Page 19 of Tripped Up

I shouldn’t be here. But because Wyatt agreed to accompany me to the gala, I couldn’t make myself say no to attending his game. I’m supporting my new local team. That’s all it is.

I don’t hate hockey. I like it better when Mitch is playing, sure, but the sport itself isn’t boring. It can even be fun. My issue is with the hockey players. I liked going to games a lot more before Wyatt crashed into my life and set my self-esteem into a downward spiral. Even though it’s been years, I’m still not fully recovered.

I don’t have any Aces gear, and I’m definitely not wearing Wyatt’s name on my back, so I pull on a Boston Grizzlies sweatshirt that Vanessa, my old roommate, gave me. Several of my friends are dating players or staff members with the team, so it’s safe to say I spent a lot of time with the Grizzlies.

… and now I’m about to spend time with the Aces. It’s clear Wyatt won’t leave me alone, so I might as well get used to the idea now.

Anastasia wasn’t able to join me for the game since she already had plans, so I sent Wyatt the two unused tickets. I don’t know what to do with them. It’s not like I have anyone else to invite to the game. And I’m not about to walk up to perfect strangers and invite them to hang out.

Mitch calls me as I’m walking into the arena.

“It’s like you know when I’m about to do something wrong,” I tell him as I scan my ticket.

His hearty laugh echoes through my phone. “What are you doing?”

“I’m at an Aces game.”

My best friend growls. “Fuck off. No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“Please tell me you’re at least wearing my sweater,” he says. “I can’t wait to see the look on that fuckhead’s face when you wear my name.”

“I’m not,” I laugh.

Mitch falls quiet. “You’re not wearing his?”

“Nah. The Grizzlies jacket.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay, then,” he decides. He has some buddies on the team. And considering the way my friends started dating their players, there’s a lot of overlap between his friends and mine. The Grizzlies guys always treated me like part of the club, another little sister to look after.

It was… nice. I felt protected. Appreciated.

With Wyatt, though… I don’t feel the same. It’s infantilizing with him. He’s not treating me like an equal, but as someone inferior.

And I am not inferior to him in any way, shape, or form. I know my worth, even if he doesn’t recognize it.

As I make my way to the stands, Mitch and I catch up. He has a game tonight in Nashville, then flies back to New Orleans for a home match against Tampa the next day. He’s coming and going so much, I can barely keep track. If it weren’t for the automated calendar alerts for his team on my phone, I would never know where he was.

We’ve been friends since our first semester of college. Our dorms were next to each other and our roommates were fucking, so when she would go to his, he would come to mine and we’d hang out for a few hours. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. He took me under his wing. The music department threw great parties, and the hockey team never stopped partying, so it was a match made in heaven.

I was there for him when his mom died, and he was there for me when my parents split up. We’re friends, good friends, but we’ve never been more. The idea of something romantic with Mitch is almost gross. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.

My ex-boyfriends haven’t always understood that. His ex-girlfriends—few as they were—couldn’t get comfortable with knowing our friendship comes first. We don’t sleep in the same bed when either of us are dating someone, but if we’re both single? Fair game. He’s perpetually touch-starved and I’m a big fan of physical affection. It’s my love language. It’s like we were made for each other. Platonically.

Which is probably why he’s never forgiven Wyatt for what he did. As glad as I am that he’s on my side, sometimes I wonder if the reason I haven’t been able to move past it is because Mitch hasn’t, either.

My seats are at ice level, right behind the Aces’ bench. Today’s game is against the Colorado Dragons. My friend Viv’s brother Chuck is on the team, and as he skates past for warm-ups, he gives me a nod. We’ve met a few times, but we aren’t close. Enough to pick each other out of a crowd. I’ll say hello to him after the game, but we don’t need to go for a drink or anything. We’re not that kind of friends. Acquaintances, really.

My eyes linger on number 17. Wyatt looks good in the navy and gold. He stands tall on his skates, carrying himself with confidence. When he catches sight of me, he stumbles to a stop, and my heart skips a beat.

Why the hell does he have to be so fucking attractive?

And worse, why do I have to be attracted to him? Of all the guys in the world, why does it have to be him who gets my engine going?

A slow smile spreads over his face before he sends me a wink. My entire body heats from within until I think I’m about to combust.

Another player shoves him forward, and Wyatt shakes his head, returning to his laps. He looks over his shoulder at me as he skates, stick handling a puck like the professional he is before driving it toward the net.