Page 38 of Tripped Up

The generic Aces jacket I bought myself barely wards off the chill from the ice, and I clutch it tighter around me to try to find a bit more warmth. I’m sure if I asked, Wyatt would get me his jersey, but that’s crossing a line. The only guy’s name I’ve ever worn is Mitch’s. It’s not romantic in the slightest. I love him like a brother. Even with the Grizzlies, I never wore any specific player’s number. Though knowing the guys in person made them less appealing.

Hockey players don’t do it for me. But how much of that is because of the way Wyatt spoke about me to his hockey buddies? I was certainly attracted to him that night…

Not to mention the other day at the lake, when I saw a different side of Wyatt—one I’d never experienced before. If he wasn’t needling me, he was always politely distant. That day, it was like he actually wanted to know what I was thinking. He cared about what I had to say.

We talked about my parents splitting up, about the demands his put on him. I told him things I’ve never told anyone, not even Mitch. It wasn’t scary. It felt… natural.

And now, sitting in the stands to watch his game, I’m second-guessing all of that. There’s no way that nice, charming man is the same guy who allowed his buddies to talk shit about me, then followed it up with hey, at least I got laid.

All I got was thirteen years of poor self-esteem and self-doubt.

I thought I was past it when I started up with Stephen. I was a grown adult, mature, ready to tackle my issues head-on.

And then when he dumped me, telling me I was so bad in bed, he couldn’t pretend to like me anymore… well, all of that came crashing back.

I had to take a hard look at myself in the mirror. I refuse to be swayed by the taunts of small-minded men. He won’t get to me.

Which means I can’t let Wyatt get to me, either. Whatever games he’s trying to play, I won’t be part of it. No, it’s best to put a little more distance between us. We’re not friends, not really.

The rookie, Riley, pots a goal in the net off Wyatt’s assist, and I almost swear Wyatt is looking for me in the crowd as he zooms past the bench for their post-goal celly. His expression clears when we make eye contact, and he winks at me.

My entire body warms, and my insides sizzle with awareness. It must be from the body heat of everyone around me.

Sitting back in my seat, I take a few photos and send them to Bex and the girls from my book club back in Boston. Just because I’ve moved to a new city doesn’t mean I don’t still think about them. The girls won’t get rid of me that easily.

At the intermission, I head up to the concourse to grab a snack. Watching hockey is hungry work, and as I’ve learned over the last few weeks, the food at the Austin Arena is particularly ace.

It’s packed with sweaty, smelly bodies, as if the fans have been sweating in their seats as much as the players on the ice. As I’m surrounded by a swarm of navy and gold jerseys in the bathroom line, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s Wyatt.

Meet me after the game.

A body crashes into me, jostling my hand. The autocorrect picks up ghostlike movements, and a string of nonsensical words appear on the screen before I accidentally hit send.

snake wrote is your dinner home

The dancing dots of Wyatt’s reply taunt me. What’s he going to say?

Don’t stroke out on me, Elsy. Not yet.

Do I do this?

fourteen

Wyatt

“Dude,” Henry says after the game.

I roll my eyes. “What?”

“She’s here.”

“Who?”

He pins me with a flat look. “Your girl.”

Heat fills my cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the vigorous game we played. “She’s not my girl.”