Page 83 of Hard Hitter
“Joking,” Castro said. “Jesus.”
“How do you get over someone?” he asked suddenly. He’d never had to do that before.
Trevi chuckled. “If you pass out tickets and make us all turn in suggestions, you’re just gonna get twenty-four pieces of paper back that sayget very drunkon ’em.”
“Not necessarily,” Jimbo put in. “I’d write:Listen to sad music and play a lot of Xbox. It’s cheaper than drinking, and a better distraction.”
“You really are wise for a nineteen-year-old,” Trevi said.
“And would you believe that the legal drinking age in Ottawa is nineteen?” the kid asked with a smile.
“Drinks for Jimbo!” Trevi called, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “Who’s with me?” He let Jimbo pick the beer, and ordered another pitcher. Then he slapped O’Doul on the back. “So what’s your strategy?”
“My strategy?”
“Wait her out or find someone else?”
But I don’t want anyone else. “I’m just going to give her some space. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping she’d change her mind. Pretty sure it won’t happen, though.”
Trevi looked thoughtful. “You still have a chance. Women are complicated. Let me give you an example. My girldoesn’t like to shop. But in a store, she still takes a long time, evaluating all the pros and cons of the features or what-the-fuck-ever.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Women make decisions differently. How do you choose a coffeemaker?”
O’Doul shrugged. “I point to one that looks good. Then I just buy it.”
“Exactly.”
“So? What does that have to do with Ari?” He hated it when College Boy got all metaphorical.
“Maybe she already found the model she wants, but she has to walk out of the store one time just to be sure she knows her own mind.”
O’Doul grunted. “I don’t know. If I walk in to buy a coffeemaker, I’m leaving with a coffeemaker.”
“That’s my point. You’re leaving with a coffeemaker because you have a dick.”
“Wait—” Castro held up a hand. “Who left his dick in the coffeemaker?”
“Check, please,” O’Doul said, lifting a hand to the barkeep. Trevi burst out laughing.
TWENTY-FOUR
SATURDAY, MARCH 26TH
With Becca and Georgia, from a seat behind the penalty box, Ari watched every minute of the Ottawa game with her heart in her mouth.
Late-season tension gripped the crowd, and the game seemed to happen at top speed, the puck flying with even more velocity than normal.
Her eyes followed Patrick everywhere. She could pretend her interest was based on concern for his iliopsoas muscles, but that would be a lie. He’d gotten under her skin. As she watched him fly by on the ice, looking as fit and energetic as she’d ever seen him, she felt a tug.
I just told him no, she reminded herself.
In the third period, Ari had the thrill of watching Patrick score against Ottawa. It was a beautiful shot, too. A wrister that Trevi had passed backward to keep it away from the other team’s defenseman. It flew right to the tape on Patrick’s stick. A nanosecond later he’d sent it flying over the goalie’s knee pads straight into the corner of the net.
Leaping from her seat, she screamed, as both Becca and Georgia grabbed her into a hug.
The score was 3–1 in favor of Brooklyn, with the clock winding down.
