Page 12 of Where It Begins

I laugh and compose a response.

Sidney: I highly appreciate your lack of filter even in your text messages.

Sidney: Especially in your text messages.

Sidney: I hoped I’d hear from you.

Sidney: And I’ve been replaying the kiss often over the past two days.

A new message appears:

Skye: Good replay or bad replay?

Sidney: Definitely good. Does this mean you’re saying yes to the date on Friday?

Skye: Yes. I’m saying yes.

“Fuck yeah.” I fist pump the air.

“What’s going on?” Miller glances at me and then refocuses his attention on the road. “Who are you texting? Is it about the draft?”

“Uh no. It’s not about the draft. We’ve got lots of time and there are teams interested in you, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh okay. What’s got you so excited then? Did someone get signed or something?”

Miller and I don’t keep a lot of secrets from each other. Apart from the fact that I’m pretty sure he’s hooking up with his current tutor, but he’s a seventeen-year-old boy and we’ve had the safe sex talk. If he wants to do it, he’ll find a way. I’d rather it be in a house and bed than the back of a car.

“I have a date.”

“Wait, what?” He takes his eyes off the road.

“Stop sign!” I shout.

He hits the brakes, and my phone goes flying. It slams into the dash, hits the passenger door, drops to the floor, and slides under my seat.

“Shit. Sorry. Dammit. Sorry,” Miller says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

The person behind us honks. Miller checks both ways before driving through the intersection, then makes a right into the arena. “A date, huh? You finally give in and message one of those ladies from the app?”

“I met her at a coffee shop.”

“Cool.” He taps the steering wheel. “When’s this date?”

“Friday night. But I can schedule it so we go for dinner after your practice.”

“You don’t need to do that, Dad. You’re always at the arena with me. You can skip a night. And Randy can drive me home. We were talking about seeing that new Marvel movie, anyway.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He pulls into a spot close to rink three. “That’s great that you’ve got a date, Dad.”

* * *

“Blue or silver tie.”

“I say blue. Coordinates with your eyes and the ladies like that.” Randy, my son's best friend and teammate, glances over his shoulder before perusing the contents of my fridge. He’s a bottomless pit. They both are. “You mind if I heat up this leftover pizza?” He holds up the Ziplock bag containing six slices from last night’s dinner.

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