Page 33 of Revenge Puck

“Sure. May as well get your practice in while you can, since I’m a sure thing.”

“How about having dinner with me tonight?” I blurt out.

“Is that an actual request or just more practice?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Elle shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why it can’t be both, or you don’t know if you want to have dinner with me?”

“I have appointments until about seven tonight.”

“My bedtime isn’t that early.”

“Then…I guess I could call you after I finish up and freshen up?”

“As late as you want. Let me have your phone and I’ll put in my number so we won’t have to go through social media.”

“Okay,” she agrees, reaching into her front dress pocket and offering me the device unlocked.

Is it normal for women to be so free with letting someone see their phone? Since I haven’t been on a date in years, I would have to delete a few porn sites before I hand over my phone to anyone. Despite my adamant attempt to avoid self-love, I sometimes slip.

After I add in my contact to her phone, I pull up Instagram and my thumbs get busy.

“What are you doing?” Elle asks, seeing the screen over my shoulder.

“Deleting all the hateful shit on your post.”

“There are tons of messages and comments!”

“Saying negative things?” I ask, watching her in the mirror’s reflection.

Elle shrugs. “Well, not all of them. Some are very nice. But there are a lot of shitty comments.”

“Why haven’t you deleted the ones from jerks yet?”

“Because I figured they were like gray hairs.”

“Huh?” I ask, brows furrowing in confusion.

“You know, if you pluck out one gray hair, two grow back.”

“Then you pluck every single one out and be done with them.”

Sighing, she says, “I wish the bad comments didn’t hit so hard that it takes at least a dozen positive ones to even try to negate it, but that’s how it goes.”

“That’s why I don’t even bother reading anything about the team or me in the news. I’ve had enough criticism for one lifetime after how bad I played my rookie year.”

“Yeah? It was tough making the adjustment to the pros?”

“Something like that.”

It’s not like I can tell her, or could’ve explained to my teammates at the time, that I barely got any sleep at night because of a crying baby.

I’ve kept my private life out of the spotlight for almost five years, and I have no intention of revealing it now, not even to Elle.

For the next half hour, I enjoy Elle’s fingers running through my hair, especially when she scrubs my scalp with shampoo in the sink. I can barely hold in my groan. This is so much better than the barber shop.

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