Page 63 of Puck Yes

I don’t even know where to start. How big this will be. What this means. Maybe Oliver knows. As the plane is landing, I turn to him and quietly ask, “The team isn’t going to make a big deal of this, are they? I mean, I’m just the mascot.”

He gives a sympathetic smile. “We won’t post anything on our social unless you want us to.”

Others might though. We can’t possibly be that interesting. Can we? I sincerely hope the mascot and the new guy aren’t a story.

When I peer over the seats, the guys are grabbing bags and phones, slinging trash talk, flipping each other off. Like it’s a regular flight and one of their own didn’t just get married to, well, one of theiradjacentown.

I don’t look at Hayes. I don’t even try to talk to him. He’s only texted me once since we left each other this morning.

Hayes: Can we talk later today?

I responded with one word.Yes.

As I shuffle off the plane, making sure to linger well behind the players, I chitchat with Oliver. I do my best to ignore the churning in my gut and the worries that bombard me over how the hell to navigate this new terrain. “We have your costume all made up and we’ll debut it at the next game,” Oliver says. “We’re going to do a fan poll too. It’s all set up, and we’ll prime the pump by taking videos of you in your new costume skating and firing T-shirts into the crowd.”

“Sounds fun,” I say, trying my best to stay focused on my job. Admittedly, operating a T-shirt cannon does sound like a blast. “I ran one in college. I’m a certified T-shirt cannon expert.”

And a liar.

But I’m also a dog mom, and once I get out of the airport, I text Trina, asking if she can meet me with my dog at a coffee shop, ideally with Aubrey too. I need girlfriend therapy. Badly.

24

FOOT MEET MOUTH

Stefan

Good thing I have cat-like reflexes, because I almost lose my footing on the treadmill later that afternoon when Hayes finally tells me why he’s been a moody bastard all day.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask, as I grip the sidebars, steadying myself.

We’re at my house in my state-of-the-art gym. From the treadmill next to mine, he sears me with a look that says he’s not at all kidding. “I wish.”

I catch back up to my pace, running some more, processing this turn of events. “That explains the sullen mood you’ve been in since the breakfast.”

“I was not in a bad mood at breakfast.”

“You were so.”

He heaves a sigh as he runs even faster. “I tried to hide it.”

“Try a little harder next time,” I tell him, annoyed with him for one of the first times ever. I rarely get annoyed with friends, especially Hayes. Or anyone, for that matter. Life’s too short for little grievances. At the moment, though, Hayes Armstrong is not my favorite person. “But back it up please. I want to get to the part where you’re in the elevator with the team owner and have the brilliant idea to explain your shenanigans last night by saying you’re still married.”

I can’t believe that was his solution.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he huffs.

I scoff. But I don’t saythat was a dick move when I want us both to take her out on a date. I’d be the asshole then, and I generally strive to avoid that. Instead, I say, “I can’t imagine why that would be a good idea.”

“I thought it looked better to be married than wasted and playing a prank,” he explains, with some self-loathing in his tone. “I thought we could just do, you know, one of those stay-married-for-a-few-months-and-then-let-it-blow-over things. Like it’s no big deal.”

He hits some buttons on the console and slows his pace. I do the same since my workout is over. “And now you’re going to be fake married to her for what? A few months? The season?” I ask, still trying to understand this hot mess.

I’m asking out of curiosity but also out of selfishness. I’d like to know what their matrimony means for me.

He stops the machine and hops off, grabbing his water bottle from the floor. “I don’t know, man. I need to talk to her later. Figure out the details,” he says, and I sure hope those details include me getting to enjoy some of the benefits of his hot wife. But I shut up about my wishes when he drags his free hand down his face. He’s really beating himself up, and I don’t want to pile on. “But she’s pissed at me. I feel like a fucking idiot. I thought about it on the plane, and I thought about it on the drive home, and I thought about it my whole fucking workout. I need to apologize to her. And you.” He shoots me a sincere frown. “I’m sorry.”

There goes the last of my annoyance. It’s out of the door and gone completely. What kind of friend would I be to stay pissed at him for something like this? “I get it, Hayes. Your mouth loves your foot.”

---