Page 29 of Patrick

Me: Whatever you say.

I know, I know. I truly am easy when it comes to Fifi.

Fifi: Great! Let’s get there ten minutes early.

Me: I’ll be the guy in the dark glasses and trench coat. You can call me Mr. Incognito.

Fifi: LMAO! I think I love your sense of humor even more than your muscles.

And there it is. The reason the nerdy sexy-hot girl wins every time.

Me: My muscles are crying now. I’ll have to take them for a quick workout before I go to sleep.

Fifi: If I were there, I’d kiss every one of your muscles good-night.

Me: If you were here, there’d be no sleeping and we’d lose track of all the kisses. They’d be endless—and cover all kinds of body parts.

Fifi: Good-night, Trick. ILYF

Wait—what? ILYF? Shit. Did she just use the L word? Nah, not seriously. She probably signs off on all her texts that way, an automatic signature, probably auto-filled. Has to be.

Fuck. Am I in trouble? Or… am I crazy because I’m a little excited about falling to my doom?

Me: Night.

My finger hovers over the send arrow for a second, my heart banging against my chest like I’m doing something wrong, but I can’t make myself give her anything more than the kiss emoji. Not even a heart emoji.

Maybe I’m heartless. But no, the relentless banging in my chest says my heart is alive and well, and I have no idea what all the wild beating means. I’m sure there’s a message in there somewhere, but I don’t speak the language of Cupid. So far, all my heart’s been good for is pumping copious amounts of blood when I need it, mostly when I’m skating like hell down the ice, beating everyone to the puck.

Fucking A. I need to focus on hockey. Fifi and her plan to get up-close and intimate are throwing me off my plan to play my heart out and make it to the NHL. This is my year.

A few dots bubble, and I stiffen, not even taking a breath while I wait to see if she’s going to call me out on the wimpy kiss emoji.

One, two, then three seconds go by, and nothing. I exhale and relax.

First thing in the bright frigid morning, I drive home. Crashing through the back door into the kitchen, the first person I see is Kathleen, wearing an apron and leaning on one crutch, with the kind of smile that would make you swear the sun was shining in the middle of the night.

I give her a hug and kiss her rosy cheek. “Thanks for sending the cookies to Bog and company.” Moving past her into the small office off the kitchen that used to be my bedroom, I hoist my backpack onto the chair and leave it. The smell of bacon lures me back into the kitchen.

Kathleen pats my cheek as I take a seat at the table. “It’s the least we can do for the boys for letting you stay over now and then, and cheaper than rent.”

Mom nods in agreement as she walks in, giving me a one-armed hug and tousling my hair. She’s holding a spatula in the other hand, and I keep an eye on it since she’s been known to use it for violent acts against my rear end.

She says, “Bogdan is a very nice young man. Did you go out last night? Meet a special girl?” She quirks one brow.

“Wow. That’s aggressive, even for you, Mom.”

“What’s her name?”

“What are you talking about?” I’m starting to feel uneasy while her spatula flutters nearby because she’s not usually this pushy. I sit and fill my mouth with a forkful of eggs straight from the serving platter, avoiding her direct stare like she’s going to turn me to stone.

“I just have this feeling you have someone special.”

I scoff, shaking my head and filling my mouth with more eggs.

“Now that you mention it, Mom,” Kathleen says, “I think I see it too. He looks more…”

“Happy because we won last night?” I say.