Page 35 of Tripped Up

“Friends don’t let friends look down on themselves.”

“Is that what we are?” she whispers. “Friends?”

“Well, I’d rather that than enemies.”

She cocks her head, looking up at me for a long moment. Finally, she says, “I guess we can be friends.”

“Good. Great.”

So why am I disappointed?

Pushing down the confusing feelings welling within me, I slide my arm over Elsy’s shoulders and lead her to the host’s stand.

“Reservation for Whitney, please.”

The hostess, who looks like she’s barely eighteen, nods. “Right this way.”

Elsy’s hand darts out and grasps my arm. “This place is nice.”

“Is it?”

Her grip tightens. “It’s fancy. Why did you bring me here? Shit. Am I dressed okay?”

“You look great,” I promise her. “Relax. The food’s supposed to be good. If it sucks, we can leave and go to O’Malley’s or whatever.”

“Yeah. Okay. That works.”

The hostess leads us over to a table by the window overlooking the river. The menu prices are a little much for lunch, but Viggy promised me the food was good, so I’ll roll with it.

Elsy doesn’t look thrilled, though.

“Wyatt, these prices…” She swallows. “I can’t afford this.”

She doesn’t like to admit weakness, in any respect. And now for her to be so frank…

“I’ve got it. It’s my treat.”

She frowns.

“If you don’t want to eat here, we don’t have to. If you want to stay, though, it’s on me.”

Hesitation crosses her face. “I don’t know…”

“I can afford to buy you lunch ten times over, and I won’t even blink. I would never force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But don’t let money keep you from enjoying something that could be great.”

“Yeah, you can say that. You have piles of money.” Her bitter laugh makes my chest ache. I hate that she’s so resentful of something neither of us can control.

“I didn’t always,” I remind her. “I’m lucky to be able to play the sport that I love, but I’m well aware it can all go away in the blink of an eye. One bad play, one big hit, and I could be out of the game forever. I put my body on the line every day.”

Elsy stares at me. If she’s surprised by any of this, I can’t tell. Her best friend playing in the league doesn’t mean she knows all the ins and outs of the actual reality of the lifestyle.

“My knees are shot, my shoulder is fucked, and let’s not even talk about how many times I’ve broken my nose.”

Four times, including once because of her. Half of my teeth are implants, too. But that’s not sexy, so I’m not going to bring it up.

“The reality of playing hockey is very different from the glamorous lifestyle you see online. It’s hard work.”

“I know it’s hard work,” she murmurs. “I’m not disputing that.”