Charming as Puck(37)

I shake my head. The last time I was at Chester Green’s didn’t end so well, and I don’t care that the team’s supposed to be boarding a flight to Canada this evening and Nick definitely won’t be there, because other people there still know me.

And everyone there will be interested if they hear this insane theory that me dumping Nick is why he’s having a bad season.

He’s a professional. He’s not thinking about me on the ice. He never did.

Whatever’s going on with him, it has nothing to do with me.

I fake a swoon and sway into Josh. “Oh, wow, I think there was something in that wine,” I say. “I’m suddenly not feeling so good.”

All three of them stare at me.

Crap.

I’m going to have to puke.

I’m going to have to make myself puke, right here, outside the aquarium, before they’ll believe I don’t feel good.

Or maybe I could just fake a faint.

It might hurt, but it’ll get me out of going to Chester Green’s.

“Or it might’ve been that dog I ate earlier,” I improvise.

“You mean hot dog?” Sarah asks.

“No, dog-dog.”

Suddenly all three of them are leaping back.

“You ate a dog?” Josh says.

“It might’ve been monkey.”

They all take one more step back.

“You brought a chick who likes to eat animals to the aquarium?” Sean hisses at Josh. “We’re lucky we got out of there without her diving in that tank and taking a bite out of the stingrays.”

“Stingrays are delicious,” I confirm.

I’m most definitely going to be sick, because I’m disgusting myself now.

But they’re far enough away that I feel comfortable pulling my phone out and ordering a Lyft, which is all the battery power I have left. “I’m going home,” I say. “Nice to meet you all.”

And before they can argue, I dash off.

Could this date have been worse?

Yep.

But it could’ve been better too.

A whole fuck-ton better.





Twenty-One





Nick



It’s been over a week since I started my apology campaign, and I’ve gotten nothing.

My text messages to Kami still show as unread. She hasn’t called. Felicity hasn’t passed any messages.

Neither has Ares, but I know he saw her, because he told me so.

Saw Kami.

That was it. No mention of how she was doing. If she asked about me. Where they were.

If she was alone, or if she had any other dates.

Zeus improvised a story when he realized I was too curious, but I didn’t believe the thing about her getting caught having sex in the zebra enclosure, because she told me once that the only zookeepers she’s friends with are female, and she wouldn’t have sex at the zoo anyway because it would be mean to the animals to introduce unsanitary conditions into their living environment.

Pretty sure she was trying to dissuade me from taking advantage of her behind the gorilla enclosure because she didn’t want to get caught having sex in public, but then, I don’t want to screw around where goats or chickens have been screwing either, so I didn’t question it.

We’re getting dressed for our game in Calgary. Klein’s starting again. I’m just sitting the bench in case he gets winded or hurt.

I don’t play every game—coaches don’t think it’s good, and while it might seem like we’re the laziest motherfuckers on the ice because we don’t go anywhere, we take the most hits and sweat the most under all those pads—but I don’t sit out as many as I have this season so far either.

I stare at my phone before I tuck it into the locker, but on second thought, I pull it back out.

What the fuck could it hurt?

The phone’s ringing before I remember we’re two hours behind Virginia because of time zones. She should be getting ready for bed.

But it’s already ringing.

She’ll just let it go to voicemail if she doesn’t want to answer. She’s stubborn enough to ignore my texts, she’s probably stubborn enough to ignore my calls too.

But to my utter surprise, there’s her voice. “Hello?”

“Kami! Kami. You’re—you answered.”

Lavoie catches my eye, then drops his gaze like he’s not listening.

Ares isn’t as polite. He watches me while he stretches.

“Hi, Nick,” she says warily. There’s noise in the background. People. Bowling balls? Definitely buzzers and bells.

“Are you out on a date?” I blurt before I remember I’m a fucking hockey player who doesn’t get tongue-tied and insecure over my sister’s friend being on a date.

Oh, fuck it.

My heart’s about to pound out of my chest, because if she’s out on a date, she might be meeting the man of her dreams right now.

Fucker probably couldn’t find her clit with a map and a flashlight, but if that’s what she wants, fine.

That’s her business.

“I’m out,” she says slowly. “Did you need something?”

“On a date?” I press.

Swear to god, I hear her roll her eyes. “Not at the moment, no.”