true, though, is it?
“Which team?” I force myself to ask.
Please don’t say the one I think you’re going to,I plead internally.
He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does, my worlds collide. The worlds I’ve done my hardest to separate when I wanted a fresh start of my own. Something to build that has nothing to do with who I’m related to or my circumstances.
Something deep, deep inside me clicks into place when he says, “New York.”
I close my eyes.
Only when he says my name twice do I open my eyes to see the way he watches me with a sullen expression. “What’s wrong?”
I slide off the stool, clenching my clammy palms. “I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Before he can protest, I lock myself into the dive bar restroom that smells like perfume and vomit. “Out of all the guys you could have met,” I grumble to myself, swiping a hand over my face.
I stare at my flushed reflection in the mirror and cringe. I’m not wearing makeup tonight, not that I normally do. My red hair is a frizzy mess that I put into a bun right before getting here, the jeans and sweater I changed into after work do little for my curvy figure, yet Bodhi has been looking at me like he wants nothing more than to take me home.
And I…I’ve been wanting nothing more than to be in the position where that’s possible.
Guilt crashes into me.
Running cool water over my face, I realize I’m going to have to face him eventually. I can’t hide in the bathroom until closing, as much as I wish I could. The question is, do I tell him the truth or continue the lie?
Liar. Liar. Liar. Just like your mother.
The sour thought remains in the forefront of my mind as I dry off my face and take a deep breath. Then I walk back out to face the man who’s given me more undivided attention than I’ve gotten in a long time, ready to…I don’t know. Call him out? Get mad?
Except when I get back to our table, there’s no sign of the professional hockey player anywhere. Only stacks of money are left in the middle of the table under the empty glasses that have been piling between us all night.
I swallow my disappointment and tell myself it’s better this way.
Not because of Max, as much as it should be.
But because of my father.
After all, I just spent the last few hours talking up his star player.
When I finally get home, Max is already there. He doesn’t ask where I’ve been or why I’m crawling into bed in the middle of the night.
