Page 14 of Slap Shot Surprise
joe
Photos took for-fucking-ever.
The poses were stupid. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I was sweating beneath my suit. Lisa complained constantly about the humidity, the coming storm, the lack of good light. I kept my opinions to myself and my attitude positive for Footsie’s sake, but all I could think of was getting to the reception, ditching this jacket, and grabbing a cold beer.
But when we arrived at The Pier Inn, the wedding party was instructed to wait at the top of the stairs of the second-floor ballroom until we heard the DJ announce our names. Then we had to head straight for the dance floor with our assigned partner for an entire song. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I smiled and swayed to the music with Jackie, the bridesmaid I’d been matched with. She giggled uncontrollably the entire time.
Over the top of her head, I spotted Mabel seated next to her pregnant sister-in-law at a table near the edge of the dance floor. Our eyes met, and she smiled at me. She was so fuckingcute.
“Ow!” Jackie stopped dancing and looked down. “You stepped on my foot.”
“Sorry—I got distracted for a second. Are your toes okay? I have big feet.”
The giggle returned. “I’m fine.”
For the rest of the song, I concentrated on where I stepped. When the music ended, I escorted Jackie off the dance floor, and—as instructed—we stood near the bandstand to watch the newlyweds’ first dance as husband and wife. Tons of phones were aimed at them, and the official photographer and videographer were also right in their faces. After that, we had to go over to the cake table and applaud as Lisa and Footsie cut the cake, fed each other small bites, and posed for more pictures.
When all the stupid pageantry was done, I dropped my suit jacket onto the back of my chair at the head table and cuffed up my sleeves. Looking around the room, I spotted Mabel standing by herself at one of the huge windows overlooking the harbor, a glass of champagne in her hand. Straightening my tie, I decided I’d grab a beer and go talk to her. However, I was mobbed at the bar by a dozen different people who wanted to talk hockey, family, or old times—sometimes all three.
“Lupo, I wondered if you’d be here! Long time, no see!”
“Great goal against Mayer in the finals!”
“How’s your mom and dad?”
“We were at that game in Detroit when you scored in overtime!”
“You’ll get ’em next season, huh?”
“Hey, remember that night we snuck out and took your old man’s new truck?”
“I hear your sister just had a baby!”
“Man, I remember watching you skate when you guyswere just Mites. I said back then, I said that Lupo kid’s going all the way, and I was right, wasn’t I?”
I nodded yes and answered questions and fielded compliments, all while keeping one eye on Mabel at the window. At one point, she looked over her shoulder at me. A little buzz shot through my bloodstream—the same one I’d felt in the chapel when I realized who the pretty brunette was, staring at me from the third row. I excused myself from the conversation I was in and headed her way.
She looked different tonight. Her dress was strapless, tight on top and loose on the bottom, the kind of skirt that would twirl out if she spun around. It wasn’t too short but showed a nice amount of leg—hers were gorgeous, with calf muscles that made me wonder if she was a runner. She wore her hair down, and it hung in a straight, shiny curtain that skimmed her shoulder blades. But my favorite thing was her shoes. They were fucking hot—black high heels with a platform sole and a ribbon tied in a bow around her ankle. For a moment I imagined those ankles on my shoulders.
But when I reached her side, I behaved like a perfect gentleman. “Hello.”
“Hello.” She turned and smiled, causing that dimple to appear. “How were pictures?”
“Endless.” I shook my head. “Lisa is very . . . particular.”
She laughed. “Most brides are.”
“It’s just so much. All the posing and announcements and things youhaveto do.”
“Weddings do have a lot of traditions associated with them.”
“I’m never doing any of it, even if I do get married someday,” I said grouchily. “It will be elope or no deal.”
She smiled and sipped her champagne.
“Lisa is taking the threat of rain personally, like Mother Nature made it her mission to ruin this wedding.”
“Maybe it will turn out to be good luck,” Mabel said brightly. “That’s actually a common superstition in a lot of cultures—that rain on your wedding day is a good thing.”
