Page 30 of Three Pucking Words
He nods. “Exactly.”
“And the current twenty-three players are…”
His cheek twitches. “Why did you ask for my help instead of researching this online?” he asks, cocking his head inquisitively.
It’s fair he asks me that since I pried into his personal life. “I thought it would be easier to have one of the players fill me in because you’d know more than the internet. You play with these guys every day. You’re in it. I’m still going to do some researchon my own and take some notes, but it’s easier for me to hear it firsthand rather than assume what I read on Wikipedia is correct.”
He chuckles. “Fair point.”
“And,” I add, biting the inside of my cheek for a second.And it doesn’t hurt that we have history. And that you’re eye candy.“I don’t want to disappoint my father by messing this up. I won’t be the girl who got a job just because of blood. I’m determined to work my ass off to earn this position. I need it right now. I need…this. The distraction.”
I’d depended on Max for far too long when I didn’t need to. I let him take control of our relationship. I allowed him to make all the big decisions for us. And because I loved him, I was willing to look the other way when things got bad because I didn’t want to start over.
I wasscaredto.
I won’t make that mistake again.
I won’t leave me again.
Bodhi must sense that, because a softness enters his features. The amusement in his eyes fades and calmness takes over them. “Okay then,” he says with a nod of his head.
After Nina and Elias bring the food out and refill our waters, Bodhi gets to business telling me everything there is to know about each player on the active roster that I’ll be working with.
By the end of the night, I’m full of delicious lamb gyros, and enough information to make me feel a little more confident in my new position.
And the only personal question Bodhi asks is which Shakespeare play Puck comes from and why I chose to name my dog after him.
But I don’t tell him it’s because Puck is my mother’s favorite Shakespeare character, and that the name makes me feel closer to her somehow.
So, I simply tell him, “Just because” and ignore the way he stares knowing it’s a lie.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bodhi
When I wasa kid, I used to get déjà vu. The tiniest things would trigger some deeper core feeling that I could never seem to explain. Like the time I’d dreamt I was in a car accident that involved a red station wagon I’d never seen before. It was so vivid, sorealthat I didn’t believe my mother when she told me we had never gotten into an accident before.
Two days later, on our way home from school, we’d gotten T-boned by a distracted driver in the same exact car I’d seen in my dream. According to the police, if I sat in the front passenger seat like I usually did, I would have been killed on impact.
Dinner with Honor felt just like that—as if I’d been in that very position before. Staring at her. Studying every little way she fidgeted. How her brow furrowed when she concentrated, and the tip of her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she took meticulous notes on every player I talked about in a small notebook with puppies on it. How her caramel eyes lit up when I cracked a stupid dad joke and her top teeth bit into her bottom lip to try to stop from smiling. It seemed so familiar to me that I couldn’t stop looking at the woman whose cheeks flushed whenever she’d catch my gaze on her.
You’d think that would have stopped me from being the weirdo who kept gawking, but I had no shame. Never have, probably never will. Plus, I like seeing her cheeks tint with that rosy shade of pink. If I had a favorite color, it’s a tie between the shade on her face and the color of her eyes.
Problem is, I don’t know why the feeling nags at the back of my mind. I suppose it’s possible we’ve crossed paths. But I would have remembered her inquisitive eyes that seem to be holding a lot back.
The thought is broken when my phone goes off as I pull into the driveway. I already said goodnight to Gemma, so I know it can’t be her unless she’s sick again. Over the last few months, she’s had small fevers and stomach bugs, so I pull my phone out of the charging dock expecting to see Joe or Helen’s name on the screen.
My brows pinch when I see who it is.
“Olive?” I greet, sounding more like a question than I intend it to.
“Hey,” Henderson’s little sister replies in the same chipper way she always does.
Putting some distance between us was the best thing I could have done when I accepted where we stood after finally opening up about what I wanted from her. We don’t talk nearly as much as we used to, but it’s for the better now that she’s settled into her new life and job in Pennsylvania.
“Hey,” I repeat slowly, leaning back in my seat and staring at the front of my house. My fingers clench around the gearshift once before I force myself to relax. It has nothing to do with Olive herself. It’s the fact that I ruined a perfectly good friendship by wanting something I knew was never going to work. “Is everything all right?”
She pauses for a second, probably hearing the confusion in my voice. When was the last time we talked on the phone? We’ll send texts back and forth once in a while that consist of “how are you” or “sorry about the game” or “congrats on the win” or “how is the new job in Pittsburgh” but that’s about it.
