Page 100 of The Puckable Playbook

Instead of letting him stare at his orange juice some more, I pick his hand up, straddle his lap, and sit, smiling up at him.

He returns the grin, wrapping his arms around me. “Well, that is a good morning.”

“You seemed out of it.” I shrug. “What time did you wake up?”

“Didn’t sleep well. I’ve been up for a couple of hours.”

I trace my hands up his chest, then scoot forward to kiss him. These past months with Zaiah have been amazing. Worrying over living with someone I was dating was short-lived. We fell into a rhythm so easily. So much so that I’ve been anxious about what happens after we graduate. There hasn’t been a good time to discuss it with him.

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he says.

I pull away, wondering if he can read my mind. It’s not surprising he’d be thinking about it, too. Graduation feels like it’s hurtling toward us at the speed of the asteroid inArmageddon… And now I remember why I stopped watching apocalyptic movies.

The stress.

My stomach squeezes. “Yeah?”

I try to calm down, reminding myself that these conversations are normal. Izzy thought I could’ve been pregnant yesterday, so this isn’t weird. Zaiah and I are together.

“No one’s watched the video yet. I checked again this morning.”

Disappointment hits me hard and fast. I can’t disguise the frustration in my voice. “Oh.” I move off him, heading toward the Keurig to make my own coffee.

“I need to be realistic about my expectations.”

I swallow, trying to kick back the negative thoughts pinging through my brain. “It’s a great video, Zaiah. When someone has the time to look at it, they’re going to respond. The teams are still in their regular seasons. We have time.”

I’m a broken record at this point.

“If I don’t get drafted, chances are slim.”

“Fourteen percent of players in the NHL weren’t drafted, including the GOAT.” I smile to myself for that. Took that line right from my article, but it’s also the truth. Wayne Gretzky, who’s recognized as the greatest player of all time, was never drafted into the NHL.

Full stop.

“I think we should be realistic.”

“We are. You’re not giving it enough time.”

He breathes out, and the heaviness in the air swirls around us again. “I know you want to be positive for me, and I appreciate it, but I…know. It’s not going to happen, and I was wondering…”

He pauses, and I turn to look at him, waiting.

He wipes his hands down his face. “I was wondering if you could ask your dad for help. He has connections.”

My stomach drops. Irritation thunders through me like a tornado as my mouth opens, then closes again without saying a word.

“I know it’s asking a lot of him,” he explains. “And it might not do anything.”

My hand clenches. He’s not even thinking about this from my perspective. My shoulders fall as disappointment hits me aswell. I don’t want my dad’s help, so why would I ask for him? “No,” I say tightly.

“What?”

“No, I’m not asking him.”

“I know you guys don’t have the best relationsh—”

“Then you don’t know anything, Zaiah,” I spit, anger whipping through me. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this. No. No, I’m not going to my dad.”

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