Page 12 of Double Pucked

“I didn’t expect to see this,” she says, strangely delighted at the presence of a…seat belt. She doesn’t put it on though. Just kind of regards it. “I didn’t think limos had seat belts.”

“They weren’t required to for a long time,” I answer.

That piques her interest. Tilting her head, she asks, “How did they get out of that before? Having a seat belt?”

I strip off my suit jacket and set it on the leather seat. “Technically, a stretch limo was considered a bus for a long time. If it seated more than ten people, or had backward-facing or sideway-facing seats, it was a bus.”

“Even if it didn’t quack like a bus?” Chase counters.

“But the California Seat Belt Law came along, so here we are,” I say, not taking his joke bait.

Trina looks at me like I’m an oddity found in a parlor of the weird. “How do you know the California Seat Belt Law?”

“Looked it up when I got my youngest sister a limo for prom a few years ago. Had to make sure Katie and all her friends were safe, even if the guys they went with were little shits,” I say, shaking my head in remembered annoyance.

“Why were they little shits?” Trina asks. She can’t stop asking questions. Maybe she’s a secret reporter. Ah, hell. I really hope she’s not.

I stare her down. “Are you actually a reporter?” I ask, not answering her question. “Because you ask a lot of questions.”

“Dude. Settle down. She’s not a reporter. And don’t be such a sore loser,” Chase chides.

I narrow my eyes. “You hate losing too.”

“No shit. But not the point. Anyway,Trinaworks at a bookstore.”

How does he know that? Also,cool. “Yeah? Which one?” I ask, intrigued.

“At An Open Book over on Fillmore,” she says, a little defensively. “I’m a manager there.”

Love that store. Frequent it a lot. But I’m not gonna tell her. I don’t want to let on that Iaman oddity. The defenseman who got all A’s in school. Who listens to grammar and word podcasts. Who reads all sorts of fascinating shit on how the world works.

I had to do that. I didn’t know if hockey would pay the bills, and I needed a way to take care of my mom and sisters.

“And while I may not be a reporter, I am just naturally curious. I’m an investigator. And I bet you’re the challenger.”

Great. She’s one of those personality-test people. Which means she’s a people person. Which means she’ll try to actually understand why I’m a such-and-such personality. Which means she’ll want to know who fucked me up as a kid.

Like I’m going to tell anyone about my dad.

Easier just to answer her question. “Here you go. Teenage boys are little shits because they’re horny bastards. Like the guy who took my sister to prom and stared at her chest the whole time.”

Chase drops his head in his hand, laughing. “I remember him. You called him Boner Boy.”

“He always had a pillow on his lap when he came over,” I grumble.

“Well, at least he was trying,” Trina says, seeming to fight off a smile.

Chase raises his face. “Also, not all teenage boys are little shits. My little brothers aren’t,” Chase says, pride in his tone. He looks out for those turkeys like they’re his own.

“But I bet they’re horny for all the girls. And you’ve had to give them the ‘no means no’ and consent talks,” I point out, since his dad isn’t around to do that either, though for vastly different reasons than mine.

“Well, Jackson is gay, so he’s not horny for teenage girls.”

“I know, man. But you get my point,” I say, exasperated, turning to our VIP guest. “I just don’t trust anyone around my little sisters. Ergo, the seat belt law.”

“I don’t think a seat belt was the protection they needed at prom,” Trina stage whispers.

Cracking up, Chase offers her a hand to high-five.

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