Page 39 of Kitty Season
“Sure?” I cough, water spilling down my chin. “Blame the new guy. How original.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you being new, and everything to do with you being you. Tormenting him is your hobby.”
“I am not tormenting … I mean I was, but … shit.” I squirt more water into my mouth, and manage to actually swallow some. Then do it again, just to buy me some time. “Look,” I say eventually. “I know I have been fucking with him for a while, but I swear I have been on my best … better.” I admit after Noah’s head tilt. “Behavior. Ask Quinn. She’ll back me up.”
“Right, ‘cause your besotted girlfriend is always the best source of unbiased feedback.”
If my heart skips a beat quicker as I jump the boards for our next shift, it has nothing to do withQuinnandbesottedbeing linked to me.
“Not my girlfriend,” I yell over my shoulder just as the puck lands on the end of my stick like a magnet.
It’s a perfect shift change that sees thoughts of Quinn and Brady melt away as I fly down the ice, carving my way through the Blue’s defense, fooling the goalie with a perfect deke that leaves the top left crease as barren as my morality. With a deft flick of the wrist, the puck whizzes through the scrambling defense, and slams into the back of the net for my first goal as a Bear.
“Fuck yeah!”
Air has barely re-entered my lungs and I’m drowning in a sea of maroon, gold and gross BO. My helmet is tapped, shaken and knocked by every man on the ice, then those on the bench too.
“I always knew I liked you, Becker.” My captain declares. “Even when I hated you.”
“Thanks, Shane, backhanded compliments are my favorite.”
“My pleasure.” His smile fades as he nods to the solitary figure manning his crease. “Think he’s still in the hate camp.”
It’s like Skip has forgotten we’re on the same team. Disgusted, he rips off his helmet and glares in my direction, even that movement is awkward looking.
Yep. Something is definitely wrong.
Iwake on the morning of my twenty-first birthday with a smile on my face and Lotte sitting cross-legged on the end of my bed like a cute little goblin. “Happy Birthday, Quinny. Come see what I got you.”
There’s no time for a reply, because she takes my hand and drags me from bed, out of my room and down the stairs, promising me a surprise like no other. Thank the lord I didn’t sleep naked last night, or Noah would be receiving a nice surprise, too.
Since Troye is no longer a Bulldog, I’ve been wearing my half and half cropped jersey to sleep in. It’s soft, cozy and barely covers my ass, so I struggle to pull it down with the one free hand I have. “I told you not to get me anything, Lot. Being my bestie and letting me stay with you even after moving in with Noah is the best gift I’ve ever had.”
Lotte’s big blue eyes fill with tears that she blinks away with a smile. “That may be the case, but you as a person are a gift to me. Besides, I haven’t had anyone to spoil for a long time. I love it!”
Lotte lived alone for several years after the death of her mom and gran, so she does have a point. Then again, I’m pretty sure I heard her spoil Noah several times last night.
I’m about to express that, when we enter the kitchen and the thought evaporates on my tongue. Every speck of ceilingis obscured by balloons in various shades of blue, my favorite color. There’s a cake on the island bench, and a pile of perfectly wrapped gifts sitting atop the kitchen table, and alongside them, Noah, Brady, and Troye.
Brady and Troye.
Troye and Brady.
Me and my ‘look at my lacy blue panties’ jersey.
A discarded apron lays over a dining table chair, so I grab that, and slip it over my head as they all chant, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUINN!”
The full obligatory song is sung in full, then Brady calls, “Hip-hip hooray. Hip-hip hooray!” to absolute, deafening silence. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“What the actual fuck was that?” I question when everyone else is too busy laughing. “Hip-hip-what?”
““You know, hip-hip hooray. Hip-hip hooray. Hip-hip hooray!” he sings again with even more enthusiasm, because of course, it sounds much more normal the second time. “You call it out at the end of happy birthday, right? Right?” he repeats when he gets nothing more than continuing laughter. “Are you guys fucking with me or do you legit not do that here?”
“No one is fucking, Big D,” Noah manages to gasp between giggles. “We donotdo that here.”
“Look he’s right,” Lotte holds up her phone to show a clip she’s found on YouTube. “It’s a celebratory add-on to the standard happy birthday song. Though, Australia seems to be the epicenter, it’s apparently a custom in New Zealand, South Africa, and to a lesser extent the United Kingdom. It is believed to have originated in the 19th century.”
“God, little D. You’re so hot when you research stuff.” Noah pulls Lotte into a kiss that quickly becomes embarrassing to witness. “Let’s get the rest of the presents from our room Lot.”
