Page 65 of Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny

I leaned back in my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was more stressful than I thought it’d be, and I was only in the theoretical stage.

It’s just an email. Who knows if I’ll even get the job?

Backup plans were always a good idea—something both Ryder and I agreed on.

I finished composing the email, read through it until words no longer made sense but I was sure the grammar and spelling were correct, and hit send. Then I grabbed my phone and called Ryder, but it just rang and rang.

I didn’t bother with voicemail, just disconnected the call and went to packing up for the day.

When my ringtone split the air, I grabbed my phone embarrassingly fast. Good thing no one was here to witness how desperate I was to talk to my boyfriend.

Only it wasn’t him—it was my mom.

“Hey, Mom.” I hadn’t talked to her in a long time, and in a nice turn of events, I felt more excitement over chatting with her than worry over what would come out of her mouth—if there was anyone I could wax poetic with over my cute hockey player boyfriend, it was my mother.

“You’ll never guess what happened…” Mom paused, so apparently she literally wanted me to guess.

“You got a job,” I said.

Mom laughed. “Seriously, Lindsay. I know you can’t see my outfit right now, but it’s not made for working.”

“Okay. Hmmm. You got a puppy.”

“Again, this outfit isn’t for scooping up puppy poo.”

I tested the limits of my chair, leaning it back and propping my crossed ankles on my desk. “I give up.”

“Well, you know Mike Grabonski?”

Even though I’d been trying to stay clear of the hockey world before slipping and falling right back into it with Ryder, I knew the name. He was a hotshot winger for The Pennsylvania Pistons. “Yeah. He’s a pretty big name in the NHL right now.”

“He and I have been dating, and long story short, I’m moving in with him next month.”

I pulled out the fake happiness I stored up for occasions like this. Over the years, I’d had to dig it up many a time. I didn’t know what had happened to the boy toy she’d been so excited about a whole month or so ago, and I didn’t bother asking. On the bright side, Mike Grabonski was at least semi-age appropriate, and I think I read he was recently divorced, so another silver lining—maybe more like gray, but hey, I’d take it. “That’s so exciting. Tell me all about him.”

She launched right into it, and between all the details—some of which I would’ve rather not known—I didn’t have a chance to tell her aboutmyhockey player. In fact, as she talked about how she was relocating yet again and basically putting all her eggs in his basket, I started worrying that I was still more like her than I wanted to be.

…

One whole period to go in the Hockey East Championship game and my voice was completely raw from screaming. Back in my former hockey game days, I’d always been on the demure side of the cheering, worried more about looking pretty instead of being overly invested in the game. Naturally, winning always meant players in good moods, but this desire for them to win ran so much deeper. I wanted this for Ryder. And I’d become about as eloquent as a Bruins fan after drinking their bodyweight in beer.

“I think maybe I need a mini-break,” I rasped to Megan, who was seated to my right.

She laughed. “I like not being the only crazy potty-mouthed fan in the near vicinity.” Lyla and Whitney cheered and occasionally talked smack about the other team, but Megan and I were more over-the-top, peppering ours with F-bombs aimed at the other team and refs. After all, she had two boys on the team that she cared a lot about, and obviously she’d gone to a lot of games in her life.

That prickling sensation I’d experienced since arriving at the arena hit me, and I glanced over to see that sure enough, Ryder’s dad was glaring in my direction. Again.Wow. He really doesn’t like me.

What the hell went down between Ryder and his parents?

I’d dropped his car off last night, but he’d been at the gym, so I’d just left the keys with Dane and went back home to crash. By the time I’d finally gotten a hold of him this afternoon, he didn’t want to talk about it and he was getting ready to start his pregame ritual. Apparently their coach was pissed that having this year’s tournament taking place at the TD Garden meant they weren’t sequestered enough. Not that I didn’t see his point, but it happened to be super convenient for me that it was in town.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I said two minutes before the second—and final—intermission. Hopefully I could beat the crowd and be back in my seat before the next period started. “Anyone want anything?”

Megan handed me a wad of bills and asked for “nachos and something caffeinated, the biggest size they have” and I took off up the stairs and headed toward the nearest concession stand. The line was massive but moving, and after ordering, I turned, food and drinks in hand, and nearly bumped right into Ryder’s dad.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t you recognize me at all?” he asked.

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