Charming as Puck(57)

It would be like admitting defeat in the playoffs a month into the season.

Practice feels good. Despite the occasional twitch in my still disappointed cock, I feel more grounded today.

Like I can see the ice better today, spot the pucks faster, move quicker.

Like I’m five years younger.

After practice and lunch with the team, I head back to my parents’ place for a few hours. Last I heard from my real estate agent, I needed to lie low and be a fucking choir boy for a few weeks, and then she was pretty sure she could get me hooked up with a place downtown again.

But downtown doesn’t have room for Sugarbear.

It’s weird how attached I’m getting to my cow-dog. Instead of conking out on the couch with my DVR’d copy of the Master’s—seriously, you want to nap, put on some golf—I head out back and toss the ball around with my cow.

And then I call Kami.

“Hey, you,” she says brightly after the first ring. “How’d you know it was my lunch break?”

I might’ve called her office earlier. “Lucky guess.”

“How was morning skate?”

“Good.”

Sugarbear charges me as I lounge in one of the pool chairs, but I dodge and toss the ball back out under the oak trees, and she snorts and changes course.

“Are you playing fetch with the cow?” Kami asks.

I laugh. “You could tell?”

“Lucky guess,” she quotes back to me. “I’ve been laughing to myself all morning over you asking the head Wanker if he’d sell you a couple more cows so you could get some cow hockey going.”

“That’s all you’re thinking about?”

“If I want to function today, yes.”

Huh.

My gift must not have arrived yet.

“And as much as I appreciate your generosity, would you please stop sending apology gifts?” she adds.

The woman can read my mind. It should be terrifying, but I’m so distracted by the total awe of someone else riding my wavelength that I almost miss the calf charging me again. I sidestep at the last minute with a small oof, and manage to snag the yoga ball and fling it deep into the yard again. I wince when it comes close to Mom’s garden shed, but Sugarbear avoids it like a pro.

“Nick?”

“They’re not apology gifts anymore. Now they’re just fun.”

“You had thirty drawstring bags with my picture on it delivered to my office.”

“I thought about sending them with my picture, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

She snorts out a delicate little snort-laugh, and I rub that soft spot in my chest.

“You know there are only seven people who work here, right? That’s like four bags each.”

“Or it’s a lifetime supply. You could switch them out once every two years, and they’d last until you’re ninety.”

“No one will recognize me as the woman on that bag when I’m ninety.”

“You’re going to be gorgeous when you’re ninety.”

“I’ll be a plump wrinkled prune with white curls and a cane yelling at all the kids to get off my lawn.”

“You’ll be a beautiful raisin,” I assure her. “And you’ll be the old lady everyone’s afraid of because you’ll try to give candy to all the kids, and all the moms will be yelling, don’t take candy from strangers who keep cows for pets!”

She laughs, and yeah, I’m feeling like I just had my tenth shutout in a row, just from making Kami happy.

“You’re still coming to the game tonight?” I ask her.

“I was thinking of skipping it. I mean, you guys play Minnesota a few times a year, and I could just watch it on TV.”

“Probably a good idea,” I agree. “Then you can’t distract me.”

“Oh, please. You don’t get distracted on the ice.”

Not usually. “Great. So you’ll be there.”

She laughs. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

I offer Sugarbear a high five. She snorts at me and paws the ground, waiting for me to toss the ball again. “Good. Because I’m wearing your bra.”

She makes a strangled choking noise, and I grin. “I mean it’s tucked into my uniform. For good luck,” I clarify.

“I think my mother would actually be proud,” she murmurs.

“So that’s where you get your good taste in sports teams.”

“Oh, most definitely. Dad wasn’t a fan until she basically told him she wouldn’t marry him unless he learned to love the Thrusters.”

“You bringing her tonight?”

“No, she and Dad are hosting friends in their box. I’m bringing Muffy and Aunt Hilda and Alina.”

I wait for her to laugh and tell me she’s kidding, but she doesn’t.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Muffy and Aunt Hilda are on a tighter budget and don’t get opportunities like this very often. And Alina’s missed a lot of games because of her weird travel schedule. They’ll have fun.”

It never occurred to me that there were people who’d want to go to a game but couldn’t afford it. And here she is, offering to share tickets with annoying family. “Fuck, I really don’t deserve you.”