Page 99 of Pucked Up Plans
“Sprite or ginger ale, please.”
He disappears from the table, and my eyes note his ass in his khaki pants as he saunters to the bar with a few of the other teammates.
His seat vacated, another player slides down, the one in the backward hat. “Cody McGuire.”
“Tate.”
“Right. I can remember one name but figured you’re the one who’s meeting all of us and probably won’t remember all the names.”
“Or any,” I mumble, hoping he can’t hear me. He doesn’t sit too close to be uncomfortable, but what exactly am I supposed to talk to him about? Hockey? No. College? Negative. Vermont? “Where are you from and what brought you to Vermont?”
“Lyndon, a small town in Oregon. My former coach talked me into applying to Aspenridge. My folks were convinced Iwouldn’t get in, but I proved them wrong, didn’t I?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A hint of embarrassment hides in his tone. Shouldn’t he be happy about his acceptance?
“You did.” I flash him a wider smile, showing him a little kindness. “What’s your major?”
“Biology. Not for the fainthearted.”
I laugh. “Indeed not. But either is hockey.”
His entire demeanor changes with my simple statement. “Have you been to a game yet?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Too busy with classes?” he guesses.
A kid and a job.“Something like that.”
Thankfully, Walsh is back, along with a server to take our order.
“Stop macking on my girlfriend, McGuire.”
“Keeping her company until your ass came back. Pipe down.” Cody makes no move to shift back to where he was sitting until Walsh puffs his chest. Not quite a pissing match, but my heart celebrates Walsh’s protectiveness.
I think I quite like being Walsh Keeley’s girlfriend.
“I didn’t realize we were at the girlfriend stage of our relationship.” The words leave my mouth while we stand in line for a game of cornhole after we’ve eaten. Best yard game ever. Never thought to play it indoors, but the games area provides plenty of space for it. Including a “grassy” area.
“Right. Sorry. ‘Lennon’s friend’s mom’ sounded too cultured for this crowd. ‘Friend’ seemed like a dig to you. You can’t be a ‘fuck-buddy’ after only one time. All I was left with was girlfriend. Unless you have a better term you’d prefer.” He sipshis beer bottle, the one he’s allowed for tonight, nursing it slowly. As much as he didn’t ask anything, he’s waiting for an answer.
“Think they would have believed escort?”
Beer sprays out of his mouth like a geyser, coating the table next to him in liquid. He coughs and spurts before getting control of himself. With a narrowed glare and pointed finger, he mutters, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“We’re even then.” Although the more I think about it, the more the title of girlfriend has a nice ring to it. But what’s better is I get to call Walsh my boyfriend. Which doesn’t suck in the slightest. I kiss his temple. “Going to the bathroom. Be right back.” For shits and giggles—because I need to try it out—I add, “Boyfriend.”
I’m too nervous for his reaction, even though he said it first and I’m agreeing.
The bathroom has three stalls, but all three are empty, which means there’s no one to witness my ecstatic reaction to my period starting. The laugh starts low in my abdomen, and by the time it’s liberated, it’s a full-on cackle. Guess I freaked out for literally nothing earlier.
I finish my business—learned the hard way to always carry pads and tampons in my bag—and exit the stall. As I’m washing my hands, another girl enters. She’s dressed in a little black dress, her shoulders covered with a short sweater. Her hair’s pulled up in some sort of fancy updo I wish I could replicate and pull off. Her eyes rake over me, scanning from head to toe.
“Oh, Walsh’s new girl, right?” I can’t quite decipher what emotion fills her tone. Envy? Resentment? Bitterness? However, I don’t like the way she emphasizesnew.
“Yes.” Another lesson I’ve confirmed: answer only the question asked and keep it simple.
“Where’d he find you? Haven’t seen you around campus.”
The hot water scalding my fingers matches the temperature inside at her insinuation.
