Page 9 of Tripped Up

“Her friend is in the league,” Wyatt says. “She’s a groupie.”

“Fuck off. I’m not a groupie.” I roll my eyes. “My best friend is Nick Mitchell. He’s with New Orleans.”

“So what are you doing here with us, then?” Samson asks.

I shrug. “My job brought me here. I have a life outside of him.”

Viggy snorts. “Does he know that?”

“Sometimes he forgets.” I smile sweetly, even as I glare daggers at Wyatt. “It just means I have to remind him. Repeatedly.”

The rest of the guys look around, evidently confused. I’m upending their dynamic.

“Now, as much as I love hockey players, and by love I mean tolerate,” I continue. “Who do I have to talk to in order to get a drink around here?”

A waitress approaches at that moment. A worn plastic name tag proclaims her name to be Tina. She has the haggard look in her eye of someone on a double shift from hell. Light pop music plays from the restaurant’s speakers, the volume low enough to render the lyrics indistinct. The scent of fried food lingers heavily in the air, making my stomach rumble.

“You want a drink?” Tina sets down three trays of wings in the center of the table.

“Yes, please. Tito’s and Sprite. Thank you.”

She gives me a tired smile. A little politeness goes a long way. “You got it. Any food?”

Even though I’m starving, my stomach twists at the idea of eating in front of all these guys. Strangers. Men.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Wyatt, sitting across the table from me, raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

Who the hell does he think he is, chiding me like a child? I scowl at him, my lip curling petulantly.

“Get her a cheeseburger with fries and a side of barbecue sauce,” he tells the waitress. “No tomatoes or ketchup, everything else on it is fine. Thank you.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare daggers at him. “Fuck off, Wyatt.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want my sister to yell at me because I let you waste away.”

Viggy pushes the basket of wings closer. “He’s right. And Mitch would kill us.”

“You’re the worst,” I mutter as I take one. I don’t even like wings. They’re too much work for not enough reward. If I’m going to suck on a bone until it’s clean, I want it to be worth it.

The waitress brings me my drink and I give her a supportive smile. I’ve done my fair share of shifts bartending and cater waitering. It’s how I put myself through grad school.

The guys talk around me, but I don’t feel ignored. They’re about to start training camp next week, while I’m about to start rehearsals.

It’s the start of something new. I almost want to break into song, but life isn’t High School Musical, and even if it were, I can’t sing. Despite a voice practicum being a requirement for my degree, I’m a talented musician… who can’t sing.

After a few minutes, my cheeseburger arrives, and I dig in. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until Wyatt pointed it out. Which sours my appetite, sure. I won’t let him hold me back, though.

I’ve been there, done that. Nobody can hold me down. Not for long.

* * *

My stomach churns as I walk into the rehearsal space. First days are as exciting as they are nausea inducing.

The Austin Symphony wants me. They reviewed my application materials and flew me out for an audition. They hired me.

Now I have to prove they didn’t make an enormous mistake.