Page 19 of Love at Teamsgiving
Growing up, I was one of the boys—always hanging out with the Cruzes, was the kicker for the Wildcats football team, which was where the rivalry with Miguel truly began. He could’ve been the kicker, but he has a good arm, so the coach wanted him on the field. But it was more than that. It’s safe to assume that he made a pact with my brother that if another male high school student so much as breathed the same air as me, he was authorized to attack. On multiple occasions, the guy went feral when one of them hit me up. Talk about a wildcat.
When Miguel started playing hockey, I spent plenty of time ice-adjacent. I wasn’t a rink rat and certainly not a puck bunny, but two could play the game. If he was going to scare away homecoming dates and tell stupid stories about me burping the alphabet from when I was a kid, no cute little cotton tails were going to get to wear his jersey.
Nope. I wore it loud and proud and obnoxiously. Funny though, it never so much as wiped the smirk off his face. If anything, it made him smile bigger, play harder.
As I mentioned: J-E-R-K.
To say we had a rivalry of epic proportions is an understatement. We were the living epitome of the show tune, “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better).”
Then, after Asher and I watched one of Miguel’s college games, my brother took off—by then, he’d already become a veritable Houdini—Miguel and I somehow ended up walking back toward his dorm in the snow. But we didn’t make it there before something I never saw coming happened.
The snow was gently falling. The campus was quiet. The conversation turned from heated to easy and was filled withlaughter. Then we stopped, just outside the ring of light from a street lamp.
Time stilled as the snow continued to fall. Our breath puffed little clouds, our mouths met ... and something major shifted.
We couldn’t get enough of each other. First, we tried to keep it secret, but you can’t contain chemistry like that—fire and ice, him and me. Most of the time, I’m not sure which is which.
We fell hard and fast and he proposed. I’d never been happier.
Then the families got involved and stole our thunder ... and we let them.
Back in high school, I didn’t have many close girlfriends because I was always hanging out with the boys—the ones related to me or Miguel, since the rest were afraid of getting a black eye or waking up with the head of a black stallion in their bed.
Being a hairstylist slowly changed that, and I let myself get closer until I bordered on besties with the bubbliest human on the planet (Margo) and the most brilliant (Erica). They’re both sweet and are my surrogates in that department, but claim that they’re chipping away at my frosty exterior.
Miguel wasn’t wrong when he said that I’m prickly. Especially around him.
From across the nearly empty living room, my ears perk up when I hear his name attached to the wordsbest manon the video call. Erica signals with a slicing motion across her neck that Margo not say anything else about that.
“It looks like you’re packing,” Margo says excitedly as if that weren’t obvious, then she adds, “Please tell me that’s Erica’s place. I’ve been hoping you’llbothsurprise me on my doorstep.”
Erica answers, “I wish that were so, but I’m stuck here until December.”
“But the wedding.”
“Obviously, I won’t miss my own wedding,” she says. “Unless a certain maid of honor and best man mess things up.”
I pretend to drive a wooden stake into my heart. “Ouch.”
“Are you okay?” Margo asks from the phone.
“It’s just her pride. We’ve heard stories about the infamous Miguel Cruz, but I saw the two of them in action today.” Erica fans her face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margo asks.
“I mean, the Knights better watch out because if she shows up at a game while he’s on the ice, it’ll melt.”
I shove a stack of my mother’s romance books into a box—she used them to learn English. Right now, I’d like to find a book of matches and light love on fire.
“Suffice it to say, he really annoys me.”
Erica laughs like I’m going to get my big break as a stand-up comedian. “Is that what you call it? I was thinking more like enamored, intrigued, engrossed.”
I snipe back, “Yeah. That one.Gross.”
She corrects, “Engrossed, meaning captivated.”
“Okay, smartie. Keep your brainy words and opinions to yourself.”
