Page 72 of Slapshot
I’m bombarded with people wanting to chat and catch up as soon as Vivian and I walk into the multicultural house. After a month of hanging out pretty much exclusively with the hockey team, my stock has gone up.
None of these people are really my friends, but I spent enough time hanging out here that it’s a bit like a homecoming.
Vivian pushes a cup into my hand, and we go to the basement. On one side of the room, old couches are pushed against the wall and a wooden table is being used for cider pong. The other half of the room is where a few people are dancing under a disco ball. My best friend pulls me in front of a large speaker. Music with a heavy bass blasts into the basement, making it hard to hear my own thoughts.
Vivian dances and I sort of sway back and forth. In order to dance, you have to be able to feel something. I’m numb.
I get Vivian’s attention and motion to the other side of the room. She nods and I leave her to dance. She’ll be there most of the night.
I’m deciding between cider pong or depressingly standing alone like some kind of wallflower, when I spot Emmett at the pong table.
“Kaitlyn?” He’s holding a pong ball and the rest of the table looks to him expectantly. He tosses it without really looking and walks to me. He crushes me in a drunken hug and then slides his hands down my arms. “Look at you. I’ve missed you.”
He wraps me in another hug. Emmett was never this touchy before. We made out, yes, but leading up to the kissing he was more aloof. Then, I’d liked that he played hard to get. It made the kissing that much more exciting. I thought it meant he’d be worth it, but instead it only meant he really wasn’t that interested.
“Hey, Emmett,” I say and step back, putting some distance between us. “Looks like you’re having a good night.”
His green eyes are droopy, and he grins. “The best now that you’re here. I’ve missed seeing you around. I tried to text.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Well, I didn’t have your number, but I wanted to.”
I don’t roll my eyes, but I really want to. “I’m not that hard to find.”
He doesn’t offer up an excuse, just smiles drunkenly at me. “Come play pong. You can be on my team.”
I hesitate, and he tips his head toward the table. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
I follow with absolutely zero enthusiasm. The only good thing about playing cider pong is that I’ll be drunk in thirty minutes and care a lot less about everything.
The cups are refilled, and Emmett and I stand on one side of the table across from two of his lacrosse buddies.
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight,” Emmett says. “Heard you’ve been hanging at the hockey house.”
I hum a response. One of the guys on the other team drops a pong ball into one of my cups. The cider is room temperature and bitter. It makes me think of the delicious cider I had at Vino and Veritas. And of course, that makes me think of Lex.
Emmett drops an arm around my shoulders. Casual but claiming and just… wrong. Lifting his hand, I remove it and step away. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the game.”
“But we aren’t finished,” Emmett says.
“I am.”
I turn and my gaze goes immediately to Lex across the room. My heart squeezes because he’s here, but then his expression twists into something hard and unforgiving. He starts walking toward me. Ash and Vivian are a step behind him.
We meet in the middle. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a feeling you’d be here.” Hurt flashes in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says flatly. “I’m not staying long. I just needed to tell you that I turned down the job. This morning when I called your dad, I thanked him for the opportunity, but I told him no.”
“But he came to Burlington. Kirk said you two were talking before the game.”
“He came for you. I called him, but only to turn down the job and to tell him that I thought you two should talk. I know it isn’t my business, but I wanted to help. He can’t fix it if he doesn’t know how you feel.”
My mouth opens and closes but no words come out.
“Kaitlyn.” Emmett appears at my side. He nods his head to Lex and then looks back to me. “You coming back to play, babe?”
Wishing the floor would swallow me up, I say, “No, Emmett. I’m good. Thanks for the game.”
