Page 16 of Tripped Up
The lit-up screen taunts me as I hover my finger over Bex’s contact in my phone. I don’t want to reach out to her. She’d be able to see right through me and tell me to do what I already know I should.
No. I should just invite Elsy to the game. I’ll get her friend tickets, too. That way, she won’t be alone.
Before I can second, triple, and quadruple guess myself, I email the admin staff and request three tickets to the game. It’s preseason, so we’re not expecting full attendance, but I still have to arrange it in advance. Players are allotted so many tickets for each home game, as long as we coordinate with the front office. I’ll leave it up to Elsy if she’d rather sit at ice level or up in the suite with the other wives and partners.
Going about my day, I see the trainers for treatment on my shoulder and film a quick confessional-style video with the TV crew. They want us to do these videos once or twice a week, or when something drama-worthy happens. I’m not sure how I feel about being part of a reality TV show. I just want to play hockey.
I’m driving home for the day when my phone buzzes with the reply from admin: three tickets acquired. I text them to Elsy without comment.
Immediately, my phone rings over the Bluetooth connection.
“What the fuck, Wyatt?” she demands.
“What’s up, Elizabeth?” I aim for calm, cool, and collected, but I don’t think the gravel in my voice hides how turned on I get when she says my name in that snippy, pissed-off tone. This game we’re playing, when I call her everything but her name, is a surefire way to set her off.
She makes everything inside me light up. My cock perks up, too. It’s like a Pavlovian response to the mettle in her voice. It’s fucked how much I enjoy being tortured by her.
“Why did you send me tickets to your game?”
“Oh, so you got them.” My smile stretches across my face as I hang a left and head toward her apartment instead of mine.
Elsy makes a frustrated noise. “Yeah. Why’d you send me three tickets?”
“Thought you and Anastasia might want to come to a game. She’s married, so tell her to bring her spouse.”
It didn’t escape my notice that Anastasia was very careful with pronouns at dinner. I don’t know if her partner is male, female, or nonbinary, nor do I care. Hockey is for everyone; I genuinely believe that. I don’t care about the color of anyone’s skin or who they love. It shouldn’t matter. That it does in this day and age drives me absolutely nuts. It’s terrible that some people don’t feel safe enough to be who they are and live their lives out loud.
“I don’t want to go to your game,” Elsy snaps.
Flinching, I thank my lucky puck that she’s on a voice call and not video. I don’t need her to remind me exactly how much she dislikes me.
“You don’t have to come,” I say evenly. “I thought it might be something fun to do with your friend.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“So… so…” She grunts. “Just stop it, okay?”
I smile. “Stop what, exactly?”
“You know what you’re doing.” She sounds so frustrated. I wonder what it would take for her to snap.
“I don’t, though.”
Pulling into the parking lot of the little deli around the corner from her apartment, I place a takeout order on my phone.
“You home?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.
“Why?” She’s so suspicious.
“Just making conversation.” While they prepare my order, I tilt my seat back and relax. “How was rehearsal?”
“Fuck off, Wyatt,” she snaps.
“Ouch, Eleanor. I’m really feeling the love.”
“You don’t care, so don’t pretend like you do. I don’t know what your end game is here, but I’m not going to fall at your feet just because you act like a decent human being for once in your goddamn life.”
