Page 68 of Puck Me Twice

When I pull up in front of Vanessa’s apartment in Cambridge the next night, I’m a bundle of nerves. It has been a long time since I’ve been out romantically with a woman, and even longer since I cared about dating.

She’s right. We should have been doing this all along.

She lives in a newer building in the trendy part of Cambridge, on the sixth floor of a seven-story building. Taking the elevator up, I knock on the door of number 613 and wipe my sweaty palms on my coat.

The door swings open almost immediately, revealing a tall, curvy redhead wearing a Philly team sweatshirt.

Right. This must be Whitney’s sister.

“Hey, I’m Bex,” she says, holding out her hand, and it takes me a minute to realize she wants to shake mine. “You must be Sven.”

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yes. Hi. We—You were at Jackson’s wedding. Nine years ago.”

Surprise sketches over her features. “Yes. You and Vanessa… well, I’m sure you remember, considering you’re together now,” she says with an awkward laugh. “Come in. She’s almost ready.”

The apartment is light and airy, bright with white walls covered in framed prints, watercolors and acrylics. There’s a squishy yellow couch and a vibrant forest green armchair, and the small dining table is covered in baby blue enamel.

Shifting my weight, I move the bouquet of winter roses from one hand to the other. “I—um⁠—”

“Oh, those are gorgeous,” Bex says, spotting the flowers. “She’s going to love them.”

I let out a soft sigh. Good. I rather hoped so.

The front door bangs open, followed by a litany of curses.

“Motherfucking asshole fucker fucking bullshit,” comes from the mouth of a brunette that looks like she could be Bex’s sister – except for the hair.

“You okay, babe?” Bex asks.

“Mitch is a fucking asshole,” the woman snarls. “He—” She stops in her tracks. “You’re Sven. You play for Boston.”

Guarded, I nod.

“Hi. I’m Elsy. I’m Van’s roommate. My best friend Mitch plays for New Orleans,” she says, like that’s an explanation.

I do recall Vanessa mentioning her friend being connected to a hockey player, though…

“What did Mitch do now?” Bex asks soothingly.

“The fucker went and caught that stupid stomach flu that’s been going around,” Elsy groans. “Now he won’t be on the road trip to Boston this weekend.”

That’s right. We’re playing New Orleans on Sunday.

“So you don’t get to see your bestie.” Bex nods. “That does suck. He is an asshole for that.” She winks at me.

“Why don’t you go to him?” I ask, before I can think better of it.

Elsy tilts her head at me. “What do you mean?”

“He’s sick, he can’t travel, so go to New Orleans to see him instead,” I tell her.

“I’ve got work,” she says. “And also, gross, I don’t want his germs.”

“True. Stay far away, don’t bring that nonsense back here,” Bex grins.

“He’s my best friend, we’re not dating,” Elsy says with a kind smile. “I only get to see him once or twice a year because his offseason is my busy season at the symphony. This weekend was supposed to be my chance. I’ve only seen him once since I moved to Boston a year and a half ago.”

“That must be hard,” I comment hollowly, mentally calculating how long it’s been since I saw my parents.