Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(65)

The waiter leaves us alone again. I don’t like the sudden change of mood. Lance has gone dark.

“You’re a professional hockey player; I’m just a massage therapist.”

“You’re not just anything,” Lance replies.

“You know what I mean. People know who you are, even if they don’t actually know you. No one knows who I am.”

“I do.”

“To a certain degree, yes, but we only give the part of ourselves we’re comfortable with, right?” I motion between us. “Being here means we must be willing to give a bit more, doesn’t it?”

“And that makes you nervous?”

“Of course. You have an idea of who I am, an ideal even. I’m the girl who gave you her first kiss in a closet.” I look down at my napkin. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t romanticized that memory, even if it’s a silly, na?ve thing to do.”

Lance adjusts his silverware, his knee still going under the table. “So what’s the part that makes you nervous? That I’m not gonna be the romanticized version you’ve built me up to be?”

I don’t tell him I already know that part of him has been buried for a long time. Based on what happened in the closet after we went out for dessert earlier this week, I’m aware that the boy I knew is definitely still in there, even if he’s been hiding. But there are years of time and experiences creating a barrier between us now.

“And that I’m not the same version of the girl you remember.”

He nods, like maybe this makes sense.

“Sorry. This got heavy fast.”

He runs his finger around the rim of his glass. “I don’t mind. No girl ever gets real with me. It’s kinda nice for a change.”

I laugh. “I can’t imagine how much lip service you get on a regular basis.”

“A lot more than I want, actually. I don’t like being played with by people.”

It’s a loaded statement. I can almost taste its bitterness.

The waiter returns to ask after our order. I decide on a glass of sauvignon blanc, and Lance requests a bottle instead, checking with me for the brand. I point to one in the middle of the row, but I won’t know the difference between a high-end bottle and the cheap stuff from the local liquor store.

He also orders appetizers since we haven’t even opened the menu. When the waiter leaves, I look it over. They have all of my favorite things with a classy twist. Everything sounds amazing, and I decide to go for the spaghetti Bolognese.

Once the waiter returns with the wine and takes our dinner order, Lance settles back in his chair, his knees brushing mine under the table.

“So, I gotta ask how a good girl ends up at a high school party at the age of twelve. I can’t imagine your parents actually let you go.”

“Absolutely not. My parents went out, and my sister was babysitting me. She didn’t want to miss the party, so she took me with her.”

“That wasn’t very responsible.”

“I could’ve stayed home by myself, but my sister isn’t known for her responsible tendencies.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“She was always a little wild. Fun, but she pushed the boundaries a lot. Sometimes I wanted to be more like her. The night we went to that party, I felt so cool.” I shake my head at the memory. “She never really grew out of that rebellious phase. She’s better than she used to be, but she still struggles with things like keeping a job for more than six months.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Oh! Cinny.”

“Like Cinnamon?”

“No, like Hyacinth. My parents were big into botany when we were born, so we’re both named after flowers. Anyway, what about you? Why were you there that night?”

“Some girl in my class invited me, said it was gonna be a good time and there’d be booze, so I went.”

“Ahh. Very responsible of you.”

Lance laughs. “Not even a little.”

“Cinny got in so much trouble.” I take a sip of my wine. Lance has already half finished his glass.

“Your parents found out?”

“They did. She took the car without permission, and she didn’t even have a learners permit. She hit the side of the garage and dented the bumper when we came home. She accused me of ratting her out, but all the evidence was there. I don’t know why we didn’t take the train. Or walk! Plus our clothes smelled like cigarette smoke.”

“Shit. I bet it was way worse because you’re girls.”

“Oh definitely. She was so mad at me, thinking I’d been the one to tell, so she told my parents I’d been making out with some high school boy in a closet.”

Lance’s mouth drops, but it’s not shock; it’s a devious look of satisfaction. “She told them about me?”

“Oh, yeah. She was actually pretty jealous that I ended up in a closet with you. It was kind of funny. Not at the time, obviously, but later, when we weren’t in trouble anymore. Her telling on me backfired, though, because they blamed her for that too. I don’t think she talked to me for at least a month.”

“If anyone should’ve been giving the silent treatment, it’s you. She let me steal your first kiss.”