Page 11 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“Deal,” I say as I let myself out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Leaning against it, I let out a long breath. Being around Declan, working together, living together, sharing a freaking bathroom is going to be both wonderful and difficult. It would be easy to let him in and get used to him being there, but I know it won’t last. It never does. He’ll get traded or find a girlfriend. Crap. Does he have a girlfriend? Does it matter?

Pushing away from the door, I go through my bags to dig out my clothes for the day. Pausing, I look at the small parcel carefully wrapped and protected in my bag. It’s some random trinkets I’ve collected through the years. A black plastic unicorn cupcake topper, a little blue flower shaped eraser reminding me of forget-me-not blooms, the keychain with a tiny plush bear wearing a red Cornell sweater Dec gave me one of the weekends I visited him. It’s silly I’ve kept them—I’m not usually sentimental and with how often I move, it’s not practical. I should take them out and put them on a windowsill or something to make room in my bag. But what if I don’t come back here? What if they realize I’m not a good fit for the job after all and I can’t come back to get them? I’ll bring them with me. They aren’t taking up much room. I dress quickly in trousers and a black argyle sweater. Add warm socks and comfy lace up booties and I’m dressed.

“What am I doing with you?” I ask my hair as I look in the mirror on the dresser. I braid it since that’s the simplest and will keep my hair out of my face. Once I’m done with that, I go to the bathroom door and knock on it. Not hearing anything in response, I cautiously open the door and peek at the mirror. Declan is gone and the door to his room is closed.

Pushing the door open all the way, I enter. The spicy scent of his shaving soap lingers in the air. Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I wonder what the day has in store for me. I know we will travel to Washington State for tomorrow night’s game. I don’t know if I should pack now and take it with me or if we will come back here for our bags. Opening my bedroom door, I see the apartment door open. We must be eating in the common room.

I haven’t met the other three roommates yet. Guess there’s no time like the present. After being the new girl in school almost every term, I should be used to it and stop being nervous, but like all of my first days of school, the butterflies are present and my hands are clammy. I wipe them on my trousers and prepare my mask of serenity. One thing I’ve learned through the years is if I can hide my fear of not being accepted, then people don’t know they can use it to hurt me. They’ll still reject me like everyone else has and it will still hurt but if I want to have the life I want, I need to take the risk. For years, I refused to care, but that’s a lonely way to live. I don’t want to be lonely anymore. Taking a deep breath for courage, I walk out of the apartment.

7

DECLAN

I don’t slit my throat, but I nick my chin. Sharing a space with Miranda is going to be a heavenly kind of hell. As I dress in my practice gear, I mentally run through the checklist of what I need for the road trip. My garment bag with my suits is hanging on the back of the door. My travel toiletry bag is always packed and ready to go. My equipment is at the rink, and I took care of my suitcase last night. My iPad and charger are in the small carry-on I take on the plane. I’m all set. It’s back-to-back games in Washington state and Colorado, four days. Did Miranda pack already? Does she know what she needs?

Following the scent of bacon, I walk to the counter in the common kitchen where Miranda is on a stool watching Brick cook. Looks like bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast.

“Good morning,” I say to Brick, taking the stool next to Miranda’s and pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

“Do you want tea?” I ask her.

Stone comes in and goes to the coffeepot. “Oh, no, tell me you’re not a tea snob too, Randi.”

“No tea snob here,” she says with a bright smile.

“Good, because Earl Grey over there,” Stone jerks his thumb in my direction, “is enough.”

I get up and fill the electric kettle with water. “It’s not Earl Grey, it’s Irish breakfast tea.”

Miranda’s wistful sigh drifts to me, but before I can ask again if she wants some, Stone puts a cup of coffee in front of her.

“Thanks,” she says.

This will be interesting. I rest my back against the counter, cross my arms, and watch as she adds four spoonfuls of sugar and as much milk as the mug will allow. Watching her take a cautious sip, her shudder has me shaking my head. She hates coffee. Why is she forcing herself to drink it? Whatever. The kettle shuts off and I turn to fill the thermos I take with me to the rink and the travel mug I use in the morning. When I have time, I make a pot and use the quilted tea cozy my mother sent me, allowing me to drink my tea like a civilized man. Today it’s the insulated mug and a thermos. I drop my tea bags in and turn back around. Miranda is staring at me with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“You’re using tea bags?”

“What else would you use?” Stone asks.

“Loose leaf tea and an infuser,” Miranda says.

She’s scandalized, and I love it. I still don’t understand the coffee charade, but at least I know she’s true to her tea loving roots.

“Ma made me the tea bags. It’s her loose leaf blend. It’s easier to travel with the bags than the tea tin and equipment. Thanks,” I say as Brick puts everything she cooked on the counter. I hand Miranda a plate from the pile at my elbow.

She takes the plate and looks around uncertainly. Carter and Bedard have joined us.

“You need to take what you want first because the boys will fall on it like starving hyenas and there will be nothing left,” Brick explains.

“Oh, okay.” She takes a couple strips of bacon, a slice of toast and a scoop of eggs. She’s going to be starving in two hours, but whatever.

Brick fills her plate next because the rule is whoever cooks gets first dibs. Then, true to form, the rest of us attack it and fill our plates.

Carter takes the stool on the other side of Miranda. “Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Since this morning,” she mumbles. Adding more milk to refill her mug after her last sip, she takes another taste. Then she adds more sugar. She’s going to end up with a mug full of milk and sugar.

I realize she is having breakfast with people she hasn’t formally met yet, so I make introductions.

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