Page 42 of Must Love Hockey
“Yeah.”
“Then no.”
“But Jimbo, buddy. Playing a great opponent is how you get good.”
“Is it?” I grumble. “Not sure that always works.”
“Wait,” Castro says, turning on his barstool to face me. “Are we talking about pool right now? Or girls?”
“That second thing,” I mumble. “She told me we met at the wrong time. And I brushed that aside, but maybe she’s right. I can’t even find a free night to take her out to dinner. In the meantime, her ex is showing up with flowers. Every day, probably.”
“You know this for a fact?” Castro asks.
“Nah. I just got a feeling. He ignored her so bad she ditched his ass. But that guy is smart—college degree, good job on Wall Street. He probably realizes how bad he fucked up. He’s probably rolling out the rug for her right now while I’m stuck here losing at pool with you.”
Castro laughs. “So much negativity at such a young age.”
He’s a few years older than I am. At most.
“You’re just sitting here psyching yourself out, aren’t you? Just because you like this girl a lot, and your schedules are kind of a mess right now?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But who wants to date a guy who travels one hundred fifty nights a year?”
“She will, Jimbo. Give it a chance. Invite her to brunch if you can’t find a night for dinner. Meet her for coffee. Just show her that you care, and the rest will work itself out.”
“Hmm.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Okay. Sure.”
“Now can we lose at pool to my wife?”
“Nope.” I set down my empty beer bottle. “Now I gotta call my girl and compare calendars. I’m gonna make this work.”
“Butdude. What about my needs?”
I slap him on the back and carry my phone out of the bar. I lean against a column in the lobby and text Emily goodnight. I’d call, but it’s late in New York.
A second later, I’m delighted when she dials me right back. “James!” she says brightly when I answer. “Bummer about that overtime loss.”
I smile to myself. “You watched?”
“I’m supposed to be doing research for a paper, but I kept checking the score.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s that paper coming along?”
“Slowly.”
I laugh. “Is it due before the weekend? Because I’d really like to find a moment to see you.”
“Sorry about Saturday and Sunday night. I don’t usually have to work both of them, but my boss asked me to cover for somebody.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a college bookstore would even be open on Saturday night,” I complain. “Who shops for books then?”
“The nerds of the world, James. Honestly, the place will be pretty dead. But they’ll have me restocking the shelves. It’s not just books, either. There are pens, stationery, office supplies, purple sweatshirts…”
“Wait. Purple? That’s the NYU color?”
“Yes sir.”
“And the Bruisers’ team color.”
