Page 58 of Riding the Pine

We walk for hours, passing beautiful buildings like City Hall, St. Anne’s Cathedral, and a crooked clock built as a memorial to Queen Victoria’s late husband Albert—the internet tells me it’s lopsided because it’s built on marshy land. I kind of like it, it’s a reminder that even imperfect things can be cool.

“It’s a shame we didn’t get here a day earlier.” Artemis takes a bite of his fried fish, his eyes rolling back in his head like he’s having a spiritual experience. “Fuck, this is good.” He takes another bite while we wait for him to complete his thought.

All we’ve done today is eat. We’ll probably be sluggish on the ice over the weekend, simply because of the amount of carbs we’ve eaten in an eight-hour period.

Artemis turns his phone to face us. “There was a comedy show last night at the arena.”

“Neil Delamere,” Apollo reads from his brother’s screen. “Have you seen his stuff?”

Artemis shakes his head, popping a French fry—or chip, as people here in Northern Ireland call them. “Could have been my Irish comedian debut.”

For a guy who’s so straightlaced and dry, he loves watching comedy shows.

“Maybe next time.” I cram a mouthful of crispy on the outside, flaky on the inside fish into my mouth.

“I’ve bookmarked him to check him out.” Artemis polishes his fish off with one last bite then uses a napkin to mop up the aftermath. He turns to me, levelling me with an intense stare usually reserved for the ice. “I have a question, hermano.”

I know I haven’t done anything wrong, but already my mouth’s going dry. In my peripheral, Ares smirks as though he knows where Artemis is going with this.

“We all do,” Apollo crunches on an onion ring as big as his face.

Artemis nods, his face solemn. “How are we going to win this fucking trophy this weekend?” “What are your intentions with our sister?”

CHAPTER 24

Athena

JANUARY 7TH

How four days have felt like forty, I’ll never know. I’ve rubbed my clit raw for days and I can’t get any relief. It’s like he took the remote control to my body away to Ireland with him, and I can’t use it manually.

He should have landed by now. He should be back on US soil. Baggage claim at CID never takes that long, but I bet today is the one day in history there’s a baggage delay.

Will he come here when he gets back? Will he call? Will he go home to the hockey house first and shower? Where’s his car?

My cell vibrates in my butt pocket as I pace my apartment like some kind of doe-eyed, lovesick puppy. It’s disgusting, the very thing I’ve made fun of Vannah for in the recent past. I hate this out of control feeling, but the more I think about Scott the more my heart gets that weird tingly feeling that suggests I’m either ass-over-tits in love, or I need to go see a cardiologist.

I stop dead in my tracks. Did my brothers figure out he’s trying to defile me and kill him?

I laugh out loud in my empty apartment. They may be knuckleheads sometimes, but they know better than to get involved in anything regarding my body,especiallymy vagina. When we were younger, one night Ares told me my skirt was tooshort before I went out. I gave him a bloody nose and told him never to comment on my body or appearance again.

When I asked, “Too short for what?” he didn’t have an answer for me.

To be honest, I don’t give a flying fucksicle if Scott told their nosy asses the things he wants to do to me, in great detail, as long as when he gets back, he still wants to.

He won’t have changed his mind, right?

I shake my head, getting more and more pissed off at myself for being one of those girls who go ditzy over her man. But maybe this is love, insecurity, crazed self-talk while pacing your apartment, and trying to watch the door and your phone at the same time so you won’t miss the instant they appear back in your life.

Patética.

My phone vibrates in my butt pocket again, and my soul damn near leaves my body.

Savannah: What are you up to? I feel a coffee coming on…

I love my best friend, I truly do. But at this moment, I want to throw my phone at her. Not because she invited me for coffee, because that’s nice, and if I wasn’t burning alive from the inside, I’d take her up on it.

Do I text Scott? I don’t want to seem needy, or clingy, or like that girl who can’t let her boyfriend—dios mío.Novio.

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