Page 31 of Thoroughly Pucked

When we’re done, Hollis reaches into his back pocket and produces a string with a feather at the end.

“Where did you find that?”

Hollis dangles it in front of the cat, who bats it, then pins it to the reclaimed wood floor. “I brought it,” Hollis says. “You said you wanted me to take care of the cat, so I figured I’d be the cool cat uncle.”

I give him a genuine smile. “Appreciate it. I really do.”

“Anytime,” he says. “Well, not while I’m at an away game.”

“I hear ya.”

On the way to the door, Hollis asks with natural curiosity, “Where did you say you’re going?”

I pause, unsure if I want to say much about my trip, but I should give him a little. He is helping out after all. “Washington State. Cute little island off a ferry.” I leave off who I’m going with. It’s not a secret, but it feels private. Especially since it involved a promise made last night at a bar, sealed with a brew and a bubbly water.

“That sounds nice,” he says. “Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That doesn’t leave much, does it?”

“Fact,” he agrees. “So good luck.” With that, he takes off into the city on a Sunday morning.

I shut the door, a pop of adrenaline rushing through me, the kind you feel when you’re going away with someone you want to be more than friends with.

Too bad I have no business feeling this way. I can’t act on this desire, no matter how much I want to turn the tables on Aubrey and surprise her with one hell of a knee-weakening, toe-curling kiss.

Two hours later, I roll up to the airfield in Novato, jittery like I’ve drunk too much coffee when I’ve had none.

But when I head into the tiny terminal and see Aubrey sitting next to Dev, showing him something on her phone, that jittery feeling morphs into something else.

Something I haven’t felt around a woman, or around the game of hockey in a while.

Excitement.

It’s both welcome and entirely dangerous.

14

MELTS IN YOUR MOUTH

Aubrey

I’ve seen enough TV to imagine what flying private looks like. Cushy leather seats, immaculate service, the royal treatment. Reality is even better.

Thirty minutes into a smooth flight up the coast, I run a palm along the buttery material of my chair. There are four spacious seats on this Embraer Phenom jet, one on each side of the aisle, so every seat has a window, and we face each other.

“It’s official,” I say, meeting the gaze of the guys across from me. “I’m addicted.”

Dev smiles in agreement. “It’s hard to go back to commercial.”

“Especially since you always need the tenth row,” Ledger says to Dev.

I swivel my gaze to Dev. “Superstitious?”

“It works. I’m telling you, it works,” Dev says, clearlya believer.

Ledger cups the side of his mouth. “And, he laces his skates up right skate first.”

“Because I’m right-handed, man,” Dev says.

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