Page 12 of Tripped Up

I got a college hockey scholarship by the skin of my teeth, dropping out after the second year when Philly called me up to play in the big leagues. I don’t miss school, and I won’t be going back to finish my degree. My sister, the PhD, has enough for the both of us.

After practice, we cool down and hit the showers. The locker room is loud and chaotic, but I mostly keep to myself since I’m still finding my place here. I know it will come with time, but the uncertainty is setting off my anxiety. Starting over keeps me off-kilter enough that I can’t settle in the way I want to. It’s like I’m skating with dull blades on well-scratched ice, unable to keep my balance no matter how much I try.

“Want to grab a drink?” Henry asks as we get dressed in athletic shorts and performance team T-shirts. After a decade of wearing scarlet and silver, it’s difficult to get used to my entire casual wardrobe being navy and gold.

I hesitate to answer. I’m used to being left alone. In Philly, the guys knew I wasn’t big on socializing, and they didn’t get upset when I’d bow out of their get-togethers. Of which there were many.

But this team is new to me. I need to get along with the guys, and especially with the players on my line.

“How about dinner instead?” I offer. “I’m trying to cut back on the booze.”

“Good call,” Henry says. “You find some places you like yet?”

I shake my head. I’ve only been in town about three weeks. It’s not enough to really explore the city.

“Got it. I’ll give you the full tour, then,” he declares. “Pick you up at seven. Text me your address.”

With a sigh, I send it to him. I don’t want to go out, and I definitely don’t want to be chauffeured around town. He’s probably smart, offering to drive; if it were up to me, I’d probably get cold feet and cancel at the last minute. Sometimes being around people is too draining to deal with.

But when I get to my condo in a swanky high-rise, the last thing I want to do is be at home by myself. I consider firing up my video game console, but even my favorite pastime doesn’t interest me.

My second favorite is a bust too. Hard to have sex when, again, I don’t know anybody in town. Although…

What’s Elsy up to? She doesn’t have anyone in this city, either.

Immediately, I dismiss the thought. She won’t want to hang out with me. Especially not to have sex. And I definitely don’t want her around Henry.

five

Elsy

The bistro pub is a casual, trendy place close to the symphony hall. On a street lined with more upscale restaurants, this one seems more low-key. The lighting is low, but still bright enough I can see the menu, and the music is enough to drown out the noise of the other diners without being so obnoxious we can’t talk.

Anastasia stands as I approach, giving me a smile. “You made it.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Being new in town is hard.” Her smile turns sympathetic. “If I didn’t have my partner, I don’t think I’d have survived the transition.”

“Oh? Where did you move from?”

“Dallas by way of Scottsdale,” she says. “I’ve been here for six, no, seven years now. Been with the symphony for five.” Anastasia laughs and shakes her head, her chestnut hair bouncing. “I’m finally getting a feel for the place.”

The waiter comes by, and since she orders a glass of wine, I order myself a cocktail, too. I rarely drink two days in a row—especially after drinking a bottle of wine alone on my couch last night—but I could use the social icebreaker right now. We don’t actually know each other.

She leans forward, like she’s going to tell me a secret. “How do you feel about barbecue?”

My stomach twists. “It’s… fine.”

She laughs, clearly amused by my lack of enthusiasm. “Uh-huh.”

With a sigh, I explain, “My cousins are all from Kansas City, so I grew up eating Kansas City barbecue, and it’s just not my favorite. But I know Texas barbecue is supposed to be different, so I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“It’s on every street corner,” Anastasia says. “You won’t be able to get away from it.”

Looking over the menu, I’m not surprised to see barbecue on the list, but the dishes all seem to be modernized, hipster versions of the classics, knife and fork entrées with that signature Texas flare.

A shadow falls over us, and I expect it to be the waiter, lingering awkwardly.