Page 74 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“You told me.”

“Thanks for being there. You always…make me feel better.”

“Is that a euphemism for orgasms?”

He chuckles. “No. Although those are great. It’s just…you.” He strokes hair away from my face.

Our eyes meet. I know what he’s saying because I feel the same. It’s…him. Something about him and me, together, that makes me happy and satisfied. I’m glad I make him happy too. A warm connection stretches out between us. Then he smiles, smooches my lips, and says good night.

I shut and lock the door and turn to face Carlin.

“Wow,” she says. “What’s happening with you two?”

I glide over to the couch and sit at the opposite end from her. “I don’t know.”

“It seems good.”

“It feels good. But…” I wrinkle my nose.

“But what?”

I sigh. “Neither of us wanted a relationship, but I’m getting to know him better, and I really, really like him.”

“You thought he was a cocky jerk.”

“Ha ha. Yeah, well, he can be, but I think that’s just to hide the fact that he’s…” I stop. I almost said he’s afraid. But I don’t feel right telling Carlin that. And truthfully, I’m not sure what he’s afraid of. “He’s got issues with the team.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just that…I’m scared. If I like him too much, and then he lets me down like every other man in my life the last few years, I think I could be…really, really hurt.” I look down at my hands. “But I also feel really…excited. Like this could be something so good.”

“For what it’s worth, I like him too. The times I’ve met him. So, just take it slow.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Just take it slow. Got it.”

Easton has home games Monday and Wednesday this week, which means I’ll see Otis but not necessarily Easton. My mom isn’t coming for Thanksgiving, so I’ll be alone, which kind of sucks, but Easton did invite me to Colton and Layla’s dinner. I let him know that Mom’s not coming, and he sends me a text message asking if I’ll stay at his place again Wednesday night. Then we can spend Thursday together, which sounds good to me.

Easton

I wasn’t called into Coach’s office for a meeting Monday. But Tuesday morning, I’m set up in the video room and told to watch tape for hours and hours. This is my punishment for what happened the other night. Even though what happened was nobody’s fault.

I go to Coach’s office to foolishly try to talk some sense into him. He’s not having it.

“Whose fault was it, then?” He leans back in his chair after I tell him it wasn’t my fault. “Jamal’s fault?”

“No!” I am not throwing my teammate under the bus, for Chrissake. “It was nobody’s fault! It was a freak accident.”

“How about the way you reacted?” Coach says. “You do not talk back to me. I expect respect in the dressing room.”

I swallow. There’s so much more I want to say. But I don’t. “Yes, sir.”

—

“It’s fudiculous.”

Lilly smiles. “Another good word.”

My smile is wry. “Yeah.”

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