Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Just some random person walking by. It’s an innocent shot, but you know how the Internet is. They’re sleuths, and it didn’t take long to figure out that you were the VIP guest. And now, my cousin wants to know if you’re my plus one,” I say sheepishly.
Trina pauses for a moment before responding. “Is this a real date or a fake date?”
That is an excellent question. And I don’t entirely know the answer. But I need an answer badly, so I finesse the situation with an, “Uh, both? Ryker is bringing his sister Ivy, so it won’t just be us two.”
“Does Ryker know?” she asks.
Am I supposed to ask Ryker’s permission? What the hell are the ground rules for this? We didn’t map out this little twist in our situationship planning convo because of course we didn’t—I didn’t see it coming. But my top priority is reassuring Trina. “I’ll tell him later. He’ll be cool,” I say, then I explain the situation a little more to her, asking if she’d mind being my plus one for Erik’s wedding so that Lisette won’t bug me about setting me up on more dates. “I really don’t want to be set up. I just want to focus on hockey.”
That’s my one and only goal. I made my dad a promise, and you don’t renege on dying promises. You treat them solemnly. I’ve had a great run in the NHL so far, but it could all end any day. I’ve seen other careers cut short by injury. Or just by a player losing his edge. I won’t lose my edge—not to romance, not to dating, not to anything.
“Hockey comes first,” she says, knowing me well on this count already, then she laughs softly on the other end of the line before asking, “Can one of the fake date ground rules be I get a dance with each of you though?”
Damn, she really just goes with the flow of life. If hockey is a vibe, Trina sure is one too. Maybe Ryker will be as chill as she is. There’s nothing to be pissed about anyway. She’s just my plus one. “That can be arranged.”
“Well, she better not set you up for the next week. One of the unspoken ground rules is no one else gets to have you or Ryker.”
Her possessive streak is ridiculously hot. So hot I better not get caught up in it while I’m at work.
The arena is beautifully loud with the roar of the fans at game time. Powered by the noise of the hometown crowd, I step out onto the slick surface, ready for anything. The Los Angeles Timberwolves have been giving us a tough time this season. They’re a fast team, playing aggressively and taking advantage of any weaknesses. That means I have to stay in the zone. Despite my earlier distraction, adrenaline rushes through me as I take my position at center for the face-off.
The ref drops the puck and I grab it right away, then pass it quickly to Ledger who’s waiting behind me. He tears off toward the other end with two of their guys chasing him. He passes around one defender then another, finally sending it up to Andrei who shoots it toward their goal.
But their goalie is faster.
That’s how the game goes early on, and only when we skate off the ice at the end of the first period do I wonder if Trina is watching me.
I doubt it, but I sure hope she is.
Wanting that is a whole new feeling—one I dislike and like at the same damn time.
23
TOYS, TOYS, TOYS
Trina
“Where did you get this pound cake?” Cassie asks through a forkful of spongy dessert, which she’s eating before dinner. “It’s amazing.”
“The Poundcake Factory,” I say with a straight face. We’re at Oak and Vine, our parents’ favorite restaurant in the city, a cute little café in Hayes Valley.
“Oh, right near here, you said?” Cassie asks, like a dog with a bone, or perhaps a pillow.
“Cassie, is the baby still moving all the time?” I ask, wanting to shift gears far away from my imaginary dessert shop.
Cassie sets down the fork. “Yes, he or she does somersaults,” she says, proudly rubbing her belly.
Mom turns to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Trina, don’t you want to experience that someday?”
My father coughs into his hand, perhaps a suggestion for her to stop pressuring me, but it’s hardly a firm warning since she waves a hand, dismissing him. “They’re such wonderful things. Motherhood, pregnancy, family…I want you to have all that before it’s too late.”
“Yes, at twenty-five my clock is ticking,” I say dryly, praying this dinner flashes by in a wink.
“Let’s solve Trina’s housing situation first, Mom,” Cassie says with a laugh that’s definitely at my expense.
“I have solved it,” I snap, annoyed with her. “I have a place I’m moving into next week.”