Page 2 of Puck Me Twice

“I think there’s a story there,” she teases.

Shaking my head, I take a sip of my wine. “College sweetheart. We were together for two years. We were talking about getting married. And then he dumped me on my twenty-first birthday. So, no, there is no possibility of a second chance happening.”

“And there’s been nobody since?” Arielle asks curiously. She’s engaged to a long-time friend, and they’re adorable together. But just because she’s getting her happily ever after doesn’t mean the rest of us will.

“A few one-night stands or casual flings. Nobody that would really justify a second chance. I barely gave them a first.” I shrug. “Sue me, I’m picky.”

“As you should be,” Sadie tells me firmly. “You get to decide who you let into your heart.” She winks. “And your pussy.”

“Except maybe not too picky,” Bex chimes in. “How long has it been since you got laid?”

She had an epic hook up with a dude last summer, and even though they went their separate ways, she still talks about it.

My cheeks heat, and I roll my eyes to cover my discomfort at the teasing. I can deal with attention; I don’t like being made fun of. Does anybody, really?

“Long enough that I need to invest in some new batteries.”

Johanna grins at me. From the little I’ve spoken with her, I know she’s a big fan of toys. It’s weird that I know more about what she likes to get off than I do about her personal life, but then again, we are a romance book club… and she’s not exactly shy.

None of us are, really. Even quiet Arielle is a freak in the sheets, though if her roommate Sadie is to be believed, she’s not really all that quiet.

Sometimes it seems like everyone else is dabbling in more interesting sex. Everyone else is playing with kink. I’ve been there, done that. I’m not that interested in it. Sure, I’m more inclined to fem-dom than “traditional” male-led BDSM. But I don’t like domination to begin with; I want equality and parity in bed, or at least egalitarianism.

Madison cuts in, and then Rachel pipes up, and slowly, the attention is pried away from me.

Bex glances at me over her wine cup. “You good?” she murmurs.

Rubbing at my eye, I nod. “Just a long day.”

She flattens her lips into a straight line. “It’ll be okay.”

“Oh, I know,” I tell her, even though I don’t. Not for sure, at least.

“Hey, at least Robby isn’t playing hockey anymore,” she says with a sly grin. “There’s no chance of running into that asshole anytime soon.”

Knocking my plastic cup against hers, I force a smile. It feels more like a grimace.

“I’ll drink to that.”

After book club ends, Bex, Elsy, and I head back to our apartment across town. I’m quiet on the train. Bex keeps trying to get me to talk, but I’m not in the mood.

I’m not upset. I’m not embarrassed. I just…

Robby Andrews broke my heart. I thought we were forever. Maybe I was young, maybe I was naive. He was my first “real” grown-up boyfriend. We talked about getting married when I graduated from college. He was a year older than me, and he was planning on leaving school as soon as the team holding his rights wanted him in the league.

As it turns out, he did get called up by Toronto a few weeks later—for a pleasantly short playoff stint. If there’s one thing I love, it’s dunking on Toronto.

I don’t hate our Original 6 rival Montreal; we have a begrudging love-hate relationship and mutual respect for each club’s longevity and history.

Toronto, though? They can rot in hell.

And since moving to Boston… yeah, it’s even more fun for me, now.

I don’t know what Robby’s up to. He got sent down to the AHL for a few seasons, and he made a few appearances in the NHL over the years for a few different teams, but not with any consistency. He’s never played against Boston, and I don’t deal with the minor league players very often.

It brings me great satisfaction that his career is in the toilet while mine is thriving. Maybe it’s petty of me, but a part of me will always resent the time and energy I spent helping him with hockey at the expense of my lacrosse teammates and my own studies.

At the end of the day, I guess I’m grateful to him for one thing. He ended it; he didn’t cheat on me, or string me along. When he was done, he got out. It could have hurt more than it did if we had let it go on any longer.