Page 122 of Puck Love

I stand in Stella’s tinykitchen dressed only in an apron as she sits at the table and sips her tea. The flavor of the day is green tea and ginseng, and it tastes like shit, but she swears by it for vitality so who am I to judge? If someone took away my Gatorade during a game, I’d get their face real familiar with apuck.

What Stella failed to mention about breakfast on the road is that while she may in fact have a waffle iron, it’s the size of my fist. A child-sized waffle iron, in fact, and of course, it’s Hello Kitty-themed. So are our waffles. That stupid cat face smiles back at me from the plate, and I feel like I just grew a vagina because Hello Kitty can make some seriously deliciouswaffles.

“Have I mentioned how hot it is that you can cook?” Stella pokes my bare butt with hertoes.

“You reckon I could give that shirtless chef a run for hismoney?”

“Oh, without a doubt. You’re way hotter. Especially when you’re wearing nothing but my apron and making mebreakfast.”

“I can knock out a guy’s teeth on the ice with a fairly average punch, but you’re impressed by my ability to make Hello Kitty-shaped waffles? Maybe I should quit hockeyaltogether.”

“Hell no! I’m impressed by the way you knock out teeth. I’m also impressed you don’t fall on your ass the second you step onto the ice. Super impressed, actually, because it’s not something I can see myself doingagain.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine, eh? A couple more goes around. Soon you’ll be taking our kids out on the ice without batting aneyelid.”

She flushes. Her cheeks pink up and fuck me, I need to quit thinking shit like that, and I especially need to quit saying it out loud. “Kids?”

“Sure.” I shrug. I’d lie my damn cheek against the hotplate if it would make her forget I mentioned kids at all. I don’t do that because . . . ouch, and I have no desire to scar my pretty face.Stella likes my pretty face. “One day,right?”

I stare at her, because I can’t not. I want to see her reaction. Even though I’m all blasé about it now, this is kind of a deal-breaker for me. “Er . . . sure . . .eventually.”

“How long is eventually?” I make out as if I’m just asking a question, but I really need to know. “Just a ball-parkfigure.”

She frowns. “The waffles areburning.”

I frown.What does that mean? Is she referencing her ovaries? Is that what women are calling their eggs thesedays?

Smoke hits my nose, and I turn around and flip the lid on the iron. Burnt to a cinder. Hello Kitty’s face is shriveled and browned like a haggard old lady, like my balls will be when Stella finally decides she wants to pop out a couple babies. I toss Crispy Kitty in the trash. “So, when you say eventually, you mean like what? A year? Two,tops?”

“Er, how ’boutten?”

My brows shoot skyward. “Tenyears?”

“Give ortake.”

Huh. “Give ortake?”

“I’m not ready to deal with babies and diapers. I almost had a mental breakdown and drove my car into a mountain,” she reminds me, as if I’m crazy for even entertaining the idea of my babies in herbelly.

“Right, of course.” I nod. “But . . . you want them,right?”

“Someday yeah, just notnow.”

“Okay.” I let out a steadybreath.

“Wait, is this a deal-breaker foryo—”

“No.”Shit. That response was far too fast. “Of coursenot.”

She smiles, and her whole face lights up. “You want kidsnow?”

“Well, not right this second, but in the next couple of years,yeah.”

“Don’t you think that’s rushing into things just alittle?”

“When you know, you know, right?” Ishrug.

“Do you know?” A beat passes, and I don’t say anything. I just turn back to Hello Kitty, wipe the iron clean and slather her in waffle mix. “How much of that proposal was real and not just something you said in the middle of your orgasmichigh?”

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