Page 1 of Puck Me Twice

one

. . .

Vanessa

“Love you,” Bex says.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you better.” Nonetheless, I get out of my chair to top off her red solo cup of white wine and hand her the last s’mores bar treat. Even though it’s my favorite.

“Aw, you guys are like an old married couple,” Elsy says, looking between me and my best friend.

“QPR for the win,” Bex says, grinning.

A quasi-platonic relationship is the closest either of us will get to a real relationship these days. Taking my seat around the circle, I sip from my own plastic cup of wine. Our book club meets the third Thursday of the month. It’s easily the highlight of my social scene. Work has been full-on the last few weeks leading up to the start of the season.

It’s really freaking cool that I get to work with a professional hockey team. Like, I’m not discounting that. But it’s even more awesome that I get to help the players settle into their roles here in Boston.

As the club has made several big moves gearing up for the young season, I’ve been helping the players and their spouses: navigating renting out their homes and finding new ones, figuring out the school systems, finding doctors and establishing care, legalities with visas and residency requirements, and all the general logistics that are involved with moving clear across the country—or more often, internationally, as players move between teams in the US and Canada and leave their club team home countries to play for the big squad.

But tonight? I’m going to sit back, relax, and hang out with my girls. I don’t get to do this enough.

There are about twenty of us who regularly attend the book club meetings in the back of Sadie’s downtown bookstore. I’m lucky enough to call them my friends. We vary across ages, professions, sexual orientation, socioeconomic levels, and backgrounds.

One thing we all have in common? Our love for books. Specifically, romance books.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and as I pull it out, Bex groans.

“No more work,” she says, making a grab for my phone.

It’s definitely not social, since most of my friends are here, and I don’t talk to my parents more than once or twice a year, so she’s not far off in her prediction.

Ducking her hand, I unlock the screen and scroll through the new message. It’s the waiver wire—and this time, my team is listed.

“Trade alert,” I report.

“Anyone good?”

“Not Wyatt.” He plays for Philadelphia and is starting the last year of his contract.

She scoffs. “Please. My brother would tell me before he signed a new contract.”

“It’s a trade,” I remind her. “And besides⁠—”

“He might not have a chance before it gets leaked to the press.” Bex sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Who is it?”

“Theo Reynolds. From Vancouver.”

“Don’t know him.” Bex shrugs. “I’ll ask Wyatt if he’s any good.”

“He played with Mitch in the minors,” Elsy says. Her best friend plays hockey, too, so she knows the lifestyle—and the lingo.

I swear, sometimes it seems like hockey has its own damn language, and even after a few years working with the club, I still don’t know how to translate.

After a few more minutes of chatter, Sadie calls the group together, and we gather in to talk about this week’s trope topic: second chance romances. My least favorite storyline.

“Ugh. Pass,” I mutter quietly.

Not quietly enough, though, because Ceci grins at me.