Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(25)

Mine descends with a whir.

He revs his engine. “Wanna race?”

I laugh. “Pretty sure your car can eat my car for breakfast.”

“Maybe more of a light snack.” He winks and throws a handful of what appears to be candy in his mouth, then tosses the package on the dash. It looks like gummy bears. The light turns. Lance lifts his hand in a wave and puts his foot on the gas, proving me right as he speeds away while I obey the posted speed limit. I drive home and park in front of my row house. The pub is only a ten-minute walk, and it’s a nice evening. Besides, I need the time to clear my head.

April’s in a booth close to the pool tables. I feel bad about being so late, especially since she’s alone. She looks up as I slide onto the bench across from her.

“What took you so long?”

“Lance stopped by to pick up his phone.” I try to sound nonchalant, but I’m sure I fail based on how high my voice goes at the end.

“Oh my God! What happened? What did he say? Did you explain the picture?” April looks like she’s going to pass out. “Did he ask you out? Was I right about him leaving it there on purpose?”

I raise a hand to stop her. “You need to stop chugging Red Bull.”

“I still need that firm ass report.”

“It’s solid as a rock.” I look around, seeking out the server so I can place an order. I’m starving, and I’ll do just about anything to get out of answering questions about Lance’s assets.

A waitress stops at the table, so I order a Shirley Temple and some sweet potato fries. Fiber makes them healthier than the regular ones.

“You’re not even going to have a real drink?”

“I have to be back at the clinic at eight tomorrow morning.” I’m also concerned that if I order something with alcohol, I might not stop at one. This whole thing has me discombobulated enough that getting tipsy doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Which is exactly why I won’t do it. Alcohol isn’t a coping mechanism I like to use. Sweet potato fries, on the other hand…

“What about a white Russian? It’s like drinking chocolate milk.”

“Really, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. Go wild and drink from the kids menu. Anyway, back to Lance. What happened when he came back? What did he say? What’s he like? Do you think all the rumors are true?”

“Seriously, April, how much Red Bull did you drink today?”

“None. Just a lot of coffee. Come on, Poppy, you had your hands all over one of the hottest, most notorious hockey players in the league. You need to share that experience with me.”

“It was just a massage.” I wish I had my Shirley Temple already so I could do something with my hands.

“If it was just a massage, why is your face the color of your name?” April asks. “Oh! Did he remember you from when you went to school together? Did you get his autograph?”

“I didn’t get his autograph.”

The waitress drops off my drink.

“Did he remember you?”

I stir my drink with the straw, swirling the grenadine around, and shake my head. “I was a kid, and he only went to my school for, like, maybe a month or two. He didn’t even know I existed.”

That’s not quite true, but it doesn’t matter because it was so long ago, and those sweet childhood memories had already been replaced by something much less pleasant.

I’m responsible for allowing that to happen, I suppose both when I was young, and again last year. It’s funny how the few times I’ve made the decision not to play it safe all seem to involve this man. Even today I could’ve told my boss I knew Lance. I could’ve intimated that I didn’t feel comfortable treating him, but I guess the truth is I wanted to. Just like the last time I ran into him, I wanted to see if he would be the same as I remembered. He was, and he wasn’t.

Today he was awkward, and intense, and maybe even a little sweet—exactly like he was the first time our worlds collided, and nothing like the way he was last year. I wonder if I’m inviting discord into my life, or if it’s just my insecurities that make me feel this way. A kiss is just a kiss. Especially one that happened more than a decade ago. Maybe it should be nothing, but there’s so much spark caught up in that one memory.

When I saw him last year, I wanted to find that feeling again. But that’s not what happened at all. I hope this time his appearance doesn’t lead to second-guessing and the consumption of a lot of comfort food like it did before.

It took me three months to lose the five pounds Ben and Jerry’s added to my waistline last time. Which is ridiculous, because it was one stupid night where nothing happened, so it shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. Because it destroyed a perfectly preserved moment in time. A highly romanticized one, obviously, but I was twelve, so that’s totally acceptable. Not so much at twenty-three.

“Poppy? Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I look up from the drink I’m still stirring.

“You gapped right out there.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. It was a long day. How was Ms. Thong?”

“Oh God! I wish you could’ve seen her today. She was rocking the craziest hot pink butt floss. I thought it was going to snap it was so tiny!”

April doesn’t ask me any more questions. Instead we move on to other topics. When the fries come, I scarf down the entire plate. April and I live in the same neighborhood, so once she finishes her drink and I polish off my snack, we walk home together. I’m quiet, trying my best not to think about Lance and all the feelings he’s stirred up.