Page 6 of Stick With Me
I hate the thought that she’s upset over the breakup with Knolls, but I can’t say I hate the fact they broke up. It’s no secret Knolls and I aren’t friends. We used to be, though, freshman year at Rumford U. Both centers, both new to the team, both fighting for the first-line spot. He won, of course. But after that, we bonded over our shared love for hockey and dreams of making it to the NHL. Outside of hockey, we didn’t have much in common, but we clicked… until we didn’t.
I consider sharing my good news in a text but decide against it, wanting to see her face when I do. Though it looks like I’ve lost my excuse to ditch the bar. At least now I have something to celebrate.
I meet Fox in the players’ lounge, where he’s sitting with Volk. “Was I right, or was I right?” he taunts with a smug grin.
“Looks like you have two wingmen tonight,” I say instead of answering his question.
“I get the night off?” Volk asks in his thick Russian accent.
“You heard the man. I havetwowingmen.”
“None of the other guys are coming?” I hope they are so I can sneak out early without feeling too bad about it.
“Nah, just us sinners tonight.” Fox winks.
I run my hand down my face until I reach the stubble along my jaw. He’s really trying to get this “Saints’ Sinners” thing to catch on. I will give him credit; it’s catchy, but it’s a new level of ridiculousness, even for him. The three of us, plus our captain, Miles King, are the only single players on the team. I think “Saints’ Singles” would be a more appropriate name, but Fox said, “What’s the fun in that?”
“Don’t say that in public.” Volk takes the words from my mouth.
“You’re no fun.” Fox rises from his seat as Volk follows. The rush of fans heading home after the game has cleared, so we’re able to slip through the quiet weeknight streets toward the bar, just a couple of blocks away.
Stepping into Sully’s, a hole-in-the-wall pub we hit up often, the familiar smell of stale beer and fried food assaults us. What I wouldn’t give to break my in-season diet and order a burger. The crowd is mostly neighborhood regulars, not the kind of place Fox usually goes when he’s hunting for a hookup, but it works for me, preferring the laid-back vibe.
We settle into a corner booth, the perfect spot for people-watching, partially hidden in the dim lighting. Overhead, the TVs above the U-shaped bar play football highlights from the weekend’s divisional games. I’ve never been a football fan, but Fox zones out watching them as Volk heads to the bar, returning a few minutes later with two beers and a Coke for Fox.
“Fuck, tonight’s game.” I take a long gulp of my beer. “When are we going to pull it together?”
The answer is, we’re probably not. The season’s more than halfway done, with only twelve weeks of regular play left.
“Keep your chin up, champ.” Fox nudges my chin with a grin. I wish I could be as carefree as him about losing. “And quit holding out on us. What did Coach want?”
I fill them in, and neither is surprised by the news, seeing as they had their money on me. They tell me about their plans for the break, and I tell them how All-Star, though exciting, put a wrench in my plans. At least Hannah and the event are both in Florida. I’ll just have to figure out how to balance my schedule so I can still spend time with her.
Fox is easily distracted by a group of women at the bar, tipping his chin in their direction. “Redhead and brunette, dibs on the redhead. I’m feeling something spicy tonight. Who’s with me?”
“Not it!” Volk and I say at nearly the same time. I get the words out quicker, saving myself from playing Fox’s wingman. I dig my phone out of my pocket as the guys head toward the bar, taking a picture of myself frowning into my glass of beer, and press send.
Me:
Look what you’ve sentenced me to. *Fox and Volk’s bullshit not pictured.
I get a response almost immediately.
Hannah:
Oh, poor you, enjoying a beer with your friends. Sounds terrible.
Me:
More like drowning my sorrows.
Hannah:
Can you drown in one beer?
Me:
How do you know it’s my first? I could be seven in by now.
