Page 10 of Totally Pucked

I clear my throat. “This is good,” I say crisply, then hit record, and dive into a fun question for our video. “Quick question for the Golden State Foxes winger. Why are Christmas lights so awesome?”

He rolls with it, answering immediately. “They just make everything feel sort of possible,” he says.

His answer sends tingles over my skin. I feel all new possibilities with him. “Yes. They’re full of promise,” I add.

“Like the night has some good secrets for you,” he continues, and holy shit. Is Fisher a Christmas poet? I like the way this is going. I want to tell him my latest secret. That I’m thinking of him in new ways.

“And you want to share those secrets with,” I continue, feeling a little bold tonight as I say to the camera, “a lover or a friend.”

For a dangerous second, it feels like we’re both thinking the same thing.

A loveranda friend—could that be you?

But we’re shooting a video for his team, not confessing our feelings on camera. Fisher looks at the screen and flashes his trademark grin, tilting his head as he signs off with, “That’s what she said.”

I hit end, though I’m a little disappointed neither one of us said another word.

But that’s a foolish wish. It’s not like we were going to cop to feelings on camera.

Only now that the camera’s off, Icouldrewind to last night and ask earnestly if he was joking? Am I willing to do that? Risk our years of friendship over the truth of a kiss? I turn to him, meeting his gaze briefly. His eyes are intense.

I’m not sure what to do with the intensity. Or if now is the time?

I look away, staring at the thousands of lights flashing red, green, pink, and gold in the San Francisco night instead.

But is asking a question such a risk? Every time he’s touched me in the last twenty-four hours has felt different than every touch that came before. These touches hint at possibilities.

My stomach swoops with nerves, but still, I need to do this. I have to know.

Ready for whatever comes my way, I turn to him, but Fisher’s grinning at something in the distance. I follow his gaze.

He’s staring at the sledding hill. “I promised you sledding, Giraffe. Let’s do it.”

And he heads off.

I try not to be disappointed.

Really, how can I be as I fly down a small man-made hill, shouting in exhilaration with my best friend.

The man I’ve felt friendly with for years.

But now, I feel more. I’m pretty sure he does too, and before the night ends, I’m going to take a chance.

7

MY KIND OF WEIRD

Fisher

I walk Katie home, the clock ticking in my mind the whole way, the night unwinding to its inevitable end when I say goodnight and she heads into her building alone.

The door will close, she’ll go into her place, and we’ll return to friendship. To hanging out. To long, deep talks about life and dating and other men and women. And when we reach the steps, we could do that tonight. We could stay the wonderful, safe course. But I take risks every time I strap on my skates and step onto the ice, stick in hand, determination in every cell. Katie is worth this risk.

We’re ten feet from her building, white lights glittering around her doorframe.

Beckoning me toward possibility. Toward a new future.

When we’re at her place, she smiles my way and says, “I had such a great time tonight.”

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